The orchestra marches on in Gothic dark
The guitar brigade lights the night with a spark
The ***** angels with furled black wings
Take flight as the alto sopranos screams
The tenor tangent scratches the stage lights
The overloaded cannons shoot at the sky
And the backup witches writhe with the king snake
And the decibels start the earthquake
At the demon soiree plays each heart string
As the masses are swayed by each catatonic ring
And the charging bull, the rhythm section
Pounds to the misery of each predilection
Bombast and bomb blasts
I've not seen a crescendo like that
The smoke clears and the arena comes into view
With the bodies spent and strewn
And the vixens and sirens screaming
Like a queen who’s king died in the war
Splashes and crashes
As the debris floats to the shore
And the conductor (that ******)
Can’t keep a beat
The beast has now had enough
As he begins his retreat
War torn and forlorn
The stage lights finally go out
But not before the medieval four
Sound the trumpet blast, Ahh! at last
Mystic matters,
Don't drink the waters;
Polluted in poisons;
Covered in moisture;
From the overt,
Dirty cemented oceans;
Polluted in passions;
Raping the dry lands;
Covered with mittens;
Closed fisted, screams and yells,
Yet no one hears nor listens;
Hush! quiet you're 2 loud ;
Overture, over140 decibels;
~
Caustic highs,
Don't eat the dandelions suns;
May be enough just for heart burn;
Open letters un word;
From overture,
Clean linen washed in mud
Polluted in passions;
Raping the dry lands;
Covered with mittens;
Closed fisted, screams and yells;
No one sees the metaphors;
Leading against the doors;
```All things matters!
4/19/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
1st Poem written @ Omaha's Central Library @ 1:00PM
7205 Dodge St
Omaha, Ne 68114
Grand Opening
April 19 2026
Wouldn't it be great
if all this oil ran out
No brush cutters, lawn mowers
or blowers about
Today it's Easter Sunday
on the edge of a large town
There's stillness and calmness
the decibel level decidedly down
The birds they are a'chirping
leaves are rustling in the breeze
The flowing bubbly sound of our nearby creek
all designed to calm the soul if you please
The revival of community
all together lend a hand
Gather fresh organic home grown food
heads no longer buried in the sand
A stranger’s laughter echoes from the rooftop above,
and in it I find God.
Purely imperfect and bursting with joy.
He is there, filling the spaces between decibels.
Lake Mohawk glitters white and gold
as the setting sun uses its surface as a mirror.
Their relationship is symbiotic -
the lake is gifted with a glowing warmth
while the sun takes in with pride the fire with which it paints the sky.
In this I find God.
He is the kindness in this partnership
and the afterthoughts of joy and beauty it scatters throughout the world.
There is peace in this moment,
the bliss of beloved conversation and the freedom from expectation.
The light is no longer upon my shoulders,
but its touch lingers,
a subdued contentment filling every corner of my mind
and illuminating the expanse of time which lays before me.
It is here, too, that I find God;
Him, the grantee of possibilities;
Him, the shepherd of the shadow-sighted;
Him, a rock on which I can lay my worried head.
He swathes me in His grace and whispers
“I am here without exception. Immovable. Unconquerable.
My love knows no bounds.
That is why you find me.”
Words floating in soft whisper could never pass me by,
from miles away my ears could catch them all so clear.
In tuneful clasp of tinnitus the muted decibels now lie
where perpetual quiet prevails, for clamor I don’t hear.
Those who chose to keep distance now they come near.
How long do you think
you can ride the coattails
of blissful ignorance?
Isn't it flagrantly obvious that
you are skating on thin ice...
and equally evident that
you're living on borrowed time?
How long do you think
you can get away with avoiding
the elephant in the room?
Have I been the unjaded enabler
whilst my silence should have screamed
to you louder than any multitude of decibels?
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
A day escaped,
released from the sticky womb of night
held firm in the arms of midwife morning,
listen to its infant cries
the wails of a newborn child unfed
demanding of your bed and sleepy scant attention,
it matters not that you turn your back and try to block your ears
to tears of open-window traffic rage
and screaming gulls that dance on bins with shoes of lead
invade your head and work themselves within
to violate your peace with a surgeons skill,
phone alarm vibrating shrill and shaking
leaking decibels that penetrate each waking fibre of your skin,
you know you must begin, attend that fractious babe
fill its hungry mouth to stop the bawling
lured as ever by the bathroom light
Thursday screams, and you her faithful moth come crawling
Nightbird croons at me again, again
beneath a sheet of clouds,
like cozy pillow to my moon
to tuck my ruffled mind away...
Through drizzle's fading glint and flow
I muse about my man's upstate ride
quite distant , quite stretched the miies
as evening floats in decibels of gust,
rivering in tuneful pitter-patter of ticks.
~°~
Winds brush gently... outside my sill,
that between teapot and lamp’s flicker
slow gush of trickling dew rolls away---
The phone rings in a hush-a-bye,
chiming low, his voice drones to sigh
like tangy breeze on moistened flight
telling me ...my face outshines
all nightstar beaming,
that he called to simply say
he loved me more fearless in the rain.
First Place
(If I hadn't walked past my older brother's bedroom door
I wouldn't have realized that I needed some more)**
Ladies and Gentlemen, his time came much sooner
Then we could have imagined, now mourning this crooner
On the verge of this pinnacle, about to be on top
I speak of the memorial of one Reginald Belford Scott
Just a statement to the world with this cover
Simply to let us all know they need time to mourn for their brother
All colors, no colors, none segregated
Black placard venerated
From the opening bells tolling, decibels reverberated
To the ending with a rock n roll sermon elevated
A power punch with this Nineteen Eighties driller (all killer no filler)
Now the second bestselling album to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”
Yes, it’s plain with an embossed band’s logo
It’s a value (not a hue) as far as artists go
It leaves much to our imaginations
I think that’s on purpose, to allow ruminations
So, here’s some peace for all those who lack
Wait for the headlines, we will be “Back in Black”
Ziggy was a sexually curious alien
A celestial rock star from sanguine Mars
a Stardust being who journeyed to Earth
A Moon Age Starman made a five-year voyage
described in Bowie's playlist as having
"a screwed down hairdo like a cat from Japan"
Bowie took on the iconic persona of Ziggy
who landed in an alley of cardboard boxes.
Maybe it was his idea of a Suffragette City
The album cover's artwork was meant
to give a view of Bowie's thoughts
on politics, drugs, sex, and his fame in the 70s.
But Ziggy felt his telescopic view of Earth
hadn't prepared him for what he found
on what he thought of as a 'voodoo planet'
Go figure, since he had spiders for friends
The fret of his guitar was silenced
by the fretting he did over feeling lost and alone
Ziggy was a space invader,
Bowie's alter ego who explored themes of fame,
identity, and societal expectations.
Back cover instructions read...
"TO BE PLAYED AT MAXIMUM VOLUME.”
To which many replied, albeit perhaps without words:
"Aye aye, Captain!"
Not meant for my ears at those decibels
Forget complicated spells,
That require obscure ingredients,
That have no safe substitutes,
When a pair of helping hands,
That can magically halve the workload,
That can massage away the meanest headache.
And a set of listening airs,
That can hear what is unsaid,
That can pick up the slightest note of harmony.
And a voice that speaks volumes,
That is low in decibels,
That speaks from the heart,
Are the only three ingredients,
That are needed to create a spell to remember,
That leaves no sticky residues,
And can be easily brought together at short notice.
The seashore holds me in grief
entwined with moss and nettle;
while thud of echoes returns
more shrill than a gull's lament...
In decibels of love passing
I hunger for night's soft caress.
Oh gaseous anomaly, of my digestion
Escapage from where, is the question
A topic of much fun, hilarity and jest
School boys compete, to see who's is best.
Velocity, decibels, and length of time.
All vital in assessing, if it's sublime.
But pinnacle of fustiness has to be.
Sprout, egg sarnies and over ripe brie
In conclusion a fart is truly an art
Enjoy it, embrace it, have a good fart.
The leader, philosophical and wise,
Ends his speech after a long silent pause,
His true followers with half open eyes
Responding with admiring oohs and aahs.
Turn up the mic on the silence to hear
A leader's lust for worship and control,
Minds whirring like a quickly turning gear,
'Bout how what he said put them in this hole.
Hear tapping ant feet, a drumroll will grow
Til it reaches a thousand decibels;
But, are they coming to pay tribute? - no!
They're here to eat him with ant mandibles.
Great guru, great king, try this on for size -
A lengthy silence is not always wise.
The smell of cantaloupe is enticing
Yearning to feel it’s smoothly texture
It beckons me to it with an unworldly call
The slippery flesh is on my earthly skin
As I hold the fruit it embraces me,
How sweet! How kind it is!
I sympathize and crave it!
A plant that is living and purring
Communicates to us with undecipherable
Decibels that can be heard from beyond our senses
But, I’m hungry; so hungry!
Tearing apart it’s flesh
It’s now a part of me; broken down to a
Molecular level.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.