Like a murmuration,
they suddenly appear,
swirl, swoop and storm the
ancient, familiar compound,
perching on the strongest bough
of the school’s pine tree,
a brawny Methuselah,
chattering loosely about long-departed
waves of creamy city gossip, and asking one another,
“How do you do?”
When the clock ticks a little further down
the aisle of a wailing theatre,
“And how have you been?”
At the time of the greedy feasting —
hollow, glass-tinkling buffet,
“And where are you now?”
Just like in a romance —
Your ex-lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her present life.
Your present lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her past life.
So it is with school reunions.
Stars from my youth
Are falling like flies
To admit the hard truth
I wish not to die
My journey, it seems
Is trapped at the start
As if, weathered dreams
Just now, found my heart
The soul of a child
Dwells in my shell
Sensation not mild
Peter Pan spell
A brawny force
Akin to rip tide
Erases my course
I failed, when I tried
Unlimited rolls
Shield my gamble
Health takes a toll
My vessel, in shambles
My mind remains green
Misplacing past years
Hardships, unseen
Future looks clear
I fear, I’m naive
Painting roses on death
Seems I can’t grieve
I’m “aging”, bereft
Though I lament the death of former youth,
a time of naive innocence and sweet bliss,
which hid from me life's dark, unpleasant truth,
and withheld forbidden pleasures that I miss;
a time of brawny beauty and strong thews,
as of Greek gods of Olympian prime,
like Hercules of fabled strength, sinews,
and might of once renown from mythic time.
But mighty Zeus, how I desire most for
the renewing of my now loveless life,
which longs for the fair maidens of folklore,
whose tenderness only can quench loss's strife!
Because of my decline's increasing years,
I lose young love as life's twilight appears.
The butterfly, its crimson mottled wings
flitting in the delicate Autumn breeze;
uncurled proboscis taking sweet nectar
from early dawns, newly opened daisies
does not regard the corpses of the men
whose dead eyes ever stare the grass below
fresh attention-seeking meadow flowers.
Men's bodies yet unclaimed, save for ravens
who do outpace the sunshine-seeking flies
and vacillating mothers, sisters, wives
to take an early feast of tongues and eyes.
They watched from high upon a sunlit hill
the eve before, gold sun on flashing blade,
the yet unhacked brawny sinuous limbs
rip through the waves of verdant sweeping green.
And all but them were silent for a while
the wind had stopped, the cawing of the crows,
the crickets chirp, the children's playful laugh,
until the clash of steel on steel on flesh.
The butterfly, its crimson mottled wings
lifted by the delicate Autumn breeze
is taken to a meadow fresh and new.
Thor did not live up to his name
He was skinny, weak a petite Fontaine
Wren, his brother was a Herculean guy
Brawny and strapping, he caught many an eye
How did you get their names so wrong?
I asked their mother, Mrs. Wong.
Thor weighed ten at birth, Wren weighed three.
A cruel joke God played on me.
A frothy crown, pale as the whites
Of eyes widened with fascination,
Perched on a robust body, deep as molasses.
Brooding; concealing a warm rapport.
But still so condescending, its stout posture
Condenses air to beads of sweat.
Invited, parched lips kiss the cold glass
Rewarded with familiar comfort -
A bitter burst, sharp and clean,
Fading into toffee warmth,
Hints of roasted coffee and chocolate bloom,
All linger, like a whispered secret.
The golden harp strums cheerful notes
In harmony with taps, clinks, and murmured oaths
Cheers dance over lacquered walls, awash with glee
As gulps of crisp bitters and molten sweets
Cascade, watering dry cracks in weary bones.
A tonic for the soul, it lifts the load -
Worries dissolve, fading like bubbles on the lip.
It washes away the settling dust,
Soothes the mind into peaceful currents,
Sinking burdens to its murky depths
As spirits rise to play in the air of its frothy crown.
Are not Irish Eyes
always smiling?
IN the Blamey
at the stone – at the family
pub, celebrating life’s cheering,
brawling, grinning, deeply etching
proud ethnic tone – in the
lilt of his sweet tenor; even in
the brave sorrows, those many fallen
heroes of war both near and far --
blue as the deepest sky,
the even deeper tears,
the royal azures of our stars --
surely eyes are brightly
smiling, for no stouter
hearts have times born – in the
darling twinkles, that steal
hearts blissfully away, merrily along –
where the lass I kissed in the meadow, the
sweet child that comes to me
her giggling shamrock song --
allow those eyes forever shine!
Let such hearts lift a glass
give fond toast and riotously play --
God cherishes His brawny Irish
Even in heaven, all are Irish today.
I am the bonnie bird of hope,
That lives in brawny bosoms deep.
And flies up the steep mountain slope,
That rises into unknown skies deep.
I peck the shadowy doubts away
In the dappled shade of woods deep.
For fortitude and strength I pray
That rises into unknown skies deep.
I flutter in bowls of joy small
And on thorny branches I sleep,
Safe in God's love and care of all
That rises into unknown skies deep.
I am the bonnie bird of hope,
That rises into unknown skies deep.
There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.
Small town restaurants are steeped
in a comfortable inertia;
diners serve
all broasted, broiled and breaded everything.
Amish noodles nestle in thick white bowls.
There are still drive-in movies
where movies once missed
can be missed again.
We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for long archived selections.
Beer here is brewed as brawny
as rolled-up forearms.
We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way.
We are post-modern Jetson reruns,
we dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.
Snapping Turtle
Brawny and mean,
The reptile is seen
Oozing out of the mire
Like a prehistoric monster.
The snapper stares
While smelling the air,
Keenly attentive
For lurking predators.
A thick-muscled neck
Poised to stretch
With beak agape that says,
“Keep your distance!”
Because it cannot retract
Its head far enough back
To protect it from enemies
And so it snaps at everything.
The turtle claws at the dirt in front,
Pulling itself to where it’s going,
Dragging its spiked tail along
The ground in slow motion.
Vogon is zgone signs nhow wonder as they wander ye
The ships have imploded, muted mouths misspoken be
Capturedra are the humanity they look like cus
Just like us, splicky lick
Just like us
Just like cus
Entrustedstream being rebirtheded
Cloned and disrob Brrr tikzzzzz burrrruunnn
Stazzz zaaaa baa
Slitarzzzzzre
ed nakeded
V
Vavaaa stusorrrrr ti themmmm brrr
Vavaaa stusorrrrr ti themmmm brrr
Brrr tikzzzzz burrrruunnn
Stazzz zaaaa baa
Slitarzzzzzre
V
Vavaaa stusorrrrr
Vavaaa stusorrrrr ti themmmm brrr
Brrr tikzzzzz burrrruunnn
Juzz lik uz inseminated
Brrr tikzzzzz burrrruunnn
Stazzz zaaaa baa
Slitarzzzzzre
Vogonnnnnnnn
Sunnsabloom siar to to the plantnip
Cubbledum brawny snar bliss
V vogonizedzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Placed N under spaced!
9/14/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
And to the flower that survived
I do salute thy strength
Through wind and frost, to still have thrived
Advance at any length
Though thirsty for the taste of love
You held a barren field
With patience and the stars above
Your will to never yield
Though some might say of brawny fare
That therein lies the ace
Yet I say, through your gentle care
Endurance wins the race
I know the flower that survived
Though faded by the sun
Thy beauty still to be derived
From all that you have done
Dedicated to my dear, sweet mother…
(Still surviving!)
Happy Mother’s day
5/14/23
She beside oneself near dark,
She give her smile to flower,
She put her joy to bird,
But She is in river of dark.
She search for light of lamp;
She find someone lighted the lamp,
Suddenly those dark hands blowen off,
She saw a empty face in the mirror.
She tryn to be brawny;
Her whimper is so overhead,
The Darkness is laughing at her,
All the demons despise her.
She kept the faithful fairy and laugh,
She yelled at the hands of duskiness,
And said to the soul;
She is turned out the being halfwit.
He was her protector, big, brawny, blue-eyed.
He looked like a monster, but he was a gentle giant.
She felt his claws lean on her chair.
She smiled, realizing how careful he was being.
She had known him all her life.
He had rescued her from a circle of coyotes
Her family since she had wandered off from her birth parents
He had urged her to return to them, but she was not interested.
They were selfish people, who took care of their own needs.
They had many children, she doubted they realized she was gone.
She had wandered off in search of a better parent
And she had found him.
Oh ye tortoise
The longest living land animals in the world
You who bear the weight of the world on your back and yet walks with a palatial gait
From your hovel, you watched the hills and valleys mate
The oceans and seas retreat
Large four legged beast extinct
And smaller two legged emanate
Oh ye tortoise
You who walk slowly but never afraid of a race
You who feel safe and protected in its own house
You who walk on your toes like an elephant
Discerning with your eyes almost like it's squinting
Oh ye tortoise
One of the world most amazing diggers
With front legs armoured with sturby scales
Adorned with your clandestine ears
Carvernous bladder like a cauldron
And brawny beak for shredding and grinding foods
For decades, you epitomized wisdom and cunningness
Unchanged since prehistoric times
Misconstrued for turtles
Still men can't seem to decipher your morphology.
(C) PoeticLord
JANUARY 2023
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