The plaster in Rick’s place was always flaking near the doorway,
eaten away by damp heat and cheap tobacco smoke
that hung like dirty lace off the cedar joists.
Back in the corner sat a stunted, yellowed box—
a five-octave upright slapped with salmon and faded gold,
its pedals worn down to raw, scuffed brass.
It wasn’t built for concert halls. Just a pine-cased crate
that smelled of spilled Cointreau and stale olive brine.
Heavy teak doors kept the street noise out,
but couldn’t block the shuffle of black-market transit papers
passing under the low oil lamps.
Then Sam laid his knuckles on the keys,
cracked ivory, half-sticking from the salt air,
and the room went dead quiet.
She stood in the entry, silk coat catching the light,
asking for that song from Paris
before the tanks rolled in.
Rick didn't yell. He just stopped dead in his tracks,
watching the smoke curl off his cigarette
where it rested on the edge of the wood.
“Play it,” he muttered, his voice flat as gravel,
and the little wooden box gave up the only thing it had left.
{Poet’s Note : Third Poem of Set of 5 SPOKEN WORD poems written in SAPPHIC STANZAS }
____________________
Power of moment equals power itself
intuition is direct perception true
free from any reasoning constrictions
truth redemption raw
Intelligence with insight fresh dwells in Heart
recognition of holy inheritance
calls going out never return unanswered
ONE listens raptly
Sisters ! we are pure existence, finely cased
resist not this, lest offspring rings no lacy face
cast no emotion asunder, scatter on waves
judge not Dark Nights of Soul
Identify viable passions, what’s best
explore possibilities, differentiate hest
trust your ideas and commitments, no fear
away from crowds, hear
Will of Supreme desires meshment of leaves
birthed not to resist parts of One, reject no eaves
return to states of harmony now urgent
acceptance of all
Equalise resistibility to trying seasons
timid is need to fathom everything new
lose not ourselves in futures still to arrive
motions of waves ebb
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Immediately after being found "guilty"
of denying that the earth was stationary
and the sun orbited around it, Galileo
said, "Eppur si muove!" [But it moves!])
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
A tisket ,a tasket
Kirk's cased in his casket
This earth no more walking
All from his straight talking
Drove Tyler Robinson
To fire one shot from his gun
That produced his silence
Leading to more violence
Never a solution
Rather revolution.
A wife of husband bereft
Two kids fatherless left
The Second Amendment
Was never heaven sent
With the grim widowmaker
No more than a lifetaker.
Is that to be the future
Bullets us to butcher?
The only home that I have known,
was squeezing my blood out of stone.
I have been told it's freezing cold,
I think this home needs to be sold.
Too vandalized for me to hold, at least
I will be given gold, a feast if I can be
so bold.
The doors are gone, the windows too
but keep this between me and you.
To sell this shell and start anew, is
something that I have to do.
This four walled, stair cased empty
crypt, these sections I eventually skipped.
In essence I must be equipped, by lessons
learnt and efforts slipped.
Tell Orpheus; "The time has come", his
farewell song is finally sung.
I was too young to love this space, so I
grew up to hate this place, a refuge that
was laid to waste.
This broken palace to my disgrace became
a dream too late to chase.
I must escape in such a haste, this disgust
is too much to face, just dust that I can
touch and taste when all I need, is a warm
embrace.
Moonflower with white trumpet-shaped bloom
Dewy emerald leaves surround in nights gloom.
Cased in rich soil beneath a quarter moon.
Planted vines loosely knit—by my bedroom they sit.
Sweet fragrance they emit— to incense I submit.
Stunning tropic morning glories amaze
Sunlight and moonlight upon them gaze.
Phantasmic nightlamps in jade landscape haze.
Night’s primrose, moonglow calls—unveiling enthralls.
Dangling shadowy shawls— glistening waterfalls
Flowery white faint lavender tones loom.
Oh sleepy Moon by day lucidly lit,
Behold twilight’s glimmer on garden’s walls:
Gibbous Moon’s gleam suspending in a daze.
an open cased window, fresh air and plenty of rain, I'm in so deep
Great thoughts once kissed my lobes
Before blank despair her flags raised;
And brimless hope reigned as globes
Of full-shining stars in glowing cased.
Now see what dismal desolate shells
Melancholy sulk where dreams stood;
Wherein arid future's unavailing wells
Barren gape amongst vipers’ broods.
Kind heaven upon my oblations smiled
Many long years dead when luck shone,
And winds favorably blew like lilacs wild;
Erst when juvenility lit bright hours gone.
Present times repugnant drown in bile
Hastily milked from some putrid reptile,
Their galling pungency outlasts high grit
Cowards laud in bold battles’ heroic writ.
If fair fortune's rotations should bring
A morsel of past’s elusive sweetness,
I’ll one dozen more grateful carols sing
Than did my lips under boyish harness.
Nectared graces overwhelming must
Underline your pulse-halting charms;
Utopian opal spelt by honeyed terms,
Resistless pearl cased in mortal dust.
Fair-miened nymphs kings did melt;
But such sly vixens, like old Phoenix
Acing artful Death's ambrosial tricks,
Would find your rig a conundrum yet.
Dead fancy's fairy in gowns of wool,
Would vote this trim flawless figure
Finer than fiction's gildings meager;
Nature’s art unsullied by apish tool.
Nor would pageant-lauded beauties,
Though posh their foppish styles be;
With roses laureled in limitless glee,
Dim this time's own queen of cuties.
Where lurks this sure paragon high,
Beauty-capped acme of poets' tales;
Yet glamorous and unbeaten in vales
Of breath and death where jewels lie?
I am a tree, so I wish to be,
but not just any tree you'd find.
I love the heat and not wet feet,
so there are few options in mind.
I'm not too sour or great in power,
so citrus or mango isn't me.
I have purpose and reason, fruit in due season.
My favorite color is my fruit's rind---
maroon cased, beautiful taste
with kisses of wisdom sun-shined.
My fruit's insides have great meaning,
each seed a prize to appreciative eyes
with fresh scented delights made for gleaning.
I'm a healthful symbol with branches nimble.
My fruit is astringent, juicy, and sweet,
charming to behold, a pleasure to hold.
I'm a pomegranate tree holding your treat.
12-30-19
Apology to the truth
On behave of the world
I here by apologized
On behave of every human
To the truth
We are so sorry
We were blind to you
Gift to the world
We were far from you
Cos your opposite
Was our choice
We prefer it colours
And made it so great
In our world
So sad we never realise
Your great benefit
The few that did
Are called crazy
In a dying world
Apology to the truth
On behave of the world
Am saying sorry to the truth
Cos we abuse her nature
We have cased here far
From our presence
No wonder our lips are full
Of deceit
We are so terrible to life
And the only source
Of our redemption
We throw it far from
Our homes
Apology to the truth
On behave of the new generation
I pure my heart to their life growth
Especially spiritually
Please don't be blind
To this present era
Life ahead of our time
Teach us but leave our deformity
We are running with out
No curse
Chasing after the wind
When life is sure
And the only sure source
Is only but the truth
Yet in our era
It is a crime
So on behave of all
Mankind I tender an
Apology to the truth
Oh gorgeous blue butterfly from Peru,
My daughter's gift she brought back cased in glass,
You cheer my heart each time I gaze at you.
Your life cut short, it is a shame, alas,
Yet you live on eternally you see
Because forever in your case you keep
And I will pass you down to family.
Into their hearts too, your beauty will creep.
In my mind's eye I see you soaring free
Within the forest flora where you roam
Flitting flower to flower happily,
You have a place of honor in my home.
You remind me that after death's cold claim
Your tiny spirit still retains its flame.
10-4-19
~Second Place~
Writing Challenge, October - Butterfly-
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart- Wiishkobe Ode
In the light in my heart I can't believe you're there
the smile of your eyes do stare to my soul
In cased trap Beauty spiritually runs through your soul
Spell refunding truce of God resonates through you so
The breath of your life heart pumping
The worship in your mind is prime
Hallelujah to your heart
In the light of this heart I can't believe you're mine
As you smile a twinkle of your eye dark lights up so
Encased Beauty abundantly more
I love your spiritual thoughts
Hallelujah to your heart
8/23/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
No wonder why I have this naked head
These weak claws, Neither have I ever
Wondered why I feed chiefly on carrion
Rotting carcass dressed by fellow humane
Ages past starving, preying, pitying shame.
Carrion bird been termed, so wary I envy
The keen and noble eagle whose social unit
Portray efficiency and tranquility in plays
How he is gifted in soaring up highs spred
He preys on fresh flesh, he hustles nothing.
Vultures we been cased by mother nature
For we toil yet others birds emblems might
We long for the deprived freedoms, denied
And fed on their remains. Avarice being no
Shame for no honor is related to my name.
Black birds whom seize by violence, preys
Like us, feeds greedily stood forth our Sire.
Corrupt ravens whom disperse parliaments
Owls on the watch, waiting to grace thier
Chance too, damned birds of disgust, cursed.
5 January 19
Lowlifediarist
In words deeply cased lead makes no mistake
held by one hammer hitting home
dropping through the threads of a barrel
smoking time words hotly fused within polished fire
Strikes the target truth into the heart of justice
pained no longer blind suffering fates path
it all makes sense in the end looking at four walls
reading the writings feeling a coldness in some
Getting a grip through spiritual reality
where ghosts hold no body exists to breathe
deceivers will fall like lightening sulphur based
when the bolt finally strikes them down being honest
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