Thunder speaks in riddles
I was never meant to solve.
Maybe silence
is the only language
I was trusted with.
Birds circle overhead
with jeweled arrogance,
their laughter sharp enough
to cut the sky.
I can’t tell if they mock me
or mourn me,
but their wings sound
like pages turning—
as if my story
is already written
and they’re skimming
the last chapter.
I’ve run the race from all my haste
with lungs full of gravel,
asked forgiveness
from shadows that never answered,
left pieces of myself
in places no one visits.
And still the world
refuses to shift,
refuses to notice
the quiet collapse
behind my ribs.
This body—
five feet ten inches
of locked doors
and flickering lights—
feels less like a home
and more like a cave
I was sentenced to inhabit.
Yet the wind keeps pushing.
The birds keep laughing.
The grass keeps falling
at my feet.
Somewhere in all that darkness
is a truth I haven’t touched yet—
a shape moving just beyond
what I’m willing to see.
Hovering at the cusp of thought,
before the stream begins to gush,
negating tidings it has brought,
in staid silence, we hush its blush.
Intent simmers in the background,
for the moment gentled and tamed
but resisting to remain bound,
it returns disguised and renamed.
Silence may sparkle when we’re still,
yet what’s a dream but a thought stream,
where we are worse off, stripped of will?
Let our cup of joy overspill,
bliss drenched soul atop love’s moonbeam,
sipping bliss nectar to heart’s fill.
Closing in, pressing around
It's only the freedom of movement
No volition to lend its constraint
Physical forces in moment
Minimum support from surrounding air
Weak random pushes of pressure
Touching skin so to cancel the warmth
Ambiguous feeling of pleasure
So on to the void, emptiness compromised
A need to expand without limit
When movement discovers a new boundary
Supporting an Other within it
What’s significant about buses town dwelling?
Detailed town
A creation that was started long ago
Onward West became Homebound ho
People would park their buses not knowing it would become a town
It was really like a rest area, but permanent residence it became
Buses are still being held up by their wheels
The town is now a center piece
Calling home at least
Cars pass through are intrigued
You won’t find a stream, lake nor river
Buses get their water pumped underground
However, when rainy weather comes, you will see a puddle that could built up to a lake
The buses are permanent motor homes will all the comforts of a solid home stationery
Wonders never cease
Give me a home where I can roam
Home sweet home
A bus town dwelling can be found
Minutes from the highway
Homeward onward calling home.
big bushy red tail
tree dwelling bundle of joy
eating bamboo stalks
I'm retired and live in a small, mobile home,
about 5600 miles from the outskirts of Rome,
about 7200 miles from the waters of the Ganges,
and about 5100 miles from Machu Picchu, in the peaks of the Andes.
It's a nice, cozy little home,
where every day, I try to write at least one new spanking poem -- oops!
one spanking new poem.
The purpose of a house
Is the house the body
The purpose of God
Is Obedience
The purpose of air is life
Placing the vessel in a dwelling place
There's only agape love
In Jesus amazing grace
Our face is a reflection of our souls
The purpose of a house in not a home
Remember man shall not live by bread alone
Where we lay our heads down don't mean it's our permanent home
2/3/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Yes this is My dwelling place
My dear Jesus said today
My place of strength and refuge
In all My trials that I must face
Father God please guide my footsteps
In the way that they should go
Show Me courage for each step
Courage that only You would know
I know You're praying for Me
So somehow that I would see
That You are the true Way Maker and
The best that there could be
Hundreds of frenzied snakes
Slithering from her head
Looking at me
While her gaze wants
To turn me to stone
But I glance away
Knowing the damage
That can be caused
I met her
Dwelling in a cave
Unaware of most slang
But she endures
A painful existence.
This Medusa
A friend or fiend
You tell me
I need to know
But I will love her
Forever and a day
One half orange and one quarter lemon
Exchanging packages
Will be our right
True love
While romancing sunsets
Just remember
To avoid the gaze
When she’s beside herself
And all will be
Just fine
words, so many used
which are meant to heal or cause internal pain
those words may be a keeper of lore
birthed without thought…
a guard of flourish love or intent injury
in the heart...
follow the consciousness
wings within
deep
healing forever
Mistakening the dining light for tonight's pale moonlight
In the reflection of this townhouse's front porch's tall window,
Dwelling on the past I shared with him, as if I am a widow.
The scattered dreams without a goal
The shattered seams within my soul
I ever vow to spark in hell
Forever now in darkness dwell
What mattered most I turned away
A clattered ghost I spurned what may
Ever versed to endear the night
Forever cursed to fear the light
Blessed
New Day
Blessed Beloved
Woman of God
May the God we serve
Continue His good will toward you.
In dwelling you
With His Grace Peace, Love,
Unmerited Favor
Amen
Dec 21, 2023, 8:06 AM
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Wonderful ever so Our Father's provision for us
God bless you, Beloved Blessed New Day I am thankful for your life. And for our Father's Heart beating in you. You shall awaken in good spirit with an essence in dwelling with His grace, love; peace and joy, Dear One
Give thanks unto the Lord! For he us good! And His mercy endures forever!
11/6/23
Written words by Candace Rodgers & James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
..(holy )
(spirit )
[(•)(•} ]
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