Down the alley I see the well—
beside it, a quiet distress.
A rainbow behind you shows seven colours,
yet within it you emit only grey.
What lies inside you?
Do those shattered windows tell a story no one knows,
or are your walls themselves stained
with a tale no one dares to hear?
Those withered flowers seem to hold a promise—
unless they were buried
for someone who could never keep one.
The fog that surrounds you
seems to isolate the world,
but never you.
You look almost royal;
no wonder you have no kin.
You understand blood too well—
its scent, its taste—
a knowledge that horrifies the soul.
Perhaps one day
I will come to clean you…
only to meet my demise.
They're everywhere now...
When lights dim in the corners of society
They swarm like cock roaches on a filthy countertop...
Strutting about the stage in their crystal, ego bubbles.
Telling us what to eat- what to wear- how to think.
Even though they're sloppy, unhappy, and quite obese.
They tell us how to pursue peace
(when peace is already here) ...
They even tell us how to walk and breathe.
Guaranteeing great wealth and a healthy mind
if you follow their step by deceptive steps...
If you'd just take a sip from their magic potion of B.S.
The truth is that the only way they've "made it"
was from the blood of our lack of confidence.
From the flesh of our insecurities.
The truth of the matter is most of them think
they've sprouted wings and can hover above the sea.
They think they can upstage and outshine Jesus...
I could care less if I ever hear from them again.
I'm much better off without them.
Indeed dear readers, there is such a book.. Yet
In my deepest boredom, I have never looked.’
Foresooth and in truth; it’s been fifty years.?since
I glanced in his direction..I’ve no desire now to
Subject any ears’ though they be of barley.?
Or even corn.. I bind to no disputed lyric
Origens I’d druther indeed be forelorn. Cast on
An isle barren and sad.. Than laud disputed
Lyrics if you like your truth’s to be had.?
• The filthy rat that was living in my walls
• Had left the house before the rain fell
• When it left, in its maw
• It carried a rusty old bell
Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
I am that slender lady in sexy white sheets,
my figure is smoking hot when my body touches the heat.
I’ll give you moments of pleasure and a fill of nicotine,
but around your healthy lungs I’ll weave my tricotine
I am a silent killer
causing deadly disease,
but people ignore the warnings and signs of expertise.
I am the international
loved by all my fans,
I’ll send them to the graveyard in polished caravans.
I am those smokey rollies the filthy cigarette,
you’ll find me on every shelve I am not that hard to get.
"All my good is good
Filthy as rags from a sewer
But justice my Father gleans
From my sins He’s has sent His Son
He whom shed His blood
Shown us His love
His grave has forgiven us
My goodness, all of my goodness
In not enough
It took Our Jesus to die for me on the cross"
9/20/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
(A World of Monsters & Men series)
Turn off the lights
Lower the sound - or silent
Stop talking for a bit - I mean perfect decorum
Let me think
Let me sink myself in the ocean of my thoughts
I need to clear the waves in my mind
For some time - maybe longer.
A filthy parasite is eating at my core
All that makes me whole
All that I’ve deep inside
Leaves me lifeless- at least not living
The blooming flowers in me are cutting themselves
I hardly feel alive
Burn out - lost - empty - empty
I now face life in the face of a cancerous ulcer
NOTE:
In 2022, Nelson Mandela's famed South Africa, sanitation STINKS especially outside big cities. Municipalities only burn diapers ('KIMBIES', in local lingo) as women & a few men walk the LOCATION (or townships like Newtown for mixed race, locally called Coloureds). But before daylight burning of trash & plastics, dogs tear diapers on every street. One fails to convince even educated people of color to wait for the weekly trash trucks, or for feeding the filth to the fires burning a few times each week. Instead we have the following senryu situation
II senryu from South Africa
Rain in slow showers
Feed bush, Nature, dirt-roads -
Mud white - gel, torn diapers
Chicory chew chew, tobakky chaw
I love my pappy. I love my ma.
Spit in a tin can, straight from my jaw
Chicory chew chew, tobakky chaw.
I wasn't constrained to dwell in hell
But I brought it right here in the cell
Demons surely came along,
Wearing their fancy thongs
They crave a filthy bong, and
Wished to stay for a little long
While busy playing ping and pong,
They somehow knew the vibes were wrong
So, they began singing nasty songs
While hitting a really special gong
They said, your mind is where we belong
So it’s better if you learn to play along
Since they were way too strong
I just stayed up all night long
Looking for tricks to get along,
Pleading them to stop ding dong.
Golden waves sway in a strange sky to create a new shade.
With bare feet, cross a shroud's path, but no one is aware.
Summer starts as scarlet hues salute a mottled promenade.
This image has gold sparkle and blue padded birds there.
Written: August 14, 2021
The soul of the earth
is worth more than dirt
As the soul of man, not material
The heart of dust
Is just, NO unjust
when mixed wit water turns to mud
And my sin is as given
A wretched, blacken, filthy gore
Rotten and nasty unfit for even Lucifer Satan
ROTTEN FILTHY SINS OF Man-
6/28/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
I badly fear feuding cattle,
Vexed into a ferocious battle;
An endless shudder at the goring horn
To them granted when they were born.
I could imprison the defecating cattle
And off and on heatedly rattle
About their messy-looking hilly dung,
At all corners of an expanse, filthily flung.
But I do pity the knife-facing cattle,
Just as I would an on-a-slab-turtle,
Of resistance dispossessed, no less of mettle;
To soon in active kitchen pots settle…
I could Imitate journeying lazing cattle,
This intently doing and not a little,
If my destination be an object funeral,
No lucky grabbing of a bottle of mineral.
Turn off that misplaced grin;
Satan get thee behind me;
I have repented;
I no longer need you as a parent;
You're no longer my father;
I am forgiven but His Grace has chosen me ;
And put on me a brand new face ;
I am of amazing grace;
I am a child of the King;
I am God's child now;
You can go away get to behind me Satan with your filthy grin;
In the name of Jesus I am freed and born again;
Amen;
1/1/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
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