My Ship sails on a stormy sea
thrown by the winds of anger
I was dumped on the yellow sand
I am the lonely one
Ships of foolishness
you were a pique of a dream
Chevron skies
gives way to understanding
in the last light
to devine a course of freedom
On a cool, crisp mid-October morning,
the sweetness of apples flavors the air.
And a chevron of geese honk their warning
that Winter is coming; stay if you dare.
I loved picking apples, but I was small
and only picked those I could reach by hand.
I didn't like using ladders; after all,
the orchard was my childhood wonderland.
Dad had a burlap bag rigged to my back
that allowed both of my hands to be free.
I'd put as many apples in my sack
as possible, wobbling from tree to tree.
I was told that apples were nutritious,
and yet, they're oh-so-sweet and delicious.
We exploit her gifts, polluting, robbing.
Mother earth has a soul and we've
all heard her sobbing..
Too many species are now extinct.
We need to slow down, reassess, think..
Exxon, Shell, Chevron need new tools,
stop their reliance on our fossil fuels.
These companies must end their
greedy ambitions. They are responsible
for 71% of our global emissions..
We've known that it's coming.
Don't act perplexed.
We could be the next Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Man has been so blessed with this beautiful planet,
for goodness sakes, lets top taking her for grant it.
a parrot
chattering nonsense
vibrant joker
a Minah bird
incessantly mocks
feathers fly
owl hoots
from my oak tree
Minerva’s child
hummingbird
hovers by my window
faerie rides
a flying
chevron reverberates
geese
faerie sits
in woodland contemplation
nature communes
a raven lands
on my door head
shades of Poe
Charm the waves,
Entail algorithms of templates,
Subclass the seasonal stripes,
Smash this tasteless flame stitch.
A chevron turning into an imperial damask.
Intarsia the charming argyle in this rotunda.
Rub the blotch off the bull's eye,
Collage the camouflage in this calico assemblage.
Chintz in the heart, chequer in the mind,
Charming Patterns.
C7
No bigger than a drop of blood on a finger
pricked by a thorn, it marches along
the stem of a rosebush; a Grenadier guard
in its crimson uniform, with seven spots exactly
splashed across its coat. Not a random
flick of a paintbrush, but like a soldier’s
chevron; its rank, its classification.
It rises ready to do battle with the greenfly
that hide amongst soft petals until
confronted with my outstretched fingers
onto which it clambers. I hold it aloft
and blow a soft breath across its tiny body.
Its wings fan open and like a fire-rescue helicopter,
it flies away home.
Encamped in the local IHOP patio
Doing reconnaissance on the butter pecan syrup
I discern its malicious, aggressive intentions:
To march defiantly down Mt. Stack
And wage a ruthless attack on
Defenseless over-easy eggs
Acting quickly, I wield my fork
Digging trenches in my pancakes
I flank the enemy, staving off
This unprovoked act of aggression
Victory!
Only in that moment do I lift my eyes and notice
A brood of young sparrows
heralding their hunger
The chevron of hang-gliding geese silently
sailing to destinations unknown
Majestic Monarchs flitting
stoically southward
And rival suitors:
An iridescent hummingbird and an industrious bee
Romantically pursuing myrtle blossoms
The canopy of cerulean blue
And all the life within its realm
Resolves my thoughts from war to peace
Note to self:
Don’t forget to look up
Once Upon a Time illumination,
black tie Chevron
Wild mushrooms Spice Market Rusty
Dried mud puddle now crusty
Breath of fresh air Pearly Gates
Tongue-tied Showtime polish Stone
~
Once Upon a Time terracotta
Hot potato first kiss pins and needles
Once Upon a Time croissant
Cream of the crop Rose Colored Glasses
Tulips in Spring hot pink
Prickly pear Driftwood tree house
~
Time illumination once upon
3/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Welcome to my random world;
Where Angels and Fairies both co herald
Am I a fallen fairy?
As my vision mainly slept I’m under twinkly
A little phantom dream, awaken in my reality
Dancing angels challenge me to fly
I would consider but I’m too sly
Am I a fallen fairy?
So I jump off the clouds fall from heaven;
Enclosed in laced silk fabric satin and chevron;
I cling, I sing, I swallow wind and air, everything’s
Zings as I fall plummet to my death it seems;
Alas, I witness the angel’s upswings;
Singing something;
I sent my wish on fairy wings;
Am I a fallen fairy?
Literary legendary;
my random world;
Where Angels and Fairies both co herald;
Fallen fairy zings, falls fallen tree branch unstring;
I sent my wish on fairy wings;
9/14/19
Welcome To My Random World Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
When all the world is a giant burden,
Banerji sir, my colleague, a true SST Allen.
“Maan ki bat Modi ke Sath; rest other shun,”,
Says always my friend Banarji, never stun
Or stagger or startle, never remains barren.
Best friend who teaches Dhruvi and others Balkan,
Or India with psychology, without an apron.
Kenil, Hari, Bhavin, Shivani had some unban;
With Favourite dish of Dada, a fish; talks on Patan,
Sings hymns, buzzes about Mahakali one.
Says, “Your age is less than my profession.”
Scolds us, “Worst batch of year” – a Pun?
He is Bangali babu, wears dhoti, kurta even,
Talks about SST, and about doors wide open.
He is a Brahman, takes plausible action,
Wearing a chevron, is our Divine’s lion.
Meshwa, Diya, and Pitambar are clearly won,
With Aryan, Harsh, Nupur, Dishal and billion.
Let it be Shakespeare or Keats or Byron
He is through with all, has a great fortune.
Appreciates my Monorhyme and region
Never keeps quiet, but is pure bullion.
Dear to my students, Esha, Jeet or Rohan.
Prosper a lot is my wish, Oh! Aaron!
White chevron squadrons usher in spring
With squawking and honking and flapping of wings.
Their return brings a weekend to revel in fun.
The locals all love it, and hundreds more come!
But the poor migrant snow goose must be sorely perplexed;
Revered on one weekend, then slaughtered the next!
The August Lion
By: J. Philip Harris
In the area of the afternoon, right before the stars
Where the little gray strands spread out among the coffee roots
Through the looking glass
Beyond the esotropic eyes
In the land of the chevron lane and the laughter of the silly school boy
In the heart of a sawbones' hands
Beyond the reaches of the retentive shadows
Where the hiccups of life have sought to crush his spirit
In the echoes of his father’s soul
Through the reflection of his mother’s love
Like a break-loose dance of life’s unbinding freedom to feel and to breathe.
Here in the whisper
Hear the gentle purrs thrown out into the void
Like diamond lights in the dark matter
Here, the hero.
Hear the August Lion.
The „7” Wonders
of the (Ancient) World
Condensing
the Past
Creating
a new challenge
To dial an
“8”-chevron address
For a lucky Chinese
wormhole time travel
It Almost Makes Me Want a Nissan Leaf
By Elton Camp
A car that has no way it can run on gas
For the moment, I feel that I must pass
For driving around near home it’s fine
But that type can’t now become mine
If only there were better ways to recharge
We could take trips both small and large
Now I am afraid that’d be out and about
And the battery’s charge would run out
Yet, how wonderful it would seem to me
Of filling stations and attendants to be free
When I was young, they filled up the tank
But now many are both rude and a crank
Receipt printer’s out of paper half the time
Asking inside is often treated like a crime
Wouldn’t be necessary if they’d do their job
But many an attendant is just a lazy slob
They are making a personal call on the phone
And make it obvious they wish you were gone
Both their breath and clothes smell like smoke
It’s enough to make anyone cough and choke
It would be just fine to me if there came the day
When we propel our cars in some better way
And the attendants could hunt another job
Where they want to hire a lazy, fussy slob
(All attendants aren’t like this, but many in our area are, especially Chevron.)
A chevron of doves
against an abyss
of deep blue
the synchrony of flight
falters oft
triggering silver waves
passing across the flanks
shimmering
against an abyss
of deep blue
is it an illusion
harmony in individuality?
why must I think
so much
like a feeble human
when instead
with my so called
intellect
imagination
I can
experience
the feeling of flying
against an abyss
of deep blue.
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