Clean up this mess.
I feel defeated once more, and get the clothes off the floor.
This order has now translated to, "You're a mess."
I feel the need to impress,
But also to rest.
My mind changes and shifts words.
I feel as if I will always be unheard,
But how must I be heard if I can't speak?
Children should be seen and not heard.
I feel defeated once more; shut my mouth and close my door.
I no longer feel like I want to be heard.
The only thing that seems to please is to be seen.
My looks shift and validate me through praise of those around me.
Maybe this is the only me worth seeing.
There's no need for the rest of me.
Simple phrases pan into endless thoughts.
Ideas and phrases leaving those and me distraught.
This writing may come as a shock,
But those whose minds are similar to mine are tortured by thoughts.
I shall write of fading distant things
Of silenced bells, birds without wings
Of time, that metronomic dunce
Who lives its moments all at once
I’ll view this masterpiece I’ve painted
Slightly perfect, slightly tainted
Leave it to you to gauge the hues
Of struggling artists paying dues
Upon them I have placed my mark
Both heaven light and hellish dark
For each pursues the shredded truth
Of tarnished age and stumbling youth
Of dreams released and dreams contained
A perfect life still slightly stained
Ladies and gents, it's happening tonight,
a well-promoted prize-fight -
and a party with every bigwig and socialite.
I'll give you an exclusive invite!
It's where "No, it's not" meets "Yes, it is",
and "It is hers" meets "It is his".
Meet "Who is wrong?" and "Who is right?"
I'm an attorney. I'll make big bucks, alright.
I'm old but still appreciate a pretty face.
Down Aisle three, she caught me gazing dreamily.
Gave me a Roman, cobblestoned stare in return.
If I were a young buck with shiny hair
she may have even smiled at me.
I lowered my embarrassed bald head
between the bags of pinto beans.
She drifted away forever
down that hot fluorescent stream.
Today, when I eat a plate of pinto beans
I think of that cobblestoned queen gliding down aisle three.
A language loss from inexperience
Reality
Foot immersion and crimes of indifference
These are crimes of a financial nature
The poor are a protected minority
Protected by poverty laws
These laws enlighten people
In the articles of hate crimes
Please challenge your mind to read
And thus acclimate to a discussion you
Are skewing
Remember the government is not a business
And is not capable of turning a profit
In phrase
Unjusting a penny?
Also I found that writing a law into the books
Requires blind Jewish criminals to worship
Their religion again
Clean your own place before talking about the "other people" places.
Democrats are becoming undone
We're watching them cry just for the fun
Their slush fund is dry
Oh me and oh my
Deep state clean up has only begun
There’s a robot
At the super market
It follows me
I guess I look clumsy
Its life consists of
Annoying me
By making a beeping noise
Whenever I block its progress
One day I told it
That its fly was open
Its response…
CLEAN UP ON AISLE SEVEN
Through my little fingers I'd peek
When I was a kid I would freak
Watching wicked witch melt
Frightful fear I then felt
That I wouldn't bathe for a week!
junk drawer clean-up is scheduled today
tape
ribbons
rubber bands
pencils
pens
rulers
small notebooks
matches
candles
bungee cords
dog collar
flashlight
wrench
pliers
scissors
maple syrup packets
I need all of these things I think
as I shut the drawer.
Everyone helped clean up after dinner.
Dad, Mom, brother and me.
Mom created the casserole.
Daddy baked the pumpkin pie.
I set the table.
Brother washed the floor.
We all worked together.
In 1962 we each took up a chore.
We felt needed and loved.
Working together, we would sometimes sing
In 1962 the entire family worked together
To make clean up an easier thing.
Afternoon autumn
Our neighborhood goes crazy
Like living in a dentist’s office
Drilling sucking blowing
Whining wincing scraping
Gurgle
My head tilted back
With a book on my chest
Mouth wide open
Staring into the glare of the final high sun.
Clean up
Needed
In isle's
12
Through
24
&
Understand
This people
Here
1
Has to clean up
One's own mess
Painful as that may be or seem
Or to handle
No excuses or exemption for anyone
No matter who you are
The same rules apply to everyone here
Bar none
Can't say fairer than that
rumors of wars
lives are torn
death of mankind
men and all their atomic toys
political debauchery unholy
dancing and dying
Tension stealing the midnight oils
in the streets middle class children with not enough to eat
black on black crime
used to be I robbed you for dime
Dwell off thinks impoverished by taking care of they're just a treat
my boys run wild down the sewers of my town
Wipe off those tears turn around and frowns
I need a refreshing
I need more than just a blessing
Homicides of murders on the streets
Lord God we need to clean up in aisle 5
8/4/21, 4/3/14©
base off of poem " AISLE 25 "
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2014, 2021©
In the depths of verses penned in ink and thought,
There lies a fear that lingers, unbesought.
To press delete, to erase what once was wrought,
But courage falters, leaving dreams uncaught.
Years have passed, yet still the words remain,
Etched on the pages, a poetic chain.
Some born of passion, some from youthful pain,
Yet in each line, a story to sustain.
I look back on my younger days,
Seeing flaws in the verses, tangled in a haze.
Yet within the chaos, a spark ablaze,
A journey of growth, through life's maze.
To clean up the soup, a daunting task,
To let go of the words, to unmask.
But in the poetry's essence, a bask,
In the beauty of creation's flask.
I hesitate, unable to concede,
Afraid to lose what I once agreed.
But in the hesitation, a seed,
Of bravery blossoms, a poet's creed.
For within the lines, a tale complete,
Of struggle, growth, and words so sweet.
To press delete, a daunting feat,
Yet in letting go, a new heartbeat.
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