Construed Poems

Romeo and Juliet

The love that knows no boundary set by clan;
The clans that know no love except for war;
The flower that dares to bloom, but never can;
This then the story Shakespeare told, in core.
And what the nature of a petty feud?
Where pride replaces peaceful, prosperous life;
Where little things as mountains are construed,
And things far greater die within its strife.
How might a lesser quill have writ the tale?
One family good, the other dripping ill;
The timeless lie, the righteous must prevail;
And happiness the final act to fill.
But not these things, you had much more to say:
And that is why we think of you today.

JUST ONE MORE REVELATION

JUST ONE MORE REVELATION

Lines that radiate out from a centre
Like spokes of an umbrella or wheel
As new thoughts and ideas are born
Yet some memories can still intrude
Reminiscent of the things I’ve seen 
And all that I could have ever been
Or even by mistake, have construed
As if a baby from the womb is torn
And making me both think and feel
That this universe is like a placenta

WormWood

Most often we misthought,
      yet understood
The bitter truth 
      that nothing here is good
Our earthly life, 
      of reason is unbrewed
That hides the pain 
      and hurt which we allude
This root of gall 
      becomes my daily food
And eat the fruit 
      that turns my bowels crude
My tongue was fooled 
      by that which could not soothe 
For I did swallow
      more than I had chewed
For this I stumbled 
     and became most rude
I was offended 
     like the multitude
And though my mind 
     is calloused, I construed
His chastening rod 
     is made of tender wood
And ceases not until 
     it breaks for good
A wormwood changed 
     my bitter attitude

Judgement Day

'And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." ~Revelation 20:12 KJV And then [Jesus said] will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity. ~Matthew 7:23 KJV


The sound of solitude
Means I am now alone,
Yet reminds me of my finitude
And for sins I must atone.

Guilt racks me like a cyclone,
For the lies I have construed 
Lay around me like a clingstone
And the shadows of hellbrewed.

A creed of cruelty I tattooed 
Upon the armored heart I honed
With every virtue I eschewed,
Now I stand before my God, unknown.

Life's Echo Filters Reality

Memories form in colors
vibrant, vivid, varied
by Time diminished
as the echo filters reality

Each person's process unique ...

Echoes form organically
Desires, wishes, dreams,
hopes, aspirations, schemes,
inclinations, rationalizations,
attracted to then reflected off
Life's hardened surfaces
Discordant reverberation
increasing, subsiding,
in constant flux colliding,
with reality abiding ...

Perceptions construed
from the magnitude of 
echoes merging as one ~

Life's composite echo filtering reality!

Does It Matter?

Does it Matter?

Does it matter today
If a cross stood high
On a hill
Two thousand years ago?
Does it matter today
If there
A man hung dying
In company with criminals?

To most,
Long years have faded fact
To history books
To lie like fragile threads
In ancient tapestries,
A mingled pattern
Of some fertile tale
Construed to build a church
On empty gullibility.

Self-freed,
Our media age
Needs no such creed,
No faith,
No God to reckon with,
No concept of beyond
To analyse and capture
By some smart device.

Our media age,
Itself held captive
On those screens of imagery,
Projecting violence
On a fragile world,
Disfiguring,
Slow-motioning to death
In the focus of a godless dream.

But a vacant cross
Still stands,
Calling lost sinners
To a life in glory!

I AM OF HIM A KINGDOM HEAVENLY BODY-Dedicated VERSE FOR SHASTA SIMMS ANTHOLOGY 2

I AM OF HIM A KINGDOM HEAVENLY BODY-Dedicated VERSE FOR SHASTA SIMMS ANTHOLOGY 2


The color of purple, is blue;
The meaning of love, is you;
You are the air in me;
I am the fragrance entirely;
In truth I am of you;

Chorus I am yours, you’ve created me heavenly
I am shaped by your hands man and woman
Kings and Queens to rule have dominion over these lands;
It’s your purpose, your will, your plans
I am, your child, I am your heavenly body

The skies in my eyes I view;
In richen by your creative hand construed;
In awe of the pleasantness;
It’s I in you nature caress
I am bless, not pressed;

ChorusI am yours, you’ve created me heavenly
I am shaped by your hands man and woman
Kings and Queens to rule have dominion over these lands;
It’s your purpose, your will, your plans
I am, your child, I am your heavenly body

The meaning of love, is you;
You are the air in me;
I am the fragrance entirely;
In truth I am of you;
All that I am, I am of ALL I AM
So a soul that I am, a HEAVENLY BODY

10/8/2024
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©

Always on the flip side

Oh my, why am I always on the flip side?
Fleeing from hope, slipping down the slide.
In moonshine glow, seldom in sunshine bright.
Always in the consequence of negativity's plight.

My joy and laughter are often subdued.
My tears and sobs are wrongly construed.
My feelings are torn to tatters and shreds.
By doubts and uncertainty, slipped threads.

But why am I here, when the solution is free?
It's only a flip-flop coin toss away!
I just need to re-flip immediately with glee,
To get back on the hit-side where I'll stay.

Abode Of Bliss

“Floating on divine delight the journey 
isn’t construed amiss,
it takes life through the sanctum of soul 
to the bay of bliss.” – Quote by Poet


The journey began a long time ago,
across rough terrain of plaintive plateau. 
Traversed lone life’s meandering pathway,
despite distractions I didn’t ever stray.

The sun shines now in seamless cobalt sky,
ripples of whispering breeze pass me by.
Colored canvas of joyous scene in sight, 
while I trace butterfly trails of delight.

At edge of twilight a surging stream flows.
When all portals of time behind me close,
I’ll build a bridge designed by destiny,
walk the last mile on path of ecstasy.

Cross the bridge over the angst-sliced abyss,
from where He’ll take me to abode of bliss.

Zen mode

views are thoughts imaginal
construed, conjured
and as such
of no use

by touch
direct experience 
organic form transmutes
then we know since we become

Fields of Blazing Stars

By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
I'm drawn to this bouquet; I am left so madly.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed

Happiest are these thoughts deliberately construed.
Winter taking them from my core destroys me, sadly.
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed

Purple pillars of violently swaying happiness imbue
So I harvest them as fast as I can, enjoying them gladly.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed

After such a long time between blossoms, histories accrued.
I waited patiently for their replacement, so very badly.
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed

I felt the truest of forlorn, nearly left lifelessly blued.
Springtime rain brought them back to my welcoming hands, comradely.
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed

Once I found eyes on them, new happiness did exude.
Replenishing their hearts energy regrown in me
By your ink on this parchment, my thoughts tattooed
Fields of blazing stars, lying randomly, strewed

Futile Foray

The uphill climb, 
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions 
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank 
parchment of mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
The gripping gravity 
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the present instants,
fastens in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.

The intent inertia  
of living force 
creates proactive
causal momentum 
of tumultuous time,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
The construed continuum 
of elusive eternity,
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuation,
emotionally evasive. 
The climb connotes
a futile foray
to nowhere.

Passing Noonday Flux

When sky born laughter a strained ode construed,
soaks up the pale rust yellow foliage,
visual feast pursuit awhile imbued,

An  early morning spell  I might engage,
while breathing in the faraway sea chill,
one awe struck heart dweller in brief passage

Of sunlight  and fraught tree trunk on the hill,
cheep and chirp road noise  lifting sluggish heart,
I peer awakened from my window sill

On dockland, wharf or pier an eerie start,
seagulls flap their wings in gray formation,
as town dwellers boldy dash and dart

What joy to feel in summer pure elation,
cusp of dawn entanglement as glee,
passing noonday flux an aberration

A comet’s blazing trail now lodged on earth,
symbol, metaphor, this rousing figment,
cusp of dawn entanglement as top glee,
human July  throng in our element

Regret

Regret is like a hot coal in the right hand,
And shuffled quickly to the left, then back again
With fervored reproach giving harsh reprimand
In a heart broken world that no words can soften.

Thus stomach's cruel acids give rise to great pain,
While the brain's daily thoughts are construed in a blur.
Soon friendship is lost when regret makes its gain.
Kick far the hot coal. Let not regret reoccur.

Hollowness Of Nirvana

An opening's gap
Construed as silver lining's
Lack— not wings; just blue stupor—
Clouds spinning circles.
Still crowns kings; a wisp of rain
Falls in brief— in heaven's clasp.

Why must light always be strewn of,
Shortened like tearing tears?

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