There is the immediate and the atmosphere.
Fear of war; touchdown of velociraptors;
a quiet passing; a once again tragedy of
paper rolls, a teacher tripping, tires rolling.
Closeup shots and distant thunder; its cracklings.
Hanging by a thread, sometimes deluded into
thinking things will be alright; with Jesus they are.
The ups and downs; the coaster lumbering over
the camel’s humps; the plummet from Everest;
the mighty arms of our Creator sustains the blows.
Eventually, the coaster comes to rest; wow,
those pearly gates, the mindblowing light that shines;
Jesus will wipe every tear from your eyes.
From my cousin’s eyes, from his two year battle.
His mama, four years ago, on the same day.
Sandwich hugs from his mom and dad. wow.
autumn crickets fall;
the noise they make they so call;
field crickets widespread;
~
fall cricket songs heard;
across North Americas;
ambience alone--
~
cracklings fire mist;
the waters flow and amiss
the grass still's grows loud;
~
cracks the crickets cricks;
the noise they make they so call;
field crickets widespread;
~
like a leap frog knee-
-deep embedded in a spring
log croaking ribbit
~
field crickets widespread;
the noise they make they so call;
cracks the crickets cricks;
8/30/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
The floral foliage of Fall fuels my pen to flow
Nature's carmine carnage is a crimson condition to watch
Russet quills of the trees float down in myriad shades
Amber leaves levitating like flying embers
Auburn arrows gliding to meet the earth
Soft sepia smiles sent down from the Shepherd above
Burnished varnished tree-bits travelling back to the ground
Crumbling orange smidgens creating crunchy cracklings
Brown bracts brave enough to bed with the soil
Gamboge hues gamboling like golden glowing gems
Lurid leaflets leaving their last lucid legacy
Before they turn into les feuilles mortes
Swaying branches spy as secret spooks in canopy’s dungeon
Creepers knitted around trunks like ornamented bead chains
Suspended pillar roots appear as the matted hair of Lord Shiva.
Hoarse noises as non-rhythmic beats of an amateur drummer
Serpents dragging their bodies on dried leaves with cracklings
Hoots, chirps, clicks, and whoops from the crowns of trees
Whispers of exhausted leaves and goggling eyes of silent owls
Spiders’ silky webs levitating as the canvas of boats
Trunks green with mass, standing as Lucifer's lieutenants
Scent of flora mixed with acrid smell and the floor with sticky clag
An impassable stretch never been eyed by the sun and moon as well.
PLACE: 3rd
Raven seas,
spellcast waves,
~ singing hate
Revengeful tides,
strum the seashores
with soft cracklings,
bleeding kohl ice.
Smoked sienna soul ~
a cacophony,
from vintage gold-vaults,
shimmering with sighs,
a saga unheard.
AUTUMN WINTER'S SPRING
Burnt umber reddish brown bronze
Folic tree leaves on the grounds autumn
Chestnut smoky topaz
Cracklings of fallen autumns spring summer camp fires
Springs crickets sings flowing grassed sway in the morning spring breeze
Drops drip, drip, drip water plops the drip, drip drip drops of water rains be
Burnt umber grand ma’s turkey
Reddish brown bronze pumpkin/sweet potato pie
Chestnut smoky topaz golden brown cornbread
Like marshmallows burnt umber
Feels warm furnace reddish brown bronze embracement
Like Chestnut smoky topaz
What colors can do, Embraceable Hues
3/21/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2023©
I hear the cracklings, combat boots walking
Much I marveled the smelly cocker spaniel
On the leash wearing a sweater I am walking
There’s a hole in the tongue and sole
Of the boots I’m wearing
Deep into that darkness juggling
Once upon a midnight Pekinese
Running from the snow mound and the frozen grounds
My foot prints still crackle
On that day my soul grew happy
In a kingdom full of frozen wet feet and snowmen napping
2/10/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
The house is still and quiet
nothin moves or stirs
but for the occupant and little dog within;
a sip if coffee, dark roasted and hot
together, we enjoy and observe life
with the yard on display thru the sliding door,
early February clings to winter
icy cold and frozen stiff
rain, snow mix, sleet falling hard on the earth;
the furnace hums spewing heat
warming the cold of a long mid-winter
keeping the pipes from a freeze over;
not a sound other than ticking of the clock
no creeks or cracklings of life
an abandonment of time and space,
alone in the silence of the morning
unoccupied dreams and memories revive,
closed windows and doors keep us safe and warm
here, wihin the house.
The spirt Of
Christmas.
Secularism,
leaning away
from religion.
Do not know
if there is
a god.
I believe in a
great maker, but
don’t believe
humanity has
a clue.
Yet,
Christmas Spirit.
What is it?
I feel it
in the warm
glow of
Christmas lights
on the tree
and
throughout
the house.
I hear it in
Christmas carols
playing softly.
I sense it
in the
cracklings
of the
Yuletide log.
I remember it
fondly
as a child.
I experience it
as gifts are
lovingly
passed around.
Life can be
hard.
Life can be
cruel.
But,
Christmas spirit.
What is it?
I do not
know.......
But,
for me
at least
life
would be
a little bit
colder
without it.
WALKING THE AUTUMN PATH
Cracklings
under my feet
breathing fragrant leafage
of reds and golds, brown twigs of trees-
fallen.
Juicy
succulent pears,
big-bright orange pumpkins
fill crates in the grocery store-
displayed.
Fresh-baked
breads, apple pies
flirting sweet to my nose,
I hastily run: tasting all,
I burp!
Cool,crisp
air kissed our cheeks
as we sit close outside
steady gazing the evening sky:
moon, stars...
_______________________________________________________
CONTEST NAME: AUTUMN STROLL CINQUAIN FORM
Contest Sponsor: Eve Roper
~~2nd place~~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
5:24 pm, October 22, 2015
MAKING CRACKLINGS (Pork Rinds) (Skins)
First, you have to kill a hog,
Then, carefully take off the skin;
Cut it up in little squares,
And then the fun begins.
Take a big, black iron pot,
Then put in some lard;
As you'll see, it's quite simple,
Nothing very hard.
You wait until the oil is bubbling
And it's boiling hot;
Then get the pieces that you've cut
And toss them in the pot.
Now, just stand around and tell some tales
And maybe a few jokes;
It's best when you've got a crowd,
Of good ole' country folks.
After some stirring and simmering,
The skins are crisp and puffed;
Then, you have a delicious treat,
Of which you'll never get enough
Copyright 2008 Patricia Neely-Dorsey
from Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia
#southernlife #southernfood #southernculture
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