Grace in every detail
Never have I
Been surprised
He’s by myside
He is in side
Yahweh Redeemer, Horn of Salvation
Light of the world
He is… I am of the Lord
The way
Good shepherd
Root of David Lamb of God
Yahweh Redeemer, Horn of Salvation
Light of the world
He is… I am of the Lord
The way
Good shepherd
Root of David Lamb of God
Grace in every detail
Never have I
Been surprised
He’s by myside
He is in side of me
Grace in every detail
9/2/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
Why don’t we act decisively when we go to war
Why don’t we crush the enemy
The enemy is trying to crush us
What on earth are we waiting for…
… Pauses, short ceasefires, humanitarian aid
all allow the enemy to regroup
and come back stronger than ever
What on earth are we waiting for…
There’s a detail we’ve overlooked here.
a little tiny detail
Perhaps one ceasefire can lead to another
And another, and even a cessation of hostilities, who knows
And perhaps, just perhaps, we can save dozens, hundreds
~ even thousands of lives
Ebeneezer Scrooge
had a birthmark that was huge.
He loved sitting in cloisters
and swallowing oysters.
closing the curtains
a bug left
the windy night began...
the leaf swiveled around
it wasn’t sinking
then, gone.
queen of the night,
a cactus’ bloom
short-lived - escaped
old flower,
old pots and vases
soft and still
sweet and juicy
daring purple passionflower
dares one more day
breath of an angel oak tree,
listen-
it doesn’t die
a glass of water
enough for a wading bird
seeking cold
Keen Eye For Detail
Critical observation.
Pay close attention.
Sharp minded.
Value precision.
Hand to paper.
Fluent speaker.
Mind always racing.
Comprehending.
Eagle eye.
Recognizing ability.
Keen eye for detail.
Powerful skills.
Being mindful.
Repetitive.
Scrutiny.
Clean lines.
An artist has a keen eye for drawing.
Creative thinking.
The haibun can be a standard(where haiku etc follows the prose) or afterword (where prose follows the haiku) or prose envelope (prose para haiku,para) verse envelope(haiku prose haiku) or interlaced (chorus, verse, chorus) or verse sequence (haiku,prose,haiku,haiku etc)
a haibun ABSTRACTION
The soft yellow streaked the terra cotta,shadowing the speckled sallow saffron
a bluish buff upon the cochineal;brilliant boneblack grizzled the engrain
citrine carnation as the fallow flaxen,rustic rubrical rainbow-tinted
the magenta mandarine;unseen the ultra-marine, tinged burnt sienna,
reflecting a golden flame of raw umbery upon the earth green;bright mosaic gold
mottled the sallow sorrel virent yellow,oak stained the pale apricot;while
blood red,reddish russetdotted the olive lind;freckled crimson,a chestnut maroon,
on fuchsias faded apple green as burnt rumber sank deep into its sanguine slumber.
I walk through the glade
abstractions enlighten me-
colour my rainbow
Nobody really likes a short-form read
a small screed about the mind-shattering infinitude of the universe
or the endless grandeur of nature - I mean not really.
We must move along, be willingly captured
by a more comprehensible minutiae.
The ordinary is the realm of the poet,
let the mystics ponder that big stuff.
For it is we who make our omelets
just a little different every time.
And do we list, label, depict, add, or subtract?
You bet we do.
Do we paint with a fine tipped brush - gush about
the normal, the humdrum, the passed-over,
the often overlooked and so typically common;
all those very ordinary unmemorable
yet essential ingredients of a small egg meal
for one?
Yes we do,
and you like it.
*** DRAWING YOUR DAY ***
Well, wake me, then, before it’s
Time to sleep, so I may eat
Some bites of cheddar cheese
(A delicious catalyst for lively dreams);
And,too, tell me, please,
Every detail of your day, because I
Will, draw it all — to treat the eye —
In the corners of a flipbook (at least I’ll try).
I’ll depict you as a tiny stick figure, coming
And going…Even in flight, rising in the sky!
Above clouds. With a flock of birds — wing to wing;
Returning on through heaven’s stars; angels waving good-bye.
I’ll wake you, then, later when I’m done,
And show how I I pictured the end of our fun:
When, before my leave, we ate slices of bread and cheese,
Praying our thanks for sharing these hours of memories.
————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 11/19/22
Thanks be to God…
He sits quietly on a cargo hatch,
Patiently watching deck apes
Secure rat guards to hawsers.
They make his job a little easier.
There’s no requesting liberty.
Not even the thought of it.
The Bos’n won’t approve.
It’s been entered in the deck log,
He’s a ship’s cat.
He's always on the watch list.
He never goes ashore.
seductive sensuous
enigmatic ambiguous
prolific &
precocious
breakfast pieces
peopled
in
detail
pin-sharp
accuracy
&
exquisite
expressive eyes
sublime
in close-ups
posed
yet all in the detail
intimate interiors
interwoven
with
riddles in paint
Laying on the floor beneath the window,
staring up at the painted plaster,
little cracks run
through the goosebumps in the paint.
I can read where the wall is hollow
where it is brick,
by running the tips of my nails across its gibberish braille.
In certain spots, the paint is almost smooth
and slightly darker,
polished by years of rough feet,
the action of the mattress
trying to remove the braille.
To the left there is a stain running down the wall.
It is easy to imagine a tomato slammed there
like a bird flying into a pane of glass,
and not breaking through, slid to the floor,
but the truth is, it was a can of soup,
the kind with a pop top,
unheated,
drunk straight from the can, that spilled and would not come clean.
This is the third time I’ve done it this year to be honest I feel a pride in being picked to do it but the very thought brings forward a tear.
Dress uniform ironed and ready, creases sharp as a knife brasses gleaming cap badge straight its time to commemorate not a death but a soldier’s life
The family, friends and fellow soldiers gather to honour a soldier who has died there has been much reflection and many have cried.
The flag draped coffin, headdress and medals carried by 6 fellow soldiers all in step with military precision, a lone warrior killed, because of a politicians decision.
The sharp crack of the rifles salute, the last post plays then the coffin is lowered into the ground to the bagpipes haunting sound
As I march off this is when eyes fill and lips starts to quiver a solemn promise in the eyes of all present that this warrior will be remembered forever
Think, it is a fix amount unequally distributed
But how, since labor contributed
For commodity, growth, and reserved pile
What explains the one sided dispersion?
Not rent or taxes, not expanded hire, but guile
One earns more than thousands in the labor equation
So consolidating now, peasants fortune contracted
Machines long invented has left their task unaffected
But the streets are bigger, wider now
And the feet are gathering clouds of storm
I hear the drum beat of the ancient vow
The city trembles beyond brinking harm
It does not understand the change of times
In France where the revolution is forgotten
And where Enlightenment was begotten
I hear the time clock muting omen, muting chimes.
Number
Four two four one
Cars racing by stealing
Images of consequences
Entertaining clowns collecting their trash
“That could be me” clicking tongues chirp
Four two four one just smiles
Those were his thoughts
Before
No, no, no.
You still don't understand
That my hands tend to tremble
and you don't even think about
A butterfly's thoughts in it's last moments
You don't pause to consider the colors of a tree
And until you do, you'll never understand me.
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