The Crocked souls final Toll
In the veil of darkness,
There creeps the crooked ugly dark soul
Who opened Hell’s door
With a key stolen from the gate keeper
Hiding so nobody sees it
Looting anything worth coin and pure
With a dark plan within its soul
How to resurrect its self
As an innocent soul
As it envisions itself as dignitary
Throwing its sulphur glare
At folk who challenged it
It couldn’t hold its contempt to long
As Hell’s bells rang
Then folk’s sudden realisation
It was stealing from them
They took the key and prey tell
It got caught and thrown back into Hell.
Holding onto tomorrow,
Looking beyond today,
Pushing aside my troubles,
Reaching for tomorrow’s light.
Hoping for a blossoming day,
Walking out of today’s complexities,
I journey into the unseen,
That which my mind envisions.
Anticipating tomorrow’s bloom,
Fighting against the tendrils of night,
Awakening a feeble hope,
Finding the path to redemption.
Remembering the words of the sage,
Dwelling on the promises from sacred texts,
I look beyond today’s shadows,
Opening the door to a radiant tomorrow.
April 13, 2026.
These walls are made of sedimentary stone,
it's a desolate house with glaring glass windows;
they emanate the reflection of distorted images,
gulls twirl around it, their shrills have a dark tone.
How quickly I have aged by noticing these deep lines
across this face that was as smooth as a child's skin;
doesn't time ravage everything, leaving a bitter grin?
Whoever envisions only joy is startled by surprises.
Do we restrain ourselves or live in utter madness
to reject the dreadful thought of each abstinence?
Does pleasure alleviate fears in hopeless moments?
Wouldn't it be a refuge from denial to seek resistance?
This rapid existence has a deadline for glory or demise,
being alive is virtuous thankfulness to implement reason
and choose the easiest temptation or the hardest choice;
the decision rests on either: become a saint or a demon.
“Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” – Emily Dickinson
He can’t help feeling like he lives behind
the gates of hell – a godforsaken place
where ghostly thoughts inhabit his sad mind.
Groaning, he envisions her smiling face.
The specter of her will not go away.
Grief-stricken since her passing, still he grieves.
So difficult it’s been for him to pray,
and each depressing thought inside him weaves
a web of gossamer; he cannot flee.
No fires rage in the gates of his own hell,
for gloom and gray are all that he can see.
But there is one good thing that he knows well:
Until the day he dies, he must be brave
until he joins his love beyond the grave.
Televised is the burden of my heart cries;
Lovely is the often awesome struck guise;
We soul, hearts mind envisions together;
Rise in us darling, please the covenant of God
~
For Him in Him His glory and honor:
Energies combine electric triumph;
I dear heart love you more there’s no less;
This coupling is soar heavenly bless;
2/11/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Mama came first, when she spoke, she had beautiful eyes
As I went my way in life’s way
In my dismay, I enjoyed her so
Later on I left home found a love an adorning woman
When she spoke, she to had beautiful eyes
As I pursued her, she her love renewed so
See she to had beautiful eyes
Envisions of my decisions
Our Father in Heaven so sees
You see His vision is perfect
In Him He looks at
Already seen He saw, He knows it all
Elohim, Father God is our Beautiful Eyes
My story been seen by Him already completed and written
Our Father sees beyond time, He has Beautiful Eyes
As He's has forgiven
6/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
When songs of joy are sung, full-throated and deep,
lines of gay rhyme and cheer may blissfully spring;
but songs kept furtively never lie or sleep
within a bard's secret, inward being.
What germ of hidden verse can be his art?
When the mind envisions poetry, profound
phrases of love pouring out from the heart's
impassioned lips may multiply unbound!
But riddled in a cipher, kept inside
a closed conundrum, there's a magic key.
Encrypted, made to go viral, far, and wide,
in rhymes apparent is his mind's bel esprit.
For beautiful souls always shine, and find
in the other the gift of a great mind.
Standing one in Liberty City
They do not entertainment at the local bondage
Structured homes ques blue and purple lilies
Trees encapsulated in polluted environmental caskets
~
Solar brights lit lights quantum heaven bliss
Days lights envisions captures darkness path
Pin light grasping beams rays sunbathing
Exactly exposure midnight grips light not
~
For neighborhood district light cast darkness back
Sun rays sunbathing warmth beams of sunshine
Lost yet knowing where I am at
They do not entertainment at the local 5 and dime
~
Structured homes ques blue and purple lilies
It's hard to surface up living in the ghetto Liberty City
2/28/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2024
She shivers under a thick blanket
twisted limbs seeking sympathy
she envisions twinkling lights
and the cinnamon scent
of Christmas candles
watching lovers’
mistletoe
kisses
melt
~ * ~
hush
nearby
approaching
snowy footsteps
and loving whispers
puffs of billowing breath
the joy of two newlyweds
searching for holiday spirit
as heavy branches sigh in relief
A carpenter nails boards together
The architect envisions the house
The laborer sweeps up the progress
A poet positions
each stanza in the framework
of the universe...
The sun smiles, the moon yawns
the stars wink
On cloudy nights
the puppeteer grouses about the pay
Some days at sea are nothing but work.
Heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp’s lit.
All one can dream of are stable foundations,
Roots in the soil, and walls made of stone.
Some days at sea are seven nights long.
Stand to at muster and stand tall on watch.
All one regrets is the sin of the Garden,
Exiled from Eden and sworn to the mast.
Some days at sea are lived in the dark,
Crouching below deck past canvas and hemp.
All one can smell is the taint of the wicked
Wafting from hammocks asway in the swell.
Some days at sea are heavy and damp,
No sleep to comfort the ache of fatigue.
All one imagines is Saint Brendan’s mercy,
Tribute for Neptune, and safe passage home.
Some days at sea are absolute calm,
Fair seas that follow with no hint of storm.
All one envisions are distant horizons,
Some looming outward, and others within.
POETRY OF SHAPES
haunting
enigmatic
in
poetry
of the everyday
so approachable,
yet mysterious
encounters
with the
metaphysical
a silent reckoning
endlessly
rearranged
in solitude
of the simultaneous
of
banality the
moment
of the
featureless
space
underlined
in the
significant
of
a spiritual
consciousness
enigma
is still life
passion as
beyond the calm
looks organic
& envisions
an intimation
self
of
sympathised
in the
neoreal
love
in
humanity
They say he’s a loser,
the shabby look does not bother him,
Sitting by himself and lost in his thoughts,
Seems like normal thoughtful moment for him.
They say he’s a loser,
He goes deep inside a love song to find the meaning of love,
He feels the sorrow in the sad songs to understand the pain of his heart,
He plays the sad flute music to meet his lover sometime.
They say he’s a loser,
He peers in the flower blossoms to have a close encounter with the beauty,
He looks up to the clouds to send his love message to his distant lover,
He envisions eternal love in the perpetuity of waves beating the seashore.
They say he’s a loser,
What people say, it does not matter,
He loves the peace, stillness, and silence in his thoughts,
I guess he must be a poet!
as thoughts flew round
like thistledowns in the air,
there shot from him a suppressed sigh.
he strained to remember-
“when was it I last got a call from my children”?
he rocked in agony
his heart beats quickening....
how little he sought
and how little he gained!
he lived for his children.
well settled, they now stay far away.
in the mirror
peering into his disintegrating face,
heartbroken, he airs out....
- his loneliness
- his ailments
- his thirst for his children
his voice trailing into the heedless sky
until they shrink down to a single breath
in and out, in and out......
like a lizard waiting for its prey
he sees Death waiting near.
he envisions a coffin lowered down
not borne by anyone familiar
but by some strange hands
gladly he steps down
closing his eyes, he lies inside
waiting for the warm kiss of his children
a parting gesture due for any parent
Feb. 27. 2023
~ Placed Second~
Writing Challenge. H words Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
In a dream of bare, I awoke
In the blared walls, it misspoke
The winds of Auria eluded in the cascading windows which then provoked
Envisions of Auria descended through the glistening saint
Without a flair, I discerned a haint
Auria wandered in a stage of fright,
Meanwhile, invading my dreams of spite
Her nebulous words echoed in my mind
‘What a faint creature, so misled by fracture’
They mellowed as it prospected my perceptions
As she posited her hand on my exceptions
Envisions of Auria repulsed its regressions
She was my fate of progression
She rehashed my reflections
A memory of infliction
She wandered off into a glistening spade
Relinquishing her jades
I scrutinized her windows of glade
I lingered against her pallid hair
Then, woke up in tedious wear
‘Auria, a lady of fate, yet dart of spade’
Such assimilation wandered in the glistering gape
My thoughts were so heavy, yet so light, though seemed rather bright
They were my reminiscences of Auria”
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