THE WELL DRESSED MAN my first ever poem written in 2005
One night I came to Tea Rooms
I came along bare feet
The owner looked at me and said
Shoes!!!!! or ye canna have a seat
I looked at him and said,
My face, my arms, my legs
my bare and hairy chest
Why there's even women here
who show a bit of breast
But he was determined
that I should be well dressed
Bare feet are not acceptable
and he was not impressed
So out I went and fossicked
in my yellow kombi van
Until I found a pair of thongs
I'm now a well dressed man
The thongs they covered up my soles
enough to gain me entry
To take my place and sit among
the shod Maleny gentry
And as I ponder 'bout these feet
that are so much maligned
I've never put them on the table
anywhere I've dined
But rules are rules as we all know
regardless of the logic
But my lovely little bare feet
are seen as bloody toxic
No matter that there's sweaty jocks
or shoes that carry grit
The way we dress is how we're seen
as sartorially unfit
Footnote: Not another poem until July 2025
The semi dessert place of the beaten track,
a little oasis of orchards in the dirt cul de sac.
Where no one can find that man anymore,
stone walls full of herbs in bloom adore.
Walk through overgrown Granadilla,
Canna lilies in red, yellow and Lila.
The enchanter of life between the spinach,
long white hair and beard fits the image.
Ancestors evolution in body and mind,
heavens exile through natures law combined.
He speaks of Serbian symbols by habit,
natural life is the living as to grab it.
Showing admiration by respect,
given in love beyond all values detect.
The phenomenon at every moment clear,
Moon references stating the path so dear.
The bread and wine of the soul,
clean conscience as life wisdom whole.
Then all that produces longing,
depriving the heart of its freedom.
Possibilities is the nature of free will,
virtue that can stand all vices still.
If one probe the depths of a character need,
it becomes life’s ideal and greatest seed.
On your day in white
He shall take you to wife
Til death don't you part
Your eternal journey embark
The Holy Spirit of Promise
Joined with one kiss
May God and Jesus allow
For your infinite bliss
In faith and in temple
You join to one flesh
In faith and in temple
Your lives forever mesh
Across from each other
You gaze at the future
Vows of eternity
Your love's sweet assurity
I Love You MADS. I wish I was there to celebrate with you.
Your BFTTAT (best friend through thick and thin),
Lyric Canna
Mind meanders the off-beat, sultry stream
In his irises beam dreamy-colored confetti
Satin seeds spark growing sensorial needs
Smiling silken caresses of petal-rich kisses
Breezy boldness makes a bloom succumb
Enamored by airiness, to nod and swerve
Heaven’s clouds swept along in hilly mirth
Aquamarine shines all ‘round a lily, Canna
Vivacious freckles flame red in heated rev
Immersed in a cool wind’s lips laying a lei
Naked 'n soft, upon a throbbing neck vein…
(8/13/2020: Eliminator Eagle)
up&around
creeps virginia
midst boston's ivy
where
oregon grapes
mahonia
above
idaho grass
blue-eyed
in a texas
dawn
&coloured
new hampshire
purple
a
alabama slammer
canna
wyoming
up the
arizona cypress
fuchsia california
shading
colorado
tansyasters
I hardly understand ye anymore…
Ye speak so softly
And my hearing it’s gone poor
Ye go all angry on me
When I misunderstand...It’s walkin’ on eggs
When I walk through the door
I hold my tongue now
It’s rarely I speak…and
When I do It’s no more than a wee squeak
It’s hard to speak to ye
When I canna hear your reply
And I hate so to see the fire in your eye
So it’s quiet as a wee mouse
I’ll most often be in the house
And hopen ‘ ye won’t go all angry at me
For my hearing tis’ disappearing
And you speak a bit softly
…That’s why I don’t try much anymore…
18 lines
119 words
I love those flowers
pleasant blossoms floral plants
cool lavender plants
walking the garden
I see blues, pinks, reds, orange
yellows and purples
picturesque lion tails
cottage garden flowers smells
as I walk this trail
lions tails canna
rose laden trellises climb
allamanda plants
cool lavender plants
pleasant blossoms floral plants
as I walk this trail
2/5/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
You're a horse with an idiot paint job,
all zig-zaggy blacketty-white
you stand out when you're in a snowdrift
and can't even hide in the night.
Outrunning a Cheetah you canna
not graceful like any Gazelle
for living out on the Savanna
your life must be probably hell.
I once tried your flesh on Safari
at a camp where we had barbecue
so to add insult to injury
ugly Warthog tastes better than you.
For contest 'To a …... ' sponsored by David Lindsay
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poetic Lyrics By Thomas Lam Hsi (Andress-'URSULA')
Strange...IT MAY SEEM...THAT-A-ROY-AL/STAR-'n/MAGIC...LIKE/POE-TRY-'n/MOTION...CAN/BE-FOR-GOTTEN! A-SILLY/OLD-NO-TION! THAT...CRASH-'n/BASH-'NBURN/CAN-BE-A/'CANNA-BEANS...EAS-I-LY/FOR-GOT/TEN! STRANGE...IT MAY SEEM...THAT...LOVE-IN-THE/BLUE-LIGHT-IN...THE BLUEST-STARLIT/BLUE-MOON-LIT/WINTER'S/NIGHT...LIKE...A/POET...HOW-LING/IN-THE-WIND! SEES...STRANGE/MAGIC! ISN'T-IT...SUCH-STRANGE/MAGIC!?!?! THAT-ANGELS/TEAR-AND/POUR...PURPLE/HEARTS...FROM-STARS! OH...IT'S...SUCH...STRANGE...MAGIC! LIKE...POETRY-'n/MOTION...SOME/TIMES...JUST...ONCE...OR...TWICE...OR-THRICE...JUST...SOME...TIMES...HALEY'S-COMES! LIKE...POETRY-'n/MOTION...just...ONCE...or/TWICE...or/THRICE?!?! COME...AGAIN?
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
Golden Glowing Biscuits
Eohippus at the dawn of history rides off the earth
His son the dawn horse rides out on the day
First through a lush field of heather up ahead
Guided by shifting westward winds
Then over the hills of clover running to the cliff
Down labyrinths of canyons crooked paths
Past the canna, columbine and hollyhock bursts of reds
There, just over long green grasses beyond the pastures
The animal takes a break
Relieves himself, releases golden biscuits to the earth
Which aid the fertile fields to grow and flourish
Purkle fog
The purple fog descends anew,
Behind the battered green door too,
Purple flashes cross the room ,
A yellow candle burns in the gloom,
On a rough hewn table true,
Behind the battered door of green,
Where meet the misty shimmering ,
astral figures come to gather here,
a tryst for lovers may appear,
if I get me landing lights on blue?
Large yellow candle splutters here,
And wax it drips on the table near,
My feet caint touch the bloody floor?
I’m drifting back out the bloomin door,
Swinging by me toe-nails, little more,
Get a grip ole mate, try to,
I grab the beams just overhead,
And launch myself at the table dread,
And she appears in translucent dew,
My thoughts do swerve, now wadd-ya do,
Just take the babe to bed?
But this I canna do??? {what do ya do}
Don Johnson
Enough to make
The heart quake…
The smile on Ruby’s lips
Enough to cause
The pulse to pause…
The curve of Ruby’s hips
Enough to light
The darkest sky
The sound of Ruby’s sighs…
Enough as such
The feel and touch
The heat of hands and thighs
Enough…and yet not quite
The most stunning sunset
Canna’ match the light
Not the brightest moon
Nor the brightest star
Nor the warmth of love on a night in June
Are not the equal of
But only a sequel to love
…The lovely light in Ruby’s eyes…
Me slob clob be a dirty grey
me school an open alleyway
no sissy pens; we wield 'em guns
me canna count but me's no dunce
Clompers bare; me sneakers hocked
jiggle barefoot roll and rock
breathe in deep me dead-rat whiff
and suck me wacky backy spliff
Workavoidic be me graft
pleasure be a tankard draught
a willing gape to lard me wand
in Pete or Rex or busty blonde
Me rolled the slapper in the buff
caught the clap; she's up the duff
me downs no drink not alcoholic
comfy in me world shambolic
*******************************
Remembering how the sweet scented garden stood
Straight stemmed Canna Lilies with pale yellow blooms
Follow the Fluer de Lis Iris spring's passion understood
Before Iris' purple, a host of Daffodils' sweet perfume
Then the saliferous warrior sprayed Roundup fumes
Now only weeds are plentiful in my sweet garden
Looking through the window to enjoy a sweet view
This heart toward the piquant warrior became harden
Knowing a sweet garden is gone~ only weeds spew
Age says to just give it a sweet kiss adieu
Sponsor:Andrea Dietrich
Contest: Sweet Or Salty
Written October 25, 2013
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