Ducts Poems

Poetry, phonography

Yes ma, I am a boy and I don't like the lack of favour which I had been offered so I wont sit with the others and this is because I am a tainted boy, who found what love was on the tint of my phone, blocking out the camera with my thumb in case it records because although I was young I had already known what it meant to be seen, just like on the silver of my screen which had reflected my face in a way that I had deemed as inappropriate, I'd rather not associate with my features, specifically the brown in which I wear or my tainted hair, it coils. What is love? I am a boy with my hands on my phone but I would rather have spent those days held by you ma and although I'm young I'd have sown what love is, like how I could tear open the ducts on my face, yes I sometimes cry when you are not there. I am sad all the time Ma, kanti izandla zami ezani?(what are my hands for)
I want to be loved.

BLACK WIND MoVeMeNt-

Where? Are the colors night?
Taste the rived winds black
Lack of colors attract

Black has no movement bright
Movement has no depth
Black has no tear ducts can’t weep

6/5/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©

Carol

Upon the eve of dying
she could not speak.
And all her opened tear ducts
Sprang awake
And flooded forth from
The founts of creation
A new sea.

Oh, yes!
She cried a sea of tears
Because her words
Had passed the door of possibility,
Because her boys
Would not be there
For her to comfort them,
Because, perhaps
A whole life
Needed to be grieved.

How I loved her.

She could hear the simple, humble things
That no-one else could hear,
That I would trust none other
Than her heart to listen to.

It was like having my own wise, quiet mom, again.

And now on the eve of dying,
Now she cries,
And the seas are flooded with light,
And her form rises lightly
From her bed,
And she is gone
-	Except, perhaps, for a single tear

Motel Time

Time is vertical here,
it travels red-eyed in elevators,
it is an out of sequence conversation
you have with an ice bucket
it drops hair and lint into air-ducts,
then spins them into dreams.
In the morning,
perched on a sagging bed,
one sock in hand,
drinking sour wine from a plastic cup,
you close a suitcase
that bulges from two-days' worth
of motel-time.
You wonder how to leave
this wrinkled room,
with the same face you arrived with,
shrug,
move on out of one box
onto another.

Prayers are Said

    Tears fight their way back
       into their ducts for now  
    moist palms clammy at my sides
      
    Prayers are said
       the living honor the dead
    shovelfuls of earth on top are spread

    Is there nothing more I can do
       ~ She once told me ‘I love you’

Misery

I know misery, she haunts me,
2am, 3am sleep eludes me.
a song I didn't need to hear plays
invoking unwanted memories.
everything sounds like her,
everything looks like her,
although nothing is her
because she is gone
gone yet eternally present,
between my ears,
living in my tear ducts,
crowding my brain with
memories and regret.
should I burn her letters?
tear up her pictures?
like that would banish her
from my brain,
from my heart,
nothing does that
she's always with me.

©SamHarty

Creation

The beginning began where there was no beginning. 
Darkness doomed the days of still waters ,
While the virtue of the earth remained a void,
harboring space for creation.

The Universe became a living being brought to life. 
Surrounded by a thousand galaxies glittering glamour.
Planets planting poles of protection. 
The sun devouring darkness 
bringing day and night
Separating soft water into sky 
and salt water into see.
How I love creation.

Vegetion verged out of the vacant land. 
Fruits filled the free space of the horizon. 
Creatures crawled to cover the land. 
Fishes filled the flawless dams and lakes.
Birds flew to braid their fascinating art of woven nets.
Beasts already aiming for the bush.
How I love creation

Dust moulded to form a million ducts and cells.
With a billion veins and an engine mind.
A sophisticating creature
 yet crafted from dust.
A mortal flesh filled the immortal bones of the dry body
Filled with infinite breaths, 
It started moving and
 became a living being brought from dust

Seasons Come and Go

Birds bedded down. The cool air circulates.
Whispers of crickets. The black noise hushes.
Yawns give way to tears - the ducts erupting.
An autumnal wave crashes over me.
It’s obvious how seasons come and go,
as mom’s settled in purple urn - the ashes
keep; without incandescence in her sleep.

Drying Tears

so shy am I yet
 I don't hide my love the pains 
of life do not come
~
 from above my tears 
yet so do flow down my eyes
 you see the greatest 
~
greatest of these mine
 drying eyes do breathe abundant life
 cry for you I love 
~
Instilled rain falls on my
 face my eyes tear ducts absorb
solace viewed my love

Drying tears

9/13/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023

Dawn As a Wind-Up Toy

Child play. Dawn, as a wind-up toy,
jumping up and down, keen.
A buoyant verdancy of joy -
waking up fresh and green.

Waking up fresh and green.
The ivy…the oaks and weeps.
On the salient morning I lean.
Whatever this day…it is for keeps.

Wiping tears and sand from ducts.
The ascension of the sun display.
Pink and purple passion constructs.
I hit my knees, look up and pray.

I hit my knees, look up and pray.
A humble approach - prism of self
seen through Christ - in Him I stay.
To deep dive today, I entrust myself…

To deep dive today, I entrust myself,
into God’s faithful word. The good news,
sharp and alive, off my bookshelf,
With Christ, my hope, I’ve nothing to lose.

Whatever this day…it is for keeps.
There is one who shapes each cockcrow.
I know my Lord and Savior never sleeps.
His faithfulness - dawn’s enduring glow.

6/1/2023

Sleeping In My Car In the Snow

sleeping in my car in the snow
subzero temperature with frozen snot and drool
so dark in the weary silver car that it feels like life is drowning
my mind is an antique thinking that it is a new day, but it is only 3.5 minutes later
the moon has icicles on it
the stars are in a temporary hibernation
the tears refuse to run down anywhere for it prefers the warmth of the tear ducts
my mind is a turtle in a rapid state of constipated confusion thinking that morning has come
however, it is a minute and a half later from the 3.5 minutes later from when i laid my head down
when the next morning comes, i will Praise God and ask Him for Good Health, Comforting Warmth, and Divine Protection
until then, i brave another frosty, frigid night nervously chattering in fear until some form of sleep comes
that is, if said sleep does decide to come

Leaving Tennessee

Time is vertical in motels,
it travels red-eyed in elevators.
It’s an out of sequence conversation
you have with an ice bucket.
Barefoot hours drop their hairballs into air-ducts,
spindrifts of sweat drift unfiltered.

Morning lifts ears first,
they open eyes in your mind.
Early risers thump down hallways,
trundling wheels pulled by heavy hands.

Perched on a sagging bed,
one sock in hand,
drinking sour wine from a plastic cup,
you roll underwear into a ball
packing  lost hours away
into a small suitcase.

You wonder how to leave this town,
how to check out of this wrinkled room
with the same face you came with?

-relevant

Sometimes, the heart has to cry 
Even the heart has tear ducts
 pumping tears with the bloodlines through its veins
Supplies do the blood flows through it has generational curses 
The hearts linked to the brain that must recite God's Scripture His verses 
And as the tears flow down the face of the seat down around his chin 
The heart knows what the heart knows that the Mind, Through The Eyes Of the Soul, always
 So sees and knows all things
Amen


5/6/22
Written words James Edward Lee Sr.2022©

I Hate It

I hate it

 I have been watching a love story on TV, and it never fails
I blow my nose get tearful; I curse myself for being a soppy fool
movies like this were made to appeal to my tear ducts.
The film is about a rich man’s daughter who falls in love 
with the chauffeur; to the rich man’s anger, the chauffeur is fired
The young couple elopes the grumpy father hires a detective 
to find them and since they are so beautiful and frequent places
only the rich can afford, they are easily spotted.
The girl cries a lot and is given house arrest
 the young man gets a job as a short-order cook at a truck stop
Two years later, they meet again in the street, their love has grown
stronger than before, and he turns out to be the lost son
of a royal family somewhere in Europe.
Upon hearing this, the father forgives his daughter, pays for the wedding.
A beautiful wedding even the pastor cries.

The Fool

I pass by wispy meadows
That have always lined these roads
I've got a dollar in my pocket
And a dog who will follow me,
      Almost anywhere

I let the sunshine deaden me
With solar Novocain
And my tear ducts that dried up
A long, long time ago

Don't despair if I'm not there
You're better off without me 
and the burden I've become
'Cause if I stay this thing remains
I'm sure you'd do the same

I've worked the same job for a decade
With nothing much to show
Just a pension and some wisdom
And a handful of bad memories

So, forgive me if i leave you
Without so much as a goodbye
Your time is worth more than The dollar 
That I waisted  
For some cigarettes

It seems unfair that you're still there
While I'm leaving, 
This place that never wanted us
For anything

In my travels I have wandered
Much more than two and fro
And though I’m tired
I regret that I am leaving here
Just as I wandered home

• Short Ducts Poems
• Famous Ducts Poems
• Best Ducts Poems
• Read Ducts Poems
• Long Ducts Poems
• Ducts Quotes