Beneath a sky of uncommitted rain,
I walk through streets where windows hold no names;
the city flickers like a dying vein
inside the wrist of midnight’s restless frame.
The moon hangs loose, a lantern without shore,
adrift upon the blackened tide of doubt;
each star appears a nail in Heaven’s door,
yet none can tell what waits beyond or out.
I am a suitcase left on some old train,
tagged by forgotten hands and foreign dust;
the years pass through me softly like cold rain
through roofs abandoned long ago to rust.
Sometimes existence feels a borrowed coat
stitched from the shadows of uncertain seams;
we button up our fragile human throat
and speak in currencies of borrowed dreams.
The mind becomes a forest after fire,
charcoal branches sketching broken prayer;
while somewhere underneath the buried mire,
small roots of meaning twist through ruined air.
And still we rise.
Like ships with cracked compasses glowing,
we cross the fog because the heart keeps rowing.
Johari window;
no one can see through this pane,
where I make my decisions.
my thoughts ala carte,
and not all desirable,
sussed out in my universe;
perplexing to me.
sift through so many pages -
childhood habits and missteps.
when faith came my way,
how divine the candlelight,
the Spirit lighting my path.
electrifying,
sword of positivity
discerning my every word.
don’t always listen
to the reproof; button up.
shame’s not a place to live. look
up to God’s grace; bow
down in that out of sight place;
forward march into glory.
sometimes there are storms:
depression, obsessive fraughts.
I pray through it; God’s faithful.
lingering in brain,
too long, could drive me cuckoo;
get in, get out, get moving.
inner voice, I must control.
Button up your metaphors;
Zipper up your lip.
Shoot from any place you want
Other than the hip.
Writing what you really feel
By some will seem a crime,
Especially when posted
Like your others, all in rhyme.
Don’t express conflicting views.
Follow the advice
Of staying on the sidelines
And avoid all thinning ice.
Sometimes words can make a point
That’s better left unsaid
And on occasion, poems are better
When they aren’t read.
“Hey, Mom”
Hey, Mom!
I can’t sleep.
I’ve been awake for hours.
There are dragons at my door.
“Come crawl in beside me,” She said
“I’ll chase them far away.”
Hey, Mom!
I stubbed my toe.
It hurts really bad.
“Let me see.” She said
“Oh my gosh. I think it needs a kiss.”
Hey, Mom!
Johnny said I’m fat.
He makes me mad.
I want to clobber him.
“Come here a little hug will do,” She said
“You’re a diamond in my eye.”
Hey, Mom!
Can you take me to the park?
I want to ride a merry-go-round
And play in the sand.
“Let's ask a friend,” She said
“I’ll pack a lunch.”
Hey, Mom?
Could you tie my shoe
And button up my coat?
It’s cold outside.
“I’ll walk you to the corner,” She said
“And see you on the bus.”
Hey, Mom!
Can I stay up late
And watch TV with
You and Dad?
It’s time for bed
My little one
A little kiss will have to do.
Hey, Mom!
Would you read me
A bedtime story?
Sure, my little one
Now, It’s time to turn out the light.
“Sweet dreams,” She said, “Sweet Dreams.”
That’s what Moms do.
Hey, Mom!
“Happy Mother’s Day”
Get up,
Now, shut up.
Strap up,
Zip up,
Lace-up,
Button up,
Buckle up,
Now, go and level up.
Why are you looking down?
And why are you wearing that ugly frown?
Look at you, looking like a clown.
Stop playing; this is not a circus, so stop fooling around.
Get on up now,
And find out how.
Put down the 'Weary Willie' frown.
Now get up so you can get down.
Go get it,
Be invested in it.
So, shut up
And get up!
Up, up, up!
I am feeling fraught,
And, stupid too,
I don't know what to do.
I need to open a screw-top bottle,
Which I am about to throttle.
Bottle tops and lids on things
Also, those with tin pull rings.
Exasperate me.
I feel useless when I buy
Parcel that I can't untie
Tags that are too small to see
That should open the cling-wrapped purchases easily.
To button up a shirt or blouse
That used to take seconds
It could take hours.
Time is of the essence,
So it's said
Then there is another saying,
"You are a long time dead"
It must be my thinking that is askew.
As I furiously shake the bottle,
That I can't unscrew!
brisk cold winds settles
across the nation so wide
autumn days are flows in
~
sweat shirt woolen pants
big over coat button up
whosshs- burr cold outside
~
winter days has flows in
brisk cold winds blows on nation
fall gone winter here
11/26/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Old Expensive
The snow is falling, so, I button up my head,
above it, Someone’s sound – “above a street lamp”.
Music, leaks in, the lampshade sways,
hanging above a stained in bed;
Freddie gave it all for champagne.
Until, the thin applause fell flat!
Outside amongst the frozen sparrows,
and the cutting snowflakes, snowblades;
I see the monsters of winter, No!
I see the monster that is winter; coldly
emerging from its hollowness glade.
An old man in his expensive wilderness
rushes by, his white distorted knuckles
try to squeeze the breath, slowly from
his bitter dream of heavy coins and light notes.
While back at home! His wife shaves her skin,
to make him thin! She stands in a timeless mirror,
in a seamless hall, surrounded by a reflection of wealth!
This has now revealed itself as their poverty,
tangled in a bruise memory of blueing veins.
Comfortably! The monster sits; waiting in their counting house.
Yesterday was Button Day;
I somehow let it slip
Or maybe I just chose instead
To button up my lip.
Begun in 1938,
This date was set aside
To celebrate the crafters
Who keep notions stores supplied.
For think about your buttons –
Not those round ones, white and plain
But the myriad varieties
That sewing sites contain.
There are endless shapes and colors
And materials as well,
Most with little holes for threading –
Look real close and you can tell.
Why, the perfect style of button
Can improve a garment’s looks
And as fasteners, they’re easier
Than zippers, snaps or hooks.
Just don’t push somebody’s buttons,
Even one who’s button cute
For on Button Day (or one day late)
We owe them a salute.
An old flannel shirt with two button up the front pockets
Well-worn, soft, in faded colors of greens, reds, and blues.
A touch of green, and some bits of yellow, almost Christmas like.
It was my father’s favorite shirt; he wore it more days than not.
I watched him wear it for many years, maybe twenty.
When I see it, I think of him. When I smell it, he comes back fast.
He has been gone ten years this April, but when I miss him
I run to my closet and grab out his shirt, which smells like him.
Bringing his hazel eyes and his wavy dark hair into my memory.
I remember being thrown into the air, I remember funny things he said.
I remember the way I would catch his eye and we would laugh about nothing.
He was my daddy and I loved him, and I am glad to have his shirt.
After his death, my mother asked me if I wanted anything.
I grabbed this shirt, shocked my siblings had not already grabbed it.
If thieves come, they can take everything else in my house but not this.
This is mine, it smells like my Daddy, and it brings me comfort.
shushed severe with look
button locked together lips —
a withdrawn secret
6/8/2020
I have an old gray button up shirt
Like the cowboys wear with rugged jeans
It fits big and covers me up completely
So that I feel like I’m living uniquely
I love this old shirt that cost a pretty penny
Because I purchased her at a magazine with plenty
Of beautiful pieces to match and select
I chose her on the part that I like best
Her ability to cover my upper body fully
So that I don’t have a need to feel unworthy
Because of my chubbiness or lack of flair for flirting
This one piece of clothing makes me feel assurance
I love her pockets on the front that seem so enduring
And give me a place to put my smokes even though
I quit them in 2013 before I met my ex-husband
That smoker who will never quit – the alcoholic
I split up from him but didn’t let my shirt go with him
He liked it and if he’s had his way, he’d have took her with him
But I can only say – he’s gone and my shirt has stayed
She’s will me til my dying day or hers, whichever comes first
Hello Miss Sunshine;
You’re never out when;
It rains…
And oh hello as the clouds line up you see it’s time to change;
You’ve finally found out it’s time
To shine
Shine to shine;
Open up your umbrella, button up you raincoat
Cause it’s gonna rain, gonna rain Miss Sunshine;
Birds all go in when there’s mist in the air;
Birds follow one another just before it rains;
When the thunder and lightning cease…
Your bright smile embraces me…
Hello Miss Sunshine;
You’re never out when;
It rains…
And oh hello as the clouds line up you see it’s time to change;
You’ve finally found out it’s time
To shine
Shine to shine;
Open up your umbrella, button up you raincoat
Cause it’s gonna rain, gonna rain Miss Sunshine;
Mary Sunshine Meet Mr. Moon;
You make us happy even in June;
I’ll be out tonight, everything gonna be alright, alright
Good bye winter darkness;
Hello, summer dawn;
Oh, you’re too far in the sky my love for you see it’s you I want to love;
Cover me with your rays of hope;
9/14/70
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©1970,2019
“Mother” A Poem
It was my hair day
Time to get chopped
And feel a change of sorts
Taking my seat
To rest my feet
A lady beside me
In her space wear helmet
Was almost done
Eileen was returned to her chair
By two girls who exchanged a stare
“If you know who needs the loo
It’s not a pretty sight
So don’t get a fright”
It was a blessing that Eileen’s hearing was regressing
As scissors danced with Lightning speed
Hair rained down
Upon my knees
Just then the bell rang
Someone’s face at the glass
Enter son to collect mother at last
Mother was nearly done
Coffered and lacquered in front of her son
“Button up Mother it’s cold outside
Where’s your handbag love?
Is it by your side”?
Alone in my chair I didn’t mean to stare
But the love that flowed
Was a sight to behold
In a world that is now
Gone quite cold
Close your eyes and see a loch, the spot I go:
icy waters swirl beneath my wooden boat,
tall surrounding hills are blanketed in snow,
lashed by hail, I button up my winter coat,
Nessie glides and fishes in her world below.
Will she choose today to surface, maybe float?
If she's friend or foe, I long to see her face!
Visits only in my head, I love this place...
for Carolyn's My Place contest
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