Jazz Composition
Common Verses Free
French Free Form Overature Jazz
5th 3rd overature
Circles. 2 twice trumpet
Haunting 3rd brass instruction
From further below
Than rise
Chirps measure
Blackbird is the altered blues draw
Birds chirp in a paired 3 verses 3 top measure of 2 in line
Over 3 verses 3 verses 3
Bottom measure of 3 in line circling waters break in flight
3d's in a separated pair
Second pair drifts in to flight
Bottom row
3 b's lilting right lift
3 p's
Inverted taking notes
Hanging for eyes dear last measure
Forty five angled plight swoons seating oft
Canary yellow wings of warmth oil a canvas
Jazz Composition
Common Verses Free
French Free Form Overature Jazz
5th 3rd overature
Circles. 2 twice trumpet
Haunting 3rd brass instruction
From further below
Than rise
Chirps measure
Blackbird is the altered blues draw
Birds chirp in a paired 3 verses 3 top measure of 2 in line
Over 3 verses 3 verses 3
Bottom measure of 3 in line circling waters break in flight
3d's in a separated pair
Second pair drifts in to flight
Bottom row
3 b's lilting right lift
3 p's
Inverted taking notes
Hanging for eyes dear last measure
Forty five angled plight swoons seating oft
Canary yellow wings of warmth oil a canvas
canary yellow
voiding wings to gifted voice
lost in translation
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
"Never paint except with the three primary colors [red, blue, and yellow] and their derivatives." Camille Pissarro
One primary color can make me feel mellow
when warm like honey heated up or like rays of a golden sun.
It’s flax, saffron, blond, and canary yellow,
cheerful like a daffodil and bumblebee fun.
It’s bananas too and a well-buttered bun!
The second and vivid primary color
spells energy, boldness, passion and power.
Cardinals make most other birds seem simply duller.
A symbol of love, rose reigns as a fragrant red flower,
while scarlet and crimson sunsets my eyes can devour.
The loveliest for me of these three colors is the hue
that melds with yellow, thus creating green.
Some jewels, blooms and berries are naturally blue.
Splendid is a dusk with the tint of an indigo sheen.
Oh, cerulean sky above seawater shimmering aquamarine!
I’ve long since been gone but now I wish to return, if you’ll let me. I was down the thorny path, in the woodchipper, stuck in time, dancing into deed. It’s no match, a man with a curse vs a man with a heart. Its ten to zero, ones not even fighting. We’ve seen the underbelly of the storm cloud, flashing with scowling bolts of canary yellow. Cried onto the flat pale of the earth. So that the ponds and lakes filled like eyes trying to sting away tears. Mothers and fathers have seen tougher times. You’ve toughed out the times, but I've looked the other way. I still want to hold you until the mourning doves set the stage for the sun. We can watch a movie together and forget that it’s on. There will be peace. When it’s all said and done there won’t even be a hatchet.
I take a step back and look at my canvas with inches of acrylic paint piled on as a result of trial and error.
Something is off.
Are the tones mismatched?
Why is it unbalanced?
Do I no longer like the subject matter?
I bite at my nails, I bounce my leg, my eyes dart from corner to corner.
Did I do something wrong?
I inhale and fixate on my palette.
Charcoal Gray, Crimson Red, Canary Yellow.
Beautiful, but wrong to me.
My hands open and the colors drop to the floor.
I rummage through the additional shades and pull out the one that is identical to the canvas.
The canvas I haven’t seen in years. The canvas riddled with subjective mistakes. The canvas that endured a lifetime of experimentation.
I untwist the cap, dip the brush directly inside, and slather the canvas.
Though the acrylic grew thicker and the texture of my previous strokes remained,
I was starting new.
Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung.
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.
Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water.
There was a calm tranquillity about the place
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.
He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman.
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body.
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose.
He did not move but stood mesmerized,
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice.
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole.
Come, sit near me
And tell me how you found this place."
To be concluded in Part 3
Nonsense feeders, just useless
Impeders, slow and lazy in a walk
To cake, sluggish decievers wasting
Space; even though theres plenty of
It they still waste it we're sure of it
Coulden't they be in canary yellow?
So all could avoid the stupid fellows.'
Have they got familiy? Who'd own
These bums, david hurly might be one?
He's quite the lyre-bird we've heard.'
In thrall to the who-lers mark my words!
Sack the lot.' Kick them out.' Carping
Skiters, that have no clout.'
doc. death gave him
two to six...weeks to
live
none of us believed it...
but within a month
the rough-edged
hard-drinking bus mechanic
turned from white to canary yellow...
and as he inhaled the last of life
an angel emerged from the mist
of his open water hopelessness
and whispered, "it's time to go, big fella".
a balloon
canary yellow
the sun on her leash
AP: 1st place, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 26, 2020 for contest STRAND COMPLETELY NEW POETRY (1) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION
POTD - June 26, 2020
A 68 Coronet
in canary yellow
white vinyl top
440 mag inside
a four pack on top
an auto shift
60 in 10
in black smoke
room for five
and all their bags
12 to the mile
but 32 cents
so long ago
lost in time
once it was
in my youth
Burgundy
My dear Burgundy, I heard a purple, splendid tapping
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul
You, Oh!, so you said only this you’re in trappings red
I crave the crimson, cerulean canary yellow this I dread
And the rubies never overdrawing
And the rubies always daunting
Ever so settle,
I am shorn of my bedfellow
Violet. . .
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul, you’re the water in my veins
Sweet purple haze
Remembering many colorful, striking roses
The chromatic colored cultivating
Arose so illuminating!'
And eyes have all and augmenting
As myrtles came launching invigorating
This and a beryl
I have dreamed of the stems
And so I screamed, 'Is that brown?
Burgundy you color my heart, my soul you’re my flower
Eagerly I looked for the claret the pea coat laughed
Orange bled red as brown embraced them
I stand by burgundy she’s all that…better than any fine vintage wine
8/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
The term driver of victory
came to me unbidden, unexplored
I tossed it around in my dendrite chambers
My muse caught it and ran with it
She is amusing, but she has great ideas too
She decided Victory was a race car,
We daringly painted her in our favorite colors.
Hot pink, canary yellow, and outrageous orange.
Victory was beautiful, gloriously bright.
She showed up all of the other race cars
They were dull in their silly primary colors
With wraps from well-known sponsors
We stood beside Victory in our silky race car jackets
painted in hot pink, canary yellow and outrageous orange.
The other cars cried, they were so intimidated.
Let the race begin!
Written 6-04-2019
Contest: Driver of Victory Verse
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Near the end, his skin turned canary yellow.
His fingers were as thin as an elegant cigarette.
His blue gem eyes sank just below the waterline.
Above the bed was a picture of an empty crucifix.
Pointing in the general direction of his final breath.
A few nights before he passed, he asked for a beer.
I poured him one into a dark coffee mug.
The old bus mechanic lightly chuckled...
said he couldn't see the rising bubbles.
I re-poured into an elegant glass, fit for royalty.
In the half-light, the amber halos rose to meet his lips.
He never did take a sip.
I had broken the rules but granted a king a pauper's wish.
Sometimes when matters are in the gray,
it ain’t always black and white
There are times when emotions are deep blue,
canary yellow thoughts can make us wanna fly, shy away
Then, bright orange glowing memories
bring gentle, evergreen smiles
As time’s seasonal change sunset down on us
Being lifelong lovers, we got
amethyst purple hearts of courage
that beats with
ruby red rhythms of loving perseverance
Here at this humble, brownstone garden abode,
two pink carnations have budded and bloomed
Now looking at the graying of the skies,
we can see the rainbows in each other’s eyes
Reflecting the soul spectrum of our love
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