By the grave I saw blacken snow flakes
Lightning flashed as I witness
Drawn down from blacken purple skies
Burst of brilliants, winter blast snow blind
Upon a midnight electrics static,
you came gently clanging
Deep into that darkness changing, snow blind
To warn me about the steady
That incremental isocheim - that incremental isocheim
Death shall bring trends
Eagerly I looked for tragedy, wintertime
The festivals alteration adjusting
The dynamics brought such sorrow, snow blind
I have dreams of flows misting snow men and women kissing
I crave the coolish, changeable climate
The cyclic cold snap contouring
Take thy gruel hot coal from out my heart
Come stand wit me twit the freezing blizzard
Come dear heart
Much I marveled the integrated icebox
The snow-covered snowplow steadying shoveling
So inviting is the thought…
To be frozen with me come not see will be so kind
If together we be 2 frozen lovers just snow blind
1/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
This plane clad in black that I wanted to see
Throughout this year it has eluded me
My one chance to go and see it take flight
Was thwarted by another venture in sight
A thing of beauty from an aviation view
Built for a purpose, achieving it too
Sinister and dark, appears to float in the sky
Quiet and elegant, it deceives your eye
Wingspan so vast, and eerily black
Alien technology is right on track
With a dedicated crew and ground sustain
The balance of air supremacy will definitely remain
None see it coming and none see it go
Virtually invisible, but it’s been and they know
It’s presence is noted by the damage that’s seen
This plane is stealthy, wicked and mean
An electronics showcase, it has the best spec
Avionics wizardry keeps it above the hard deck
Four General Electrics keep it high in the air
A vast armament ordnance in case of warfare
The crews are high ranking and full of immense trust
For this bird with unbelievable thrust
Nothing in the world can equal this craft’s pace
This one’s a winner in the aviation race
Passed, words confirmed, where do I turn
Wheels of confusion astride my time
Now knowing my tomorrow's being
As I await life's minutes in reflective remind
Awakening the next morning I'm graced by the sun
Absorbing it's warmth as I neglected before
This all means so much different than previous days
For this time I'm captured now knowing life's score
The key in the door starts my palms to speak
As the Warden confirms, hey' Fraser it's time
Turned, now returned, as I hear ratchet sounds
Walking such corridors hearing negative chimes
Cocky I say Hi, as I'm instructed to remain be
Hence their almighty be they sure inform me
Sitting you'll be amidst arched back becoming so proud
For you'll absorb said electrics throwing you aloud
Seconds to minutes as I stare from whom I've taken
Kaleidoscopic views now attract my visions aplenty
Internal droughts apprehend me as I walk cuffed
Now knowing my inept, soon deserved to be empty
I'm now counting the minutes as to where I'll demise
To all my all out there I've no favour for your cries.
8/5/2017
My house was smashed, broken and torn,
All walls were holes full of light,
So I moved into town to another small place,
Where the walls could seal airtight.
Then boxing day came in the summer of sun,
We left the air con on for our dog,
And the electrics broke and fire ensued,
Filling the house with a dark sooty smog.
Another quick move to a place by a lake,
A caravan I now proudly call home.
With a bed and a chair, two windows and fridge,
Now I can simply roam.
My housing’s fluid, from farm to a river,
To city, to the suburbian day.
I’ve become like a gypsy, ready to move,
Prepared for a new place to lay.
Boy those wheeler dealers sure work hard
just look at Ed slaving away sorting things.
First he sorts out the electrics and switches
then he turns his attention to the mechanics.
Strips out the callipers and replaces them
a new exhaust is also on the cards.
Back breaking work as he takes off bright work
and then sands it down ready for re-spray.
Off to the paint booth where its masked up,
now first a stabiliser to stop leakage.
Two coats of primer, now finally the colour
a gorgeous chocolate that really pops.
The last job is to change the wheels
back to Porsche originals chocolate coated.
Down to the track where she revs and revs
then like a race horse our Porsche flies.
Mike is well impressed at Ed's hard work
wow it is an eye stopper he cries.
A new owner to be found who will love it
Mike works his charms and so has a sale.
Yet another classic saved from the scrap heap
Our 928 Porsche is restored like new.
With a growl it eats up the roads
putting a smile on her owner's face
written 12/04/2015
contest PD and Skat's For Women Only
Steward covered me in coffee, the loos were blocked,
no one can enter, sat with legs crossed.
Plane landed with a bump, not so good.
Was feeling sort of queasy cos of no food.
Electrics were down in the kitchen
Only drinks served, not a good idea
when ones bladder is full, no wonder I felt *****.
Went to the luggage bay after the loos,
Was so long in there, not much luggage to choose.
Mine not around so asked at the desk,
Come with me said an official funny feeling in my chest.
You have drugs in your case, yes my medication I replied,
By all accounts one of my drugs the druggies crush
Had a repeat prescription in my purse that saved the day,
will holiday at home in future can't stand this fuss.
No longer at work
now in retirement
having worked since school
many a task I was sent
Began apprenticeship with electrics
blew a fuse I'm colour blind
then work in sweetie store
before redundancy not too kind
Worked in many a warehouse
looking after many a stock
from food to clothes
kept busy no time to talk
Made redundant again last year
decided to take a rest
believe it's well earned
after giving my very best
poetgord@2013
Oh how well I do remember
Dear Miss McConnell’s typing class.
Fumbling fingers seeking home keys,
And so afraid I wouldn’t pass.
The quick brown fox jumps over the…..
I was assigned that exercise.
No lettering on the keypads,
My fingers had no help from eyes.
Dropping out was not an option,
In Miss McConnell’s typing class,
For she tolerated failure
About as well as she did sass.
So with real determination,
I had achieved to some degree
Enough success for Miss McConnell
To give a passing grade to me.
These were manual typewriters
A secretary’s tool for years.
There was no way to fix our errors
Than with whiteout and messy smears.
My expertise on the typewriter,
Won me a job and first pay check.
I was so happy Miss McConnell
Had saved me from the hunt and peck.
I was wary of electrics.
I didn’t like them very much.
They would stammer and keep typing
When they felt my heavy touch.
But of course one can't stop progress,
And my manual was replaced.
But not until today's great wonders
Could errors simply be erased.
Written April 16, 2013 for contest "The Typewriter"
holds the band
together, listens
to their ****
(plays the peacemaker),
hauls the most gear all
over the ****ing
place, been taking
her/his rage out on the
skins & cymbals
since her/his early teens,
would’ve put a
gun to her/his head
had mom & dad
not gotten that set
for her/him way back
when, the most
wanted in the city,
loyal to one band
if s/he’s honest,
whoring her/himself
out to 9 if s/he’s
not, plays the electrics,
learns the drum
machines, djs
on the computer &
kicks back with
her/his internal
rhythm by tapping
both feet to
infinite beats
while doing
everything from
sitting in class
to working the
production line.
Grade one, oh, how I had so much fun!
Grade two; I painted pictures with colours red white and blue
Grade three, the year I fixed a rope swing to a great oak tree
Grade four, 6 stitches for banging my head of that bloody door!
Grade five, touching the electrics! I’m lucky to be alive.
Grade six, lots of mischief and all sorts of naughty tricks
Grade seven; I was a darling boy that was on track to go to heaven!
Grade eight, please Dad I will be good, I hope it’s not too late?
Grade nine, the summer my dad gave me my 1st glass of wine!
Grade ten, the year I washed my shirts to find a leaking black pen
How I remember my life in a stage or grade,
Not a year passes by where these memories fade.
I am calm and my feet are heavy.
Pictures of beaches and palm trees fill
me with blue stasis. I can not see
your frowning face in the curtain slit.
I imagine a steady beat : in
and out, top and down, right, center, left
repeatitive, always circles back
to the point of initial contact.
I am warm. My navel the fulcrum
of the positive and negative
energy alternating in loops
while my blood listens to the surface
electrics. I am now exploring
the sepia and grays. Oxygen bursts
out of my inflared nostrils, expelled
units of untameable quantum.
I know you are counting my rhythm,
voyeurist who excels in numbers.
This is the way to breath, to catch dreams
yet you are afraid to touch my skin
aware of process. I am ready
to draw in spirits without logic.
You will be surprised with how I can
escape from reason, regenerate
from the detritus they call as: US.
Are you ready? This world indeed was
not as pictured. Even in my mind
I can feel an eye slowly opens.