Oh, the things we might write if we all channeled Seuss:
like streams of Foie Gras through a cannibal goose!
Even masters might gain, yes even the bard.
Cuz you’ve got to admit it: that blank verse is hard.
And thank goodness this doc was a Seuss, not a Geisel,
or our poems would struggle to include a weasel.
Yes, it’s so much more fun to bid you a good day
in a playfully, lyrical, Seussian way!
words come to me in batches
for days they will include witches, goblins and jack-o-lanterns
like obsessions, they include spell books, brooms, bats and ghosts
in an abrupt about face
they change alliteratively into dogs doing daring deeds daily.
wild wildebeests wishing we were wayfaring wanderers.
prancing princesses providing presents proving professorships.
I do not control them, they are in charge of me.
today’s words were in my head before I got out of bed.
I heard the last two lines of a poem I had been creating in my sleep.
not unusual unfortunately.
What is unusual is if I remember them.
words can be playful, joyful, happy, friendly and kind.
this is when I am concentrating on poems for children
I do not think you can be too optimistic for them.
when they turn dark, gloomy and morose, I am shocked.
these are not my words, I think. Who am I channeling?
Poe? Coleridge? a serial killer?
words set the stage for my daily life.
their ambiance creates my mood.
I have no idea where they originate.
But they end up on a typed page.
The second he put on the boxer shorts he began to box.
It was instantaneous, and he was great at it too.
He is amazing said his aunt, who remembered the Fox.
His grandpa Tom, a professional boxer with silk shorts of blue.
It is like he is channeling the fox said his aunt Marsha Lee.
I have to admit, said his uncle Tommy, I certainly do agree.
The four-year-old put himself into a stance invented by Tom.
His audience all cheered for him and called him the “bomb”.
"channeling"
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2
The tiny hand that crabs your little finger,
birth of passage for the individual thinker.
Personality through intuitive developing spirit,
like the artist becomes art itself and it’s lyrics.
To see the spirit of modesty is beauty itself,
veiled by nature to cover the greater excels.
Himself most modest but intimate with those,
who practice the scales of cosmic force.
That ethos is like some genuine art,
added with a life responding heart.
Evidence of prophecy from divine tongue,
personality and interpretation unsung.
The wise asks the question into the mirror,
the free heart opens the channel of nearer.
Knowing the ego is born from the ashes of false,
then matter is a state of spirit, throwing some salt.
Words that come through light from source of soul,
more precious than all jewels, by being whole.
so whispering breeze
the wind slight diminishing
speak channeling waves
11/14/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
There once was a timid young mummy
His attire incredibly crummy
He draped a dinner jacket
across his golden casket
Now the pretty ghouls are more chummy
Breaking through the apathy
Of the outside world
Subliminal in my ear
Like osmosis it issued forth
An amazing island of sound
With voice's resonance harmoniously imparted
With the multiplicity of overtones
From all directions
Omnipotent waves of notes of wonder
Absorbed within my cavity
The treble to bass
A soundtrack to my spirit
Vibrations of translated delight
Its grandness of mood and muse
Of love sublime
The sheer gratitude of being alive
And full of heart
To become an emotional stream
A river of soul
That flows from inward to outward
From my body until
It can go no further and tries to escape
With small explosions
Surfacing on my skin
Forming tiny bumps of flesh
In a multitude of electrical charges
Goosebumps - the last bastion
of true emotions
November 26, 2019
Goosebumps Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Delilah Ventura
As the music inflates,
like a David Bowie video
My voice is set free
for the words to diffuse
Floating above the unwritten verse
like steam escaping
And drifting free as the
pressure expands
It cries out the release of a
lyric unsung
Channeling a melody
—neither future nor past
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)