It's the new crank call
A bridgeless troll
A keyboard warrior
In private euphoria
It's a disconnection
On-screen reflection
On enters press
Eternal numbness
It's a devil's advocate
A spineless strut
A hit-and-run
Of thoughtless fun
It's the new crank call
The death of soul
A bridgeless troll
The blackest hole
I always thought I needed to be changed
Because those who loved me called me names
Said I was strange, weird, odd,
I thought something was wrong with me
But then I became a mother, and I realized
I was a better mother than my own
I did not call my children names
No one told them they were strange
They were confident before I was
They are self-assured and their own people
I have raised three assertive women
Finally, I can be myself
Proud of my cartooning, my painting, my poetry
Glad I know how to laugh and have fun
Excited that I have replaced name-callers with namesakes.
My life is what I always wanted it to be
Fleetings are too faint,
too few, and so far between.
Fleeting is a butterfly
alighted with folded wings.
The glimpse of love
a flimsy kiss on cheek brings.
Dewdrops left on leaves
by early morning mist.
Echoes faint and feeble
that callers often missed.
The glint of sunbeams
quivering on a rippled lake.
The sunrise briefly peaking
through clouds at day-break.
The flit of candle flames
brushed by secret hushed remarks,
whispered quietly,
to quell the spell of tell-tale larks.
Fleetings are footnotes,
too often skipped,
when skip-reading, from your scripts!
I called for rain
to heal the cracks of dryness in lips and soil.
To sprout the seeds I'd sown
in hope expectant in dry soil,
and with clouds looming gray in skies overhead.
But alas it came,
too early,
too late,
or never came at all.
For when it rains too little it withers,
rains too much it drowns.
When it makes callers wait
far too long on hold, it appalls.
For rain is a wild cantankerous beast,
with a mind of its own,
leaving callers lost, hurt,
frustrated and exasperated
in its aftermath.
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
The Age of Terror
It’s a new reign of terror
With demon hit squads roaming the earth
To lurk on roof tops, hedges
And parking lots for their attack
While cowardly anonymous callers SWAT
The unsuspecting next in line.
All the time the voice boxes
With their silent protest paddles
And bullhorns call for mayhem and murder,
Blood in the streets
And resistance in the name of democracy,
All for their deranged minions to do.
As they do nothing but double down
On their insider trading
Planning on the day
When they’ll be back in the seat of power
Back driving the economy off the cliff
And their adversaries into gulags.
This is the age of terror
Where nowhere or one is safe,
Where the Death Cult's agenda of greater good
Includes the sacrifice of you and me
By the billions
In the name of order, security, peace and freedom.
This is where we are today.
Are you terrified yet?
Or are you laughing at their desperation,
As the morning tide continues to rise, lifting all boats
Destroying all
Their castles made of sand.
(3/12/25)
Don Clarke acted like one who’d soon leave.
His callers stood up in compliance,
Then heard the gasped relief Clarke did heave,
To them Clarke’s hurting non-reliance:
The fears of losing his appliance!
“Clarke might his tears wipe with his shirt’s sleeve!”
His stereo that fuels his vain long dance.
Oh! How Clarke loved the songs Big Stars weave;
His mind songs help to strike some balance
Once more, he shall thank Reeve Steve,
For its purchase and song-listening chance…
Meanwhile, play-acting for his callers
Feared by him Disguised Stereo Sellers.
You can’t visit during working hours
And along take exposed sweets and flowers!
Why do we meet plain virulent showers
On persons who’d hurt the working hours?
Heads would at rule-breaking callers glower,
Red anger permit to reach its tower.
Lover of cake you can’t calm with flour;
He might not leave you long in his bower.
If the price to pay was famished lion
Would you visits pay your will iron?
A huge room not denied luxury,
The rejected in it: Misery
Of fine glass up to the bookshelf:
If one was close to it saw oneself:
The weight of a thousand Christian Books
And at what the smart owner looks;
Glasses for whisky but no whisky:
To have whisky displayed risky:
"One can't defend in a voice husky
What surely makes the keeper frisky".
His callers would sit in a cushion
Owner of the room lives for true fashion:
Man can serve Lord God and some passions
And this not prompt long quizzing sessions...
The clean-shaven in a clean cassock
He had vowed he would never forsake.
A man's joke could not trigger laughter:
A good one about helicopter
Some poor guy often flew in dreams
While in true life could not pay for creams;
Audience of joke cracker creditors,
Who needed prompt cash for auditors;
Three with him for their thousand dollars,
On that day joke cracker's First callers.
"So, why these tales about helicopter
And opening an unwished chapter?"
Tales might veer to roofs of rafter
Now left for Generations after...
Joke got the more intolerable,
When he said not things honorable
They are not leaving him just, like that
Each need to show rat he'd turned a cat
Yes, jokes could fall flat for bad timing
And one can't restore them with miming.
The doorbell chimed
She answered
It’s a pregnant woman
She never read the no cold callers sign then, he thought
Are you going to see what she wants
Footballs on, a man should never be disturbed when the footballs on
Was it eight months ago
Just a bit of fun
Why the hell don't women take precautions
This was not going to be pleasant
Hi John, you’re probably wondering who I am
You spoke to my husband about a month ago
He says you’re great at assembling flat packed furniture
As you can see, I’m getting to the critical stage
Yeah, right, I remember
Listen, don't you worry, I’ll pop round tomorrow
Have that nursery built in no time
Thanks, John, that will be great
By the way, if it’s a boy
John was one of the names we were thinking about.
One bird didn't head south.
It found a wee crack under the mailbox and is riding out winter.
It gets two callers a day.
Startled-it explodes from its plastic nest.
On Sunday we all take a rest.
For three straight days there were no signs of life.
Maybe it grew lonesome and caught up to the flock.
Feathers and brown grass dangle from that icy winter box.
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
They look at one child, one points
He knows whatever it is, it is bad.
Sets the tone for his day.
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
One stands up and argues it is an untruth.
They spit her out of their “gang”.
She ruins everything
Whisper whisper laugh laugh laugh
Others begin calling them on their stuff.
They get angry; the group gets smaller.
They advance into a name-calling realm.
Bystanders have been trained to be upstanders.
They call the name-callers on it.
Bullying has stopped being fun.
They wander away, licking their wounds.
An effective school counseling program
A proactive counselor
And empathetic children who care
Have uplifted the school environment.
Yes it can be done.
Takes a little training
But it is worth it in the end
I am the one who guides you
Or tell you not to punch your boss
The one that tells you not to indulge in road rage
And keep your cool with unknown callers
Or not to flip off the rude man at the store
I help you decipher right from wrong
Or hold it together
And stay sane by not flying off the handle
I'm at the heartbeat of the essence of you
Your constant
I'm there when no one else is
I'm your moral compass
The glue that holds you together
Your voice of reason
And your common sense
Please don't act like you don't know who I am
I'm your conscience
Yes, that’s me in the flesh
And don't you ever forget it
05/29/2021
Alotta Was a girl with plenty;
Plenty of callers;
Foolish lusting fellows;
Most of which, just wanted sex;
ALOTTA pride don't want none of it;
You see she was beautiful;
Yet, above all Alotta
A child of God
And she tells her suitors
She's waiting till marriage
5/8/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
Hard roads and moments are coming. It's inevitable.
Brace for the night callers and crawlers.
Don't wait for turmoil to abate.
Before constructing your own peace.
At your own pace.
The construction materials for this place of peace:
Are within what makes you joyful,
what makes you mentally and physically healthy.
Don't wait for others to participate.
They may be busy building their own place of peace.
Or they may not be interested at all.
We are built to create great things.
That includes our own peace.
We are built to love.
To smooth the hard moments of another.
Fill potholes and move on to the next road.
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