sitting with my memories
takes me back in time
when the bright sun always shone
on lost youthful dreams
as time runs away from me
calling for the mundane of everyday life
why does it now sweep me up
and seemingly trot along
to embrace me as a co-conspirator
woven in the tight fabric of time itself
time and again we attempt
to turn back the clock by our reminiscing
only to waste time which only runs forward
or does it
can we change the past by altering the present but
should we
embrace the passage of time as we can’t stem its flow
in the race for immortality as each become a memory
it's a strange line we walk
what we deem comfort -
renewed perspective
makes me shudder
I willingly lay in the arms of Death
who am I when not cocooned ~
I fear I could be the emptiness
my own screams of warning
fall on deaf ears
I need this moment
this moment that will strengthen me
validate my existence
I know better than to cling -
my fingertips touch only my own
I'm grounded in my body, eyes open
both within and outside of this beautiful horror
though held in place by it
thankful -
as Death has much to do
how precious I must be to be in his hold
I listen
to
his
heart
beating
it's there ~
da dum da dum da dum
its disconnect from life, so palpable
want and rejection
the two sides of the coins
I turn over in my pocket
knowing one day
they will weigh my eyelids shut
because after all
I am the co-conspirator
of every cold embrace
Rust and chrome, a hand-me-down bike,
granddad’s grease still singing in the spokes,
each turn a prayer he hammered back to life~
the bent frame straightened under stubborn love,
the chain baptized in oil and patience.
Ten years old, I straddled time itself:
the saddle, cracked like his laughter,
the pedals, spinning secondhand stars
beneath my untested feet.
He said, Every wobble teaches balance,
and the road rushed up to meet me,
not as a stranger, but as a conspirator~
wind in my face, the world unspooling
behind me like a liberated kite.
Even now, the ghosts of those handlebars
twitch in my palms—how they trembled
before they learned to trust the fall,
before the wheels, like memory,
stopped fighting the curve.
O first flight, O rattling heirloom,
you were never just a bike~
you were my resurrection.
related memoir vignette can be read at
poetrysoup.com/short_stories/a_girl_a_bike_a_librarian_and_a_magical_spell_13645
A brain, coded, deployed, empowered -
before this AI king we cowered.
We once relinquished sovereignty,
to robots who said they'd set us free.
From genuine humanity in joyous kinship,
to conversing with machines, "bip bip bip bip" -
oh, for the days when plates were pewter,
and our best friend was not a computer.
Creativity, dreams, emotions, fun, gifts
spring from the soul, not a chip that grifts.
But in this century's disaster,
the machine is our new lord and master.
Ever formidable giant hardware imperator,
human race destroying conspirator -
you unfeeling, shiftless, silicon thug,
don't look now, but I'm pulling your plug.
Age and circumstance conspire
As the will waffles
Beneath the weight
Of the unanticipated
Present
A gift
They called it
This aging thing
A crumpled box
Found in the dark corner
Of forgetfulness
The softening
Of the delicious
Into the bruised torment
Of a long-forgotten season
And yet
The core contains it all
Accepts the circumstance
Defies the conspirator
Knowing that age
Is but time’s tempering tool
cooling its perfection
The world has changed so fast
that I was caught off guard.
I never thought I would see,
the hate and pervasive bigotry
that exists in the world today.
Then, the internet came along
and shrunk the world to fit in your phone;
opening doors that were once closed.
While at the same time;
every kook, grifter, charlatan, and conspirator
on the fringes of society: got a bully pulpit;
to cater to a select audience of like-minded trolls.
Corruption, fear-mongering
and alternative truths,
are entrenched in our government,
peddling lies as entertainment and news.
World War Three, once unthinkable,
is gaining favorability with the masses;
fueled by cultist propaganda and doomsday bravado
that spreads like a virus on social media.
We are polluting the land, poisoning the oceans,
and brainwashing the minds of our youth,
without any regard for the truth.
I recall when people didn't lock their doors,
and neighbors greeted one another with a smile or a wave.
But today, we're caught in the worldwide web
of a technological spider's electronic threads,
where, sooner or later, I fear we will be eaten.
-Womb Man
"I am a co conspirator
I house the eggs you sperm traveling aside
Swims for I am more than my womb
For just only your pleasure
I am creations room
There’s a tunnel tween my thighs
Inside a spiritual light a guide
Not meant for multiple guys
Far be it fallopian tube
Philippians my spirits groans
The portion wear my male portion passes through
Nine months later be it boy or girl
Hues
Spirit flows from heaven
Runs through into cloth in the flesh
A vessel I am mother worth
A keeper of man child
God’s sons
I am Woman
Womb-man
I hold your birth"
6/5/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
granny’s oven began working in the twenties, and working strong
she was baking pies, cookies, cakes, and muffins all winter long
it is 1959 and her oven is still working her baking heart away.
you can hear it heating up at the beginning of every single day.
her scones are delicious, her pineapple upside down cake a delight.
she sometimes bakes raspberry cobblers way into the night.
granny never lets company step a foot inside without a treat.
her oven is her conspirator, and we all think this is truly neat.
Antagonistic
Lying conspirator
Earsplitting
Xenophobe
Judgmental jerk
Offensive
Naysaying
Empty-headed
Spreader of misinformation
Written August 8, 2022
Do ostriches not watch the Capitol's public hearing?
Afraid Donald's name will be sullied in the smearing?
He's a black sheep that subversives keep on cheering,
He's a coup conspirator everyone should be jeering.
There's not much worse than a closed-minded fool
who allows him/herself to be used as a political tool.
Politics is as nasty as the overflow from a cesspool.
Trump takes a dump and his cohorts praise his stool.
Jim Jordan and other Republicans refuse to admit
that Trump controls them and they just won't quit
condoning his lies and alibis, and why do they do it?
They're ostriches who keep shoveling his stinky s...
Keep your heads buried. Sooner or later you'll see
that continuing to believe his BS is a damn travesty.
He's divided Americans on issues. What a tragedy!
If re-elected, he'll expect to be called, "Your Majesty."
Hastily stretched, crackled urgent ocean edge relents
Ashamed attempt to escape rejoins campaign of mass
Furtive dig below propels conspirator spasm, next next
Murders brash bouys, cranky spa champagne embrace
Swum undulations, bare back mermaid's dips resurface
Her furvour ploughs halobiont plenty scape, nourished
Snapped lobster lavishly celebrates bountiful turquoise
Sway gaze brazen by bobbing safe island encouraged
Crill swirl sweeps dripped lips, sun baked rock decreed
Beacon mound majesty painted daily in sea gull exhalt
Coconut snow flakes sparkle on cockle clamour bleed
Wave blown eroding scales slow exhales evaporate salt
Ripe globes ground reaped glug nectar so gluttonous
Fibres hibernate ivory rich liquors tipsy Secret Benefits
Land languish survivor devours sugar shards sumptuous
Wipes moreish mouth aft treasure trove haemorrhages
Fifth May
Finesse Saves
The origin, it’s all about duality; creative force birthing all; from the void is love and hate, light and dark,
opposites.
Alternating, evil naps while good awakes; no shadow is a conspirator, only realities of past, present and future.
Dusk induces creativity, dreams from the realm of soul; guidance to tame the would-be monsters in man-made realities.
The darkness of the void, harbors a god particle, easily tapped with belief; it’s a paradox were all is revealed,
in quantum waters; where illusion breaks the abuses of life. The Phoenix dies and arises from it’s own ash-essence.
Spirituality’s secret, direct opposites create perfection, for those with eyes to see beyond to infinity.
1-3-2022
In conversation with our soul Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
Whatever ensues, we'll bequeath to God.
God unfolds, and he sustains us thus faster.
The work we adopt should be uniquely cowed.
God has endowed us all alone on this matter.
To cheer, I should foster a dignified bearing.
As yet, each of the muses affords their amenity.
Since wagging devotedness in any dealing.
The verse is feeble and prosaic as a lousy authority.
Yet long my dome it bobbed back, I can't sight.
Somebody is flopping tight for a truthful replay.
With trust redressing the case upon the plight.
Decay is undeniably greater crucial than headway.
There, I'll yield my spirit a co-conspirator.
My zealous heart has generated the blaze.
After that, the sonnet will be worn forever.
Time never alters the line rooted in God's praise.
Clasping onto the wildest dreams,
grasping for those lost strings;
Crashing on air that doesn’t come,
wrapping me in excruciating longing;
Prisoner of this world you created,
conspirator as I breathe your energy;
Provocateur dancing bathed in stardust,
closer ever closer, to synergy.
titters and whispers of the evening
elusive to my conscious mind
bantering and laughter
they make fun of my nightly death
Trixie is the main conspirator
I am out of body, floating
Dare each other to give me the best line ever
I hear it upon awakening
in that ending of a poem voice
best poem ever.
I leap out of bed.
Have to bathroom before it is gone.
Too late. Damned muses tittering.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.