slow sip
creamy mud skin
under heartbeats speeding —
my taste echoing words of heat
airs lift
swallow
morning kiss
on bright mug's brim,
smokescreen operation
breathless
“Brewing”
by Positive Mark
Brewing my coffee.
Brewing your tea.
You sit and chant now, while I burn the incense.
Dragon’s blood gives us a shield in this instance.
I hover close at a Goddess insistence.
She soothes the pain of an artist’s existence.
I stood on the porch.
Lifted the last of last night’s cold libations like raising a torch.
Emptied the glass with a thrust of my arm.
Mother responded to me with a charm.
She didn’t take it all straight to the ground.
Some of the particles swirled all around.
Dancing in air like a school of live fish.
I closed my eyes tight.
Made a wish.
Paddy was a hit man
for the Irish Mob
hired to be slick
and do a whack job
but he didn't have the knack
or know the trick
without being caught
and put in the nick
behind bars
but not the sort one might think
where a few jars
may be bought and he did so love a drink
more than one too many
was his undoing
the cause of all
the troubles brewing
and with only one hit
it's really no wonder
he was fired from the gang
for a drunken blunder
as he couldn't quit the whiskey
be it bottle or a flagon
and ended up inside
not on the wagon
You’re ever captivating;
Somber so stimulating;
Liken a hot cup of caffeine;
Such joy you’re phenomenal being;
Production such a darling;
Top notch gentleman so charming;
Grooving N moving
Boiling and fermenting;
The result with yeast production;
Them there your dance moves, keeps on truckiN
You’re ever captivating;
Somber so stimulating;
Liken a hot cup of caffeine;
Such joy you’re phenomenal being;
You’re ever captivating;
Somber so stimulating;
Liken a hot cup of caffeine;
Such joy you’re phenomenal being;
Dancing ta the beat of the drums ya can’t stop
Like boiling hot water you got me hot
Man I am caught
Brewin
Brewing
Like a pot of tea
Brewing, got me hot as coffee
Brewing, saxophone groveiN strong
Brewing, BrewiN, just brewing
Ya! Got me brewing along
BREWING
10/4/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Filling me up to the brim with hope,
My emotions slowly sliding down that slope.
Suspicion building up, why is he hurrying?
Tension climbing, crazy, worrying.
Sadness, betrayal, sword sharp memories,
Staying strong is harder than it seems.
Drowning in an addiction to drugs,
Hiding it all under the rug.
Hollow, exposed, nowhere to go,
Can’t show the stress, the sorrow.
Danger around every corner, can never relax,
No idea what will appear next.
Can’t see past the haze of a hangover,
Can’t move past what drove her.
You stole my heart and won’t give it back,
Told I’m narcissistic, but can't figure out what I lack.
Flights of fancy, a young man's game
visions brewing, not one the same...
Dawns a slate-gray day, corrective lenses ordered
horizon's blank ~ anticipation murdered
a blindingly foggy day,
powdery wind blowing it's whistle
without cease.
out in the blizzard,
a man in his vehicle,
immobile in the deep snow.
he's plucked out
of the brutal mercy
of the winter storm.
seeking refuge
in a good samaritan's garage;
teeth chattering,
body trembling,
frequently shaking
frost-bitten hands;
hurricane of anguish
churning
at the pit of his stomach.
he's sipping hot cocoa
ah, relief!
Winter Storm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Date written: 1/4/2023
The rain is coming in;
the wind is blowing hard.
The plus side take:
won’t have to rake
the leaves out of my yard.
I’d best get out and walk,
and do it pretty soon.
The radar’s mean,
red mixed with green,
and not a Christmas tune!
Or maybe I’ll just wait,
put coffee on to brew,
and ride the bike
instead of hike,
and have a cup or two.
----------
a couple of Mad Song Stanzas (iambic 6x:6a:4b:4b:6a)
Each year, some slips away;
I’m just not that upset,
but I’m not that old yet,
if truth be told.
At some point down the road,
it maybe catches up;
for now I’ll pour a cup,
but not too bold.
Ideas still pour in;
I write them while they’re hot.
The downside of this thought:
my coffee’s cold.
—————
An Abhanga: 6x-6a-6a-4x
Are you aware of Death's true name?
How can I verify his name's veracity?
What entices him to the heart of his being?
He's been dubbed "Dread"
Others have pranked Inevitable,
As of yet, these are only names.
You'll notice if you're cautious,
Motivation elicits his real name.
Carry on with your life utterly wary.
Not far away, doom is brewing.
Written: March 28, 2022
People don't love me.
People just hate me.
I just won't see
People won't take me.
What is their problem?
What have they got
stacked up against me
just as I've got?
What am I asked for?
Why am I fought?
What am I suffering for
just as they thought?
How can I get help?
How could they not?
Why am I expected to
live with their haught?
Why am I leaving?
Why are they not?
Why am I expected to
leave and their not?
How can I leave?
How could I not?
How can I come back
knowing their lot?
Where am I going to?
What am I doing?
Where am I expected to
be and left brewing?
A storm is brewing.
Heavy water laden clouds rise thickly,
the darkening sun plunges quickly
behind deep purple mountains,
hiding the gentle moonlight
that normally lights my erratic way.
I meander absentminded
around a maze of mountain paths,
suffering a terrible purgatory.
For the storm is raging outside and inside of me.
Outside electric serpents flash across the dark skies.
Inside is an aching heart of old desires.
No tears flow as I think of you.
Foul fog screens my feelings,
suffocates righteous repentance,
murders my murky sinful soul.
Deep inside me
emotions mingle, then surge,
and dissipate in thin air.
By midnight the summer storm
has already well and truly broken.
Ophidian lightning blaze in the dark skies,
Crashing thunder booms and echoes.
Rain falls in heavy drops.
I am well and truly soaked.
Water, the sign of redemption enslaves me,
but I am not baptized anew,
instead I wallow in self pity.
There is no hope for me,
or is there? Let the storm decide!
Now let me see, how is this world doing
For better or worse the same old poo-pooing
Just seems to me
Up the same old tree
Nothing's changed, more trouble's a-brewing
blue, purple, black skies
constellations storms brewing
cloud rolling clockwise
temperatures risen so...
now the storm rages on strong
7/31/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Now let me see, how is this world doing
For better or worse, it's the same old poo-pooing
Just seems to me
Up the same old tree
Nothing's changed, more trouble's a-brewing
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