Flowers Grows with Strong Stem
Pedals Spread During Day
Light hits the Color Bright
The Gleam of the Purple Shows
It has Royalty in disguise
Always up during the day
Always sleeping at night
It allows the dew to drip
Drip Down the Strong Stem
The growth becomes a new
A new beginning that is bright
The few life span of a Flower
It drops a new family
Beautiful as it is full of life
This is what my Daughter Poem
A Nation That Failed Its Daughters
Teach girls to cover.
Teach girls to hide.
Teach girls to shrink
while predators stride.
Lock every door.
Bolt every gate.
Still mothers whisper,
"Don't come home late."
A child learns danger
before she learns trust.
A woman learns fear
because she must.
The guilty sleep.
The wounded weep.
The silence grows
so dark, so deep.
And every headline
asks what she wore,
while evil walks
straight through the door.
Not a monster.
Not a beast.
Just filthy men
the courts released.
A stain on faith.
A stain on law.
A stain on every
silent jaw.
How many children?
How many cries?
How many graves
before truth arrives?
A nation that fears
for its daughters at night
has failed long before
it claims to be right.
It's hard to smile. It hurts to laugh.
I'm dead inside, yet burning on fire.
I'm all alone, you left me here…
Alone in my thoughts, alone in my fears.
Look at me, mom, and this daughter of mine.
I wish you could know her, there just wasn't time.
She takes after me with her fits and her pouts.
She is beautiful, mom… inside and out.
So here we are, my daughter and I, both hurting, yet healing and helping each other get by.
March arrives
With lily white eyes
Cotton styled on wind tossed piles
Her lilac daughters, made of water
Gently form leaves on greening trees
There are vague paintings in the sky-canvas;
Rainbow specks and flecks are ruggedly mixed.
Chased by the moon, does the sun seem anxious?
Towards dubieties, are our minds fixed?
Ghosts of blossoms dance in tree silhouettes;
Lavas of gemstones flow with crystal streams.
Lakes cradle pale leaves within their wavelets;
Nocturnals move, as though for war, in teams.
The sky has put on celestial costumes;
Are Cherubim on an earthly venture?
Tombs resemble luxurious greenrooms;
Daughters of Dusk hover in dark grandeur.
Must gold and crimson fade to starlit gloom?
What velvet shade weaves nature's transient loom?
Glowing all your own
Radiant aura brimming warmth
My daughter my heart
Hidden strength unknown
Restrained by fear and doubt
Depth of heart protects
Both so similar
Silent bonds enshrined in love
Shared foundation
Father lights;
His sweet whispers;
Sings through;
His daughter's heart;
8/4/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Weep Africa, weep on.
The battle with death is one we dare not to fight,
For the call from the great beyond is outside the scope of our existence.
Just as our known hero Ngugi Wa Thiong'o has fallen,
Like countless unknown heroes forgotten to time,
We shall all follow this path of no return one by one.
Fight Africa, fight on.
The foot prints left on the Sands of Time by Ngugi Wa Thiong'o are known to many.
As we follow his foot prints,
We are alive to the fact that there are other foot prints,
Though known to few,
That we must follow.
Father i'm older now
No little toes and no little nose
You may have been there in the beginning
But not in my upbringing
You didn't let me go at heart
But throughout my life you definitely broke mine
Growing up I never had a big picture
An imagination or a figure.All I had is what i had been told
And i'd been told you didn't want me no more
Daddy you could've changed it
You could've even fixed it but
what's to do with a heart that's
clearly withered and in pieces
You know I wasn't a gift
More like an accident
A mistake you made
When you got laid
And then you where stuck with a
Responsibility you decided not to take
I remember being nine thinking you'd arrive
Just sitting on the porch all day past noon time
You never showed and that made me feel alone
I thought sure if dads around
I would feel at home
A Daughters Gift
In life’s grand play, a gift came not just once,
But twice, in forms of joy and tiny feet.
Two stars, my granddaughters, my heart’s response,
A blessing, twice over, and oh so sweet.
From you, my child, they came, a mirrored pair,
Reflecting back our past, our love, our ties.
In their bright eyes, I see your youthful flair,
And in their laughter, our family's spirit flies.
These little ones, with hands so small yet strong,
Hold our tomorrow in their gentle grasp.
In them, our stories, our dreams, prolong,
A future bright, in their tiny hands clasped.
A daughter’s gift, in double measure true,
Two granddaughters, life’s love forever anew.
The sisters calmly sit~
not as muses,
but as morning light caught in linen~
one leaning gently into the other’s calm,
as if sisterhood were
just a dream.
The elder holds
a silence far beyond her years,
her fingers a quiet shield
over the other’s fluttering world.
She is stillness, composed, watchful~
a portrait of care before language names it.
The younger rests
wide-eyed, soul blooming,
a child who doesn’t yet know
what it means to be seen.
In her gaze, a question,
in her posture, a trust
only the very young can wear.
Their hair is a spiral of a notebook,
loose thoughts escaping the brush,
stories curling behind ears
too small for the weight
their father’s love will leave behind.
He painted them not to capture,
but to remember~
not daughters,
but moments
the lean of a head,
the hush of a room,
the pause before childhood
folds itself away.
"She looks just like you!"
They say, and I beam!
But they're saying much more
than their saying seems…
For I'd never say to her
what I constantly say to me…
("You don't measure up,
you can't be enough!
You're ugly, you're stupid,
just keep your mouth shut!")
My mind in shock,
my heart so hurt,
To even think about speaking
so harshly to her.
So, a good lesson learned,
to see me in her eyes…
I will love myself more
and not criticize.
The wonderful sounds of cries when their born
The happy tears we shed at first sight
A newborn daughter we'll cherish
For life and for evermore
To watch her live and grow
To watch her marry
And hopefully
When time comes
To give
Birth
Persnickety fussbudget never had a mess
Raised two daughters – Wilhemina and Tess
They both became hoarders by age seventeen
No lie, I am not attempting to insult or be mean.
Their mother had spent years throwing their treasures away.
They hoard everything since they are emancipated and now have a say.
If she would have let us keep any of our trinkets for a little while
We might not have become so opposite, Tess said with a smile.
On the streets at night lined up
Like a parade waiting to be picked
Bracing the cold nights
Hoping to get something before the night ends
To hopeless arms, they'll lay
Tough times forcing them out of options
And life has to be lived
They do anything to get by
To strangers, they throw themselves
But they don't fall
Cause it's just for the night
And at times it might be with many just one night
To the dreams that they ought to have lived for
Are now sleepless nights, most of the pain
Cause no one cares how they feel
As long as they've had their fill
To long nights they have
When it doesn't turn out
And they're left to go home
Everything was dry, and nothing going on
And when the day breaks they'd disappear
Into the crowds and live amongst us
To hope and try again once the night comes again
Hoping. that their fortunes will one day change
The PO£T
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