Neck-craning grey goose,
Alerted head half-turned;
An eye fixes me.
--------------------------------------
Madly racing Swifts,
Screaming loudly cloud to cloud,
Scythe through the hot air.
--------------------------------------
Autumn, why approve
The harvesting for your yet
Unfinished produce?
Categories:
craning, appreciation, environment,
Form: Haiku
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through
my memory.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon,
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike,
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
their necks craning out of their wicker cage,
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks,
and paper lanterns.
If I were now to follow it,
it might lead me,
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again,
in the eyes of a girl
who sells me a smart phone.
Categories:
craning, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Not Ready Yet
Give me just one more day of Christmas jubilee
Not ready to let go of Christmas, yet
Or stop gathering flecks of stardust
Scattered from the Heavens
Still reveling in the sweet aroma of frankincense
Or bovine straw
Lingering on evening's breath
To walk by candles in the window
Enchanted by twinkling lights of welcome.
My heart pitches a tent
On hillsides among olive trees
Craning it's neck to hear newborn angelic carols
And longs to cradle the pure cry of Love
Again and again
Infinite Love I can hold and understand.
Stay one more night, sweet season of hope,
Beside me
Not letting the lights twinkling with wicks of joy,
Festooning trees and doorways,
Dim with memory
Or exchange red and green for blue and ice
On starless nights.
Not ready to eat
The last crumbs of Christmas manna
Or leave the firesides of desert travelers
Stargazing.
Just one more night precious holiday
And then you can slip away
To walk from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.
Categories:
craning, christmas, goodbye,
Form: Free verse
I let my dogs out at midnight,
And sat down to write.
There was an explosion outside,
And my dogs tried to hide.
They hit the back door raising a fuss.
"Mom! Let us in! They're shooting at us!"
I opened the door, saw their reason for fear.
The town shot off fire works to encourage good cheer.
They lit up the sky as I watched from my deck,
With my dogs close beside me craning their necks.
As a rainbow of color filled up the air,
I said "Don't be afraid boys. Happy New Year.
Categories:
craning, new year,
Form: Couplet
There’s a shiny metal parade
Inching slowly into Edgartown.
Twisting along the narrow road,
Sun glinting off windows and
Glancing off the sunglasses
Of people inside the cages
Of painted metal and glass.
They itch about in their seats,
Craning to see the road ahead.
They honk their horns as if
It were going to do some good.
Some look resigned, bored even.
Some slap the steering wheel in
Frustration and mouth obscenities,
Raising their temperatures,
As well as their blood pressure.
Inch by inch, yard by yard,
Like a disjointed snake
They make painful progress
Until at last they reach
Their destination – the beach,
The grocery store, the theater,
The dentist -knowing the return
Will be more of the same.
Hot, tired and cranky, they mutter
Under their breath that
They will start taking the bus
And never again drive into
Edgartown in the middle of August.
Categories:
craning, car, humor, summer,
Form: Free verse
vErY if often those of the Vogan after often:
Very variously visions mouth earrings on the feet;
Of the crushing ones;
ViCtoRy is never loss, trials won;
Various cillimeters away craning moduals restrains;
Vogan pass word is VU
cin-computerized tenure;
Of the slushing drones, Vvzzzzzrd, vzzzzzzzzzz
zzz
7/17/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Categories:
craning, adventure, analogy, character, community,
Form: Vogon Poetry
Daisy let go of her mummy’s hand
as they released a red heart shaped balloon
craning their necks as it grew into a tiny speck
until it finally disappeared
Don’t cry mummy …
Daddy will love our Valentine’s gift
Bite Size Poem no.5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
06/08/21
Categories:
craning, grief, heartbreak,
Form: Free verse
Incubation of three days. Isolation percolates. The roar
builds up in the cat’s legendary dreams, sweet.
Fire-breathing dragon flies above the score
while the incessant cotton candy zephyr treats.
Panther’s Seusslike spots entertain the crowd,
spellbinding in optical illusionary sport.
His shadow eclipses — an enormous grinding shroud.
Villagers consumed by sugar-plumness of consort.
Flames like incense impress the dragon cloud;
flotsam with hunger pangs. The craning beast endowed
by kinseeds with ever-increasing scent, a snare.
Seeks surrogate cave to birth the next nightmare.
10/21/2020
Julia Ward’s Panther (Legendary Creature)
Categories:
craning, animal, imagery,
Form: Rhyme
A soul in flight soars above the grimy midnight mist only to be swallowed by audacious moonlight droplets.
Heart, mind and artery
skip seamlessly across a canvass wet and damp,
soaking up the wild blue mildew spot flood.
Chair yoga skeleton figure,
quaking in mid-air,
much to the chagrin of startled night owls.
Baby moth or butterfly swept up by artic gusts,
the rainbow in my psyche whirls around the neon signage.
Blood red flash alert,
wee small hours traffic signal vaulter that I am.
Ghostly cry from rendezvous of past enchantment,
bony elbow echoes at the edge,
neck craning memoir a distorted mirror,
a foghorn on mute
Categories:
craning, character, dedication, deep, destiny,
Form: Prose Poetry
A parent is a shotgun
protecting households and acres,
it turns on enemies without question, a trigger pulled at foul friend.
A parent is a cloud
craning neck from afar -
revealing sun to enlighten, then rain to dampen mood but nourish, replenish.
A father is a road
with heart shaped lines marking countryside,
lanes crossing a patchwork of grass and tarmac, hair and skin – aged.
A mother is a sheet
swaddling each babe in white, in cotton clean -
a chrysalis warming the child til spring, til wings spread.
A parent is a clock
tracing the ticks of blood and bond,
tracking the tocks of kin reborn;
the line continuous
Categories:
craning, analogy,
Form: Free verse
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through them.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
necks craning out of their wicker cage
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks
and paper lanterns.
If I were to follow it,
it might lead me
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again
in the face of a girl
who sells me a phone
at Radio Shack.
Categories:
craning, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Flittering furts of fallacious folly,
fables of new forcefully fabricated,
five foundlings now faeries found
fabric faddishly forced surround
faceted gems for eyes they be
falling over the great fir tree
fain to feats of fantasy, factually
farrowed for all to see
fairish fair heads nodding fervently
fecked craning forward in familiarity
following constantly you and you
festively focused on fetes of few
fickler than fowl, fickler than dew
wonder of wonders, how’d they find you
felicity follows each fine feat
now’s the time to take your seat
such a surprise, oh so sweet, savor
alike this fine ole treat!
Categories:
craning, fun,
Form: Blank verse
We must live in a zoo
The way that you do
Cry Crocodile tears
Always on cue
As you Monkey around
With every guy in town
Slick as a Snake
With the decisions you make
Craning my neck
Like the tallest Giraffe
As my Elephant mind
Never forgets
And when I bring it up
Say that I've had enough
You scream in my face
Like a wild Whooping Crane
Are you serious
Says this Laughing Hyena
I can't take it no more
Like a Lion I roar
It's hard to keep up
With you Miss Cheetah
Thick skin I have grown
Like a Rhino
I'm tired of your lies
This Owl's become wise
Now that I think of it
This all seems to fit
So I'll see you later
Alligator
It's too hard to cage you
I'm outta this Zoo
Categories:
craning, analogy, fun, life,
Form: Rhyme
"...Maybe they would allow me to dance,
perhaps they would leave me to dance;
let me ask the landlords,
If they would permit me to dance.."
Forty horsepower!
Sixty horsepower!!
The horses can keep their power;
Yeye Asiwaju's power is sufficient.
Who would not be amazed?
Half a century of cultural dance:
Dangling head like a pruning pigeon,
Winding waist like a spider its web,
Throwing hands and legs like javelin,
Rock-still, yet rotating like a rolling coin;
Your magic baffles me.
Delight of drummer boy,
If I may ask, tell me:
Which nut bolts your bones?
Which hinges are on your joints?
Which spring bounces you?
What makes your bone unhollow?
Your antics like a parachute:
You can fold, you can unfold,
You can swerve, you can still:
You can puff up, you can sag down.
The day you became flame
Before the high and the lowly
Behold kings and queens
Craning out their necks on toes
To have a glimpse of the cone
'Dola, 'Dola rent the air.
Sure, it is now rhetoric;
It is now superfluous to ask:
Who can dance for the king
And his crown will fall?
Categories:
craning, art, culture, dance,
Form: Ode
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
make the syntax good and entertaining
the gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster
a meter errant makes the lines come faster
an oxford thesaurus gets the listeners waning
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.
a genius woke and saw a verse rush past her
it only needed polishing and planing
the gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster
she left the oven on, it gassed her
ever since her folk groan, paining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master.
she saw her selves as coloured shapes in plaster
and round her mind, were ghosts all craning
the gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster
there’s not a lot of hope if we’re complaining
for criticism from hidden ghosts is draining
the art of poetry isn’t hard to master
the gruesome heart of poetry brings disaster
Categories:
craning, art, cool, creation,
Form: Villanelle
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