Sharp
the thorns
who draw blood
from feared fingers
approaching the blooms
Grand garden gatekeepers,
patient and poised guardians
Watchdogs for their botanicals
keeping sound every velvet blossom
Granted ~ butterflies and bees entry
Protective the thorns as sentry
Diligent, the rose's friends
Weaker as Summer ends
While a rose withers
thorns become dull
on frail stems
point less
blunt
There are people dying
There are women crying
The men are lying
And ostracizing
The men are flying
And falsifying
Its horrifying
It's mortifying.
They're really masked buzzards.
Singing sweetly like pretty larks.
Until they plunge a blunt black beak
deep inside your giving heart.
Once you're fully bled dry.
You'll be fed talons of worthless gems.
Gangrenous oxygen from broken harps.
Over your bones they'll hiss strange melodies.
Dump your soul in a shallow bowl of their own making.
They'll claim victory. Drinking at your expense.
It's best to quickly close every valve and never-never let them in.
Soft light and warm
a touch welcomes home
bed red and hot
heat rushes up
fire pulse and ache
welcomes us again
like waterfall
empty and full
soaked until I know no more
something calls me here
drinking sweet red and full of fear
drunk on pulse and desire
thoughts began to dewire
I tried to smoke away the pain,
Rolled it into a blunt and lit it.
I breathe it all in to feel something,
I blow out to release the suffering.
Too anxious for my own good,
I pop a pill every now and then.
The pills stop me from overthinking,
They give me a moment of peace.
I wish I could turn my thoughts
Into alcoholic shots.
I wanna black out from my thoughts,
Forget them and wake up hungover.
Let me crush up my bad memories,
And snort them with my diary pages.
Replace those bad moments with
The good ones I recreated with drugs.
These night terrors don’t stop at sunset,
?And the clock hasn’t even struck 12 yet.
I’ll take my dose of Vivarin,
And fight the demon that’s appearing.
My body can’t hold up the abuse,
Each time I’m down in the blues.
I’ll try to get high off my own pain,
I’ll use anything to stimulate my brain.
I promise next time I won’t overdose,
Even if that’s what I feel like doing the most.
winter’s calling wind
blown messages least most falls
torn tween autumn fall
winter’s lull at last
approximate two half months
left to receive cold
and influx of snow
winter’s alarming burst of
temperatures below
thirty degrees and
under distance sun noon day
yet it still be cold
1/30/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
I've been working on it.
If I were a nib or stylus I'd be worn away.
Sometimes there's
too much space to fill with words,
sometimes there's not enough.
I'm digging my way out
of A Marriam-Webster dictionary.
I hope when I surface
I'll be empty-handed
but a lot sharper.
Blunt brain such stale dogma holds
Tighter than crags hug dewy molds;
She spurns sparks Reason confers,
And terms sanest wit profitless fuss.
Sweetest rank her outmoded views,
Above strictest sense and full clues;
Cherished most within inured cloud
Are her trite thought frail and proud.
Proffer sure-shining cachings of gold
For faintest morsel of heresies retold,
And she'll a more precious jewel find
Brighter still under Diablo's airier rind.
Her creed says receive and cede not
Wild bootless notions simpletons got;
Let benevolent Logic his carats keep,
And her inane whims have their leap.
Her wild treasures heavier than lead
Shall endless grace that jaded head,
Until wilier ticks of blind-mute clocks
Hit Eternal Proof that sees and talks.
Blunt and sharp, are two types of humour.
Sharp humour striking as an acute knife.
If after show you will find body of a viewer,
It's means, your humour, no doubt, pretty fine!
He keeps trying his barrage
of raging vitriol, but it's a blunt knife
on his target's alligator skin
A predictable high school bully
with the same ol' lines of attack.
His target always sees them coming...
and the invectives inflict no pain!
The bully sharpens the blade
with each try, then slashes and stabs
in rapid succession...
but the knife never breaks his victim's skin,
and the funny thing about it is...
the bully seems to be the one bleeding!
One fine day, the boy
bravely stands up for himself
with this unvarnished truth...
"You repeatedly try to cut me open,
yet you lacerate yourself each time
you fail to break me; and you'll keep
failing, so choose your next victim!"
Bravo, kiddo, bravo!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 12,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/15/2020
Date written: 01/12/2020
Yo partner let me get a blunt
Smoking on something strong
We ain't pulling no stunt
One puff and you cough something must be wrong
Grabba that down really nice
So when you draw you eye be bloody
Like it really depend on you life
A tell you this joint will take away you stress and worry
We smoking a pound weed in a day
Couple bottle a liquor and some sprite
Keep the weed coming I say
By the end of the night you feel right
Is the weed me a smoke
Make me feel me a float
This day
Words stray
Harsh way
Crisp choice
Stern poise
Deep voice
Feel hurts
Dust dirt
New skirt
Leap our
Clear shout
Firm pout
Kind tears
False fear
Clout clears
Leon Enriquez
26 September 2018
Singapore
BLUNT CONSCIOUSNESS
Fast asleep
Blunt consciousness
“What the hell was that?”
The colorful lady passed out
face down
framed
her wire cut
The wall with laceration
a larceny to my sleep
The dead of night
this cold Spring
my husband in Spain
I prop up the painting
that stares at me
the rest of the night
as the sun clicks its nails
upon the ghostly night
Daylight always smiles
upon scary things
somehow making things right
and my honey will be back
in my bed tonight
4/21/2018
Corners blunt and blue
a hardened mold to meet
carry baggage seldom seen
a soap box on the street
Borden's white dare to fade
a peddler pulled the page
farmers daughter drawing near
soon to become of age
Streets still hold her beat
in calls that thrill the ear
reached echos and passing feet
smoke has disappeared
Decades do loom and roam
here tomorrow is standing still
memories that found a home
weathered, dustmen mill
Want To Be Blunt Horn Haiku
I want to be blunt;
No Easter Egg roll and hunt;
Hard times at White House.
Jim Horn
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