All Christians live with fervent hope
That they would see their Lord appear,
This is the hope that buoys their soul
Amid the toils and cares of life.
But then they die before that time,
therefore, it seems they hoped in vain.
Death seems to be the hope-dasher
of Christians dear, in every age.
The skeptics point to this and say,
ages ago, Christ was to come
an absentee, he seems to be
All things exist as they have been.
But truth be told, all Christians live
the good life promised by their Lord
They then lie down and fall asleep
oblivious of the state of death.
The flight of time they know not of,
be it days or thousands of years.
When Jesus comes, and they are raised
for them ‘twill be just a new day.
There is no disappointed hope,
for those who in Christ do believe.
Their lives are held in secure arms
For Christ has sealed their destiny.
O dreaded death, where is your sting?
O grave, where is your victory?
Christ mocked you when He rose again
breaking the portals of the tomb.
Soon the trumpet of God will sound,
And all the dead in Christ shall rise
to meet their Savior in the air
and with Him joy celestial share.
Sizzling hot this passionate fire.
Whispers of erotic desire.
Ecstasy the cards that are dealt;
entice sensations to be felt.
Tantalizing dreams will inspire.
Sweet is the honey that's flowing.
Enjoyment of touches showing.
Nerves tingling with every caress,
soft and slow, each done with finesse.
Addiction to pleasure's growing.
Tempting and teasing with delight.
Indulging thrills that will excite.
Obsessions of lust perfected,
never-ending bliss infected.
Our love is consummated this night.
tapers
glowing shimmer
making thin light intimate
dim silhouetted figures merge
love's flame consummated
July 26, 2026
Light a Pensee Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud, Sponsor
I've tasted her liquid, from her heart; Meadowlark
Warm red taste of lavender meringue;
I held her hand;
Meadowlark
Embraced her waistband hips;
Touched her lips;
Made a wish;
We kissed
Meadowlark
Consummated betrothed wedding night so Endearing we're husband and wife;
In the light in the dark
Meadowlark
11/21/25
Written by James Edward Lee Sr
Time means nothing to spirit
a second, eternity, the same
youth, old age, all the same
no particles in God Proper
fluid and eternal --
Unlike the divisions men contrive
imbibing sweets
addicted to juice
discarding blander seeming pulp
Christ awaits amalgamation --
No Second Coming, till the First
purely consummated --
Hot summers dry up the land
The dirt crumbles under the heaviness of disrespect
Fresh flowers adorn the land
Covering the uneven burial grounds
Overshadowed by privilege
What better way to claim superiority
By soiling the plantation they stand on
Ignorance crowds the air
Cast aside by vows of love
Tainting history with a wedding
The stories of black labour whitewashed into a picture of a bride in white
Covering the truths in a veil of fragility
Ironic how they use the innocence of a white wedding
To ink over history
A picture is worth a thousand words
A simple picture of a now conjoined family
Haunted by secrets of ownership
How the brides grandmother was once a girl
Who stood on this same plantation
Watching her parents become slave owners
A simple picture
Once innocent becomes a sinister backstory
A history haunted by the darkness of whiteness
Flower petals spread across the venue of black bones
Not to pay respect to those buried
But to honour love consummated on the grounds of black history
Smiling in pictures with a tainted memory
Plastered in magazines profiting off of slavery
But hey at least they gained popularity
Evie and Steve married on Christmas Eve
We did not think they would ever leave
Very drunk Steve put his feelings on sleeve
his steps on the dance floor were more of a weave
Eve’s chest began to hem, haw and heave
Steve had certainly peeved our little Eve
Marriage was never consummated, but no one grieved
Matter of history, Eve’s family was so relieved
Steve had done other things to make them peeved
Grandma Guss was glad the cleaving was never achieved.
Two hearts glare at each other
Clutching their stone tablets
Written by the finger of their rightness,
Guarding the secret handshake
In single sighted delinquent tantrums
Refusing to share the offertory
Of a loving cup -
Consumed by daggers of thoughtless words
Carved deeply in a scarred heart.
Floral offerings wilt
Upon stone manifestos
Where ashes of incense lay impotent
To clear the air
And wipe clean the embedded words.
Passion falls in pixels of distortion
Blurring valleys where sacred poles burn –
Lie in dust written in the past –
Paralyzed
Unable to rise from handwritten crypts
Placed in captive marble altars,
Epithets like an epitaph for love.
Immoveable stone resists the transcendent
Until forgiveness’ chisel
Re-writes the script of etched words
Crumbling in swaddled tears of humility
That know their need for grace
Consummated in love’s perfect signature.
Today's child
I see the child
Surrounded by wolves..
Pain never felt
Tears never shed..
The nestling has been accepted into the eternal den
Received, concealed, protected..
Reclaimed against the will of the maker
We that live outside the back are but scavengers..
Approaching the alpha nervous
Conquered..
Enraged when our selfish requests are not consummated
Everything has been taken for granted
ART AS A GESTURE
a
zest
of
satisfaction
in
a
gusto
of
ultimate
certainty
deepens
with
intimacy
of
accidental
curiosity
inherent
perception
within
transposes
emotion
in
the
miracle
of
our
disparate
mind
unhindered
visible
audible
in
the
tangible
expressiveness
of
outgoing
energy
of
tactile
significance
consummated
&
uniquely
pervading
&
pervasive
internally
integrated
self concerned
in on-going
interplay
of
expression
incorporating
past
coherent
awareness
of
conceived
interactactions
berthed
in expressive
action
of
awakened
personal
pictorial
presentations
of
prior
experience
in
the
completely new
Tom cat got a bunch of wedding cake smeared in his face
By six ex-wives who thought he was a grooming disgrace.
Always marrying someone else, a sleezy one this time too.
This was meowed by wife number six, I think her name was Boo.
Who invited them? Tom yelped out with a disdained screech.
He was interrupted by wife five’s not so very nice speech.
His sixty-five kittens surrounded their marrying dad.
You are not a good groom, one of them said. You are a cad.
The marriage had not been consummated yet, so this was the time.
For the newlywed bride to turn and run away from this slime.
Instead, she wiped the wedding cake off of his face.
And said “He is number seven for me, and not any disgrace.”
In the beginning was the Word.
Was it necessary? Was it important? Was it redemption?
In Him was life, which was the light of all humanity.
He dwelt amongst us though we knew Him not.
Should we have known Him? She knew. Did we?
Like many others, she pondered on the meaning of it all.
Was it worth it? To go through all that pain? She did not know.
She had faith that all was in His plan.
So, He grew up and knew.
His pain would start in an olive garden
In the middle of an evil night where a traitor lurked,
Where locusts sang their defiant song.
And comely birds fled to their nests,
For they were afraid and could not bear
To see Him shed His royal blood.
He cried and felt atrocious pain with blood all shed.
He cried: “It is consummated.” A lance pierced His side.
It was necessary. It was important. It was redemption.
Now she knew why. Now I know it, too.
Soul eyes kiss her with mine heart
My mind set touches her embrace
So do I breathe her breath I touch?
Encased is my love for her such
We are consummated !
Embraced souls in love
5/10/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Self-Portrait 1-12-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels
Still life, not stillborn,
With a woman’s face
In dusky background hues,
Pure clarity clothed in white,
Gazing on gastronomic abundance.
Artist of the banquet
One step behind –
The woman’s place of her time -
Guardian of the sweet rewards
Served like bridal wine,
Topping the earthen vessel
Of embryonic fermentation.
In a cradle of fine delft
Consummated almonds,
Mellow figs
Ripe fruit
Conceived out of ravenous rapture
Confinement released in harvest’s fare
In signatures of arms crossed -
Daily bread – gifts of finest wheat –
Served with golden curls,
Crushed seeds of grain
Birthing beauty’s fullness.
Above this feast of still life
A woman smiles
Her signature waiting to be discovered –
Waiting for the invitation to emerge
From the shadow!
(A combination of Sijo, tanka and haiku)
When beige and snow-white clouds collide and coalesce in the sky.
When wild geese high in the air make V formations and fly away
My imagination beckons me to pen down my thoughts.
sweet music fills me.
unable to contain it,
it spills forth in verse.
into paper, flows my whims,
cloaked in lovely rhyme and rhythm.
consummated thoughts,
the rapture of soul in art~
poetree yields sweet fruits!
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