Till the blooms are fed the aura
That low gleams the distant hills,
Glistens the dewy flora,
Enlights an ever bluing sky—
Glint and sparkle befell the swelling rill
Shall delight my sleep weary eye
Nature folds away her tinting hues
That dab each petal such singular art
Till blossoms burst forth and sunlight suffuse
The myriad colours of the mouldering heart
That even such as I, a waking recluse,
Cannot feel—a thing apart
No dew for the dandelions aloft
Their needles do not sting
No song is sung as soft
As the first notes of spring
The robin sings a far off melody
A cricket chirps in the wings
A squirrel sure unseen,
In the hollow of an oak tree
Are doubtless splendorous to glean—
What simple joys the morning brings
When we add ourselves to the scene
Dark, my depleted garden
no furtive rays of sunshine
August weather, clammy as a snail
sauce redolent of aged shrimp cocktail
Peonies once lined up to burst forth
‘til their came a howler from the north
A sepulchral portrait, pleasing skunks and raccoons
~ They don't cry to Heaven if a garden is ruined
He served as a catalyst
for my poetic mood
and experimental dimensions
in silent rendering,
with an itch for art forms
be it the appetite
the nectar of a poet
My endeavor to articulate excels
far beyond my perceived horizons
alas jump-starting my muses
heretofore dormant a bit,
stirring me to excavate
a font of ideas
and accelerate with eagerness
to burst forth
from mind onto page
unfurling with words
hidden beneath my tongue
that once alluded me,
I stitch the unsaid into form
before our intuitive tryst,
a better mentor I could not
have hoped for;
British, artist, wordsmith, & troubadour
of empirical and
nostalgic emphasis
With pleasure I dive deep
into linguistic lure,
definitions and display
composing in a harmonious dance
lyrics into wordplay
I breathe life into symbols
older than memory
If ever there was a lauded semantic
who rises like a sentient sign
in a moments demand
stark sensationalist,
quiet, yet quite quizzical
It’s Brian Strand
Is there a thrill in her fingers
in their touch, an enchanted spark
Is it imagination
or do they animate the dark...
One night 'pon removing her glove
streaks of lightning burst forth above
In an instant
I burst forth again
Like some sort of exotic flower that only blooms once every 5 or 10 years
Born of volcanic balsalt
Bursting upward in a splash of ash
that rains down
Can you hear the tiny bits hitting the rock around me
It's a swoosh sound and then tiny rain
And suddenly here I am again
My stalk is stronger than in the past
My hues are no longer blues
There is light slipping between the veins of me
This is a cosmic born again
Little remains of the girl that I once was
She was so small where I now feel tall
She was so insecure. We're now a mountain stands
Her steps were never sure. Now I stride
I stand upon the peak of that black black mountain that I had to climb
Surveying the valley of glorious color and light below
The battles have made a Titan of me
And a Titan. I'm damn well glad to be
To My Friend Becca Teagan and most notable poet,
Whos' blank white page now burst forth with brilliant autumn colors.
It's day 1
I have slept,
then the horror
burst forth from memory
Desperate fear dappled thoughts
Nothing stays, chaos reigns
Loved ones look on
No explanation or cause
Betrayal etched lines and comforting words
All is grey suffocation
Reality in rear view
Cold clinical options ahead
No hope on the horizon
A deep longing for oblivion
Lost in naked view
Finality beckons, out of reach
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours- waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
Oh, the beauty of every bloom
that scents the air with its perfume
when year by year it sweetly comes around
to poke out of the ground.
For every blossoming fruit tree
and shrub that in the spring I see
unfolding petals bright with pretty hues,
how they inspire my muse.
Swiftly disappears the flora;
I’m left longing for their aura
they so wonderfully emanated.
To decay they’re fated.
I wonder if they truly die
beneath snow or soil. Do they cry,
recalling sun’s warmth on their petaled face
in their season of grace?
If living still, do they feel glum
or do they wait for what’s to come,
eager to burst forth and greet the sun’s glow?
I would like to think so.
SKEPTICAL THOUGHTS UNDERMINE VERBAL WARMTH
as offered aloud from masculine parted lips.
When brain doubts unexpectedly burst forth,
ensure same feminine brain shreds them to strips.
MOONLIT NIGHTS OBSERVE POTENTIALLY QUED
magic often downward fracture and fall apart
when a man’s truth isn’t evidentially clued
to a willing and attentive sweetheart.
AMPLE BAFFLED COUPLES DECLINE EMBRACE
if one is not genuinely enthused.
When qualms clearly show on one’s face,
the other’s face soon appears confused.
ENTICING, FOXY GALS HARKEN INTEREST
and good-looking men embolden heartbeats
so that when neither is indifferent
romance may take a stroll down High Street.
TEXAS PRAIRIE PARADISE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
here, where the horizon bends.
the morning sun spills its warmth.
the Texas prairie stretches~
a vast unbroken beauty where
golden grasses sway.
the air, thick with the scent of sage,
wraps around me like a familiar embrace.
dust motes dance in the light,
tiny galaxies suspended
in the quiet splendor of morning.
cacti punctuate the landscape
these sentinels of resilience,
their spines reminding me
that life thrives in the harshest of places,
and wildflowers burst forth, fragile yet fierce.
here, the earth breathes differently.
my heart learns to listen
to the distant call of a hawk,
to the rustle of a rabbit, and
to the soft sighs of the prairie.
the hawk circles high above me,
its shadow gliding across the land,
a guardian of this sprawling solitude,
reminds me of the freedom,
of the vastness within and without.
I stand rooted in this stillness, finding clarity.
in the expanse, I find belonging.
beneath the wide-open sky,
I am both lost
and found.
Before the trees have leaves, their branches,
Brown with bark, but bare,
Sway gently in the breeze, just waiting
For their springtime flair.
In days to come, when buds appear,
Encouraged by the sun
And helped out by some rain, we’ll know
Their dressing has begun.
Then soon enough, in varied hues
Of deep or lighter green,
Those trees will turn the landscape
Into quite a lovely scene.
Plus, add to that the blossoms
That are hiding ‘til it’s time
To burst forth with all their color -
Now you’ve got a springtime rhyme!
I twisted myself into a strange posture
-thinking it was comfortable-
and my heart struggled to reach past the pinch.
Gradually -like boiling frogs-
pressured increased
as the weight of foolish distraction
settled comfortably upon me.
But ugliness, like beauty,
though often hidden,
will always eventually burst forth from its soil.
What a vile, wicked bloom unfolds -
alerting us to the true state of affairs.
Then - like a prodigal fool
who's already done too much damage
I beg for your grace
Hoping -at least for a moment-
I can become something new
and never forget this ...
But I hesitate to promise.
I have failed such promises before.
And ... yet ... again ... you pluck the weight off of me,
gently unfold me from my twisted position,
and I feel a roaring surge in my arteries
as blood -and grace- return life to my body once again.
Please God ... Please!
Help me remember this time...
10 March 2025
written 6:03-6:14 PM
concept thought of after confession around noon
mid Winter strain mist
cold winds and snow turbulent
mild burst seasonnal
~
soon to be spring time
with everything comes long cold
to burst forth frigid
~
environment soon
be demised winter's solace
cease the winter's cold
2/23/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024
Silence pierced through the thick blanket
Of his thoughts, heretofore plagued
By a quaff of exhaled tobacco,
Spiralling and somersaulting in the air,
Like a fierce missile
Sent on a sinister mission,
Before mercilessly, ricocheting
Against the backdrop of his unassuming ceiling
There he stood
Imagining the gigantic impact
Of a tiny veil of vapor
As it burst forth from his nostrils
In a single file, before spreading it's renegade black wings,
Intimidatingly traversing every corner of the room;
He googled as the vapor ascended in a frenzy,
Like a gush of morning Dew,
Swaddling the orbit,
Before being subdued by a battalion of torrential rain,
Descending from the sky defiantly;
To proclaim the Cacophony and preponderance
Of the generic nature of life.
When the whip of the wind strikes the earth’s flank,
Dark clouds rush forward, dragging low and dank.
Like a female camel moaning for her calf,
The heavy clouds, their big nipple isn't half.
The autumn sky weeps, then suddenly smiles,
The dark clouds drip in a rhythmic style.
Washing the dust from the steppe’s face,
Shaking the heads of wormwood in its embrace.
The poor wormwood stood there, unable to sway,
Shoulders heavy with dust, locked in dismay.
When the cool breeze brushed its face in delight,
Its fragrance burst forth, wild and bright.
Oh, how marvelous, this land so beloved,
Its cherished scent holds all life discovered.
If not for wormwood, so enduring and true,
Every other plant would have burned through.
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