I see movement
On the lines
Accepting, rejecting
Paying chaotic fines
What looks like a gift
Reeks of solid exchange
The price for living
Is desire, rearranged
Nothing fits just right
Catywampus is the shape
Push and shove, here and there
To prove, the debt is paid
Cold and tired all around
You will never have rest here
The fire is lit for show
A home for every fear
Grateful to finally know
You can't find value among thieves
They take while giving
So that the soul is always shedding leaves
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-09-2026
When my boys were ten or so
on a fishing trip we did go
In my rough old ute through a city street
Roadworthy standards it probably did not meet
Suddenly behind us a flashing blue light
Bloody cops they always cause a fright
I pull over my two boys are on the floor
these cops approach the drivers door
Thoughts are forming how can I divert their attention
pretend I,m lost they pullout their street map direction
Once again we're on our way
My diversion's worked no traffic fines today
Next day before the sun has risen
catch some fish that is what we envision
Finally rays of sunlight filters through
The creek has dried up, no water is in view
It's rare I see my fifty year old boys today, I wish
Once again together we could go and fish
Footnote: I go back forty years . I wonder do they still make street directories
He hones his purpose on a stone whet of spite,
Edge kissed to gleam in the dead of night.
Relentless is the echo tuned to hindsight.
Endless in the knowing his cause is right.
His grip is firm, his whetstone flat.
His purpose honed to revenge in tit-for-tat.
The axe grinder, can't ever get over that.
Old grudges are ground in, with spittle spat.
The sparks fly from grinding wheel.
Spun to remove the scars in steel.
Caught in armor on the leg and heel,
Of the foe that stood up from their kneel.
Sharper minds cut cleaner truer lines,
In wood chips, slivers, shaves and fines,
Cut deeper deeper in, to find the quick that binds,
The grinder to the hurt and pain he mines.
Quick cuts
Shows guts
Fast feet
Cuts neat
Jumps high
Runs by
Good fakes
Smooth shakes
Knows routes
Runs south
Sure hands
Wide span
Knows plays
Speed pays
On time
No fines
Great shoes
Blocks too!
In bounds-
Touchdown!
I’ve seen the world change, transform in sight,
My country has taken on so many a plight.
On one side, poverty’s face is shown,
On the other, prosperity has grown.
One side gleams with bright faces, full of cheer,
On the other, life trembles, caught in fear.
The rich walk proudly, the poor quake in dread,
Like wolves chasing prey, they’ve fled.
The strong push laws aside, trample them down,
They’ve legalized their wealth, in every town.
They stash their riches, send them abroad,
Planning their escape, making the law their fraud.
Cut wages, take mothers' dues away,
Taxes and fines growing every day.
Some chase titles, lost in the quest,
While others wander, just trying to rest.
The good spread their kindness, hearts so bright,
The bad hide their wounds, concealed from sight.
Why must a young life be taken in vain?
Why must they hang, filled with sorrow and pain?
We lie in the fields, shot or hung,
No matter how much we try to run.
The cause of it all lies in the deceit,
And the wrongs proclaimed from the podium's seat!
Andrew Cooper farmer of the land, of Croyde Devon; in old
England decided he'd plough some fields again? as the sun was shining through the English rain, yet some eco-loonies including a judge? hit him with fines and orders and they don't want to
Want to budge.' O K he remted it to the relic's archialogical
Whatsama-thingammy..Cant deny it' and he took a fee' twenty
Years went past, now surely he can till? again.? At last!! No
Mention of a clause; or legal waiver, .' I'd say to farm again is
His right and favour.' Old England will benefit' the people all
Round need the crops to go into the ground.' A balance is
Great between preservation and farming.' Yet this is an
Imbalance. And most alarming in a time of Brexit and
Challenge of change a nations interest are more relevant
And this injustice must be changed.! Give ear to reality, and
Allow the wheat to grow, as in ww2 the fields need to be sown i am with Andrew.! (the Coope-rman)of Croyde Devon,! may he live long and hale to continue farming that land.!
The birds will still fly, and the fish will swim,
But things may never be the same again.
People may smile, but some cry inside,
As others shout loud, far and wide.
They destroy the land, in the name of progress,
With claims of no harm, but we see the distress.
The windmills, the solar, the lithium mines,
They shrug their shoulders, and pay the fines.
For the "greater good", our land will die,
It's someone's big dream, but no one knows why.
It's time to look hard, at the powers that be,
Who will it benefit, is it you and me?
Is it really progress, or are we making it worse?
the results could be incredibly adverse.
If you're operating a motor vehicle look for signs
Especially, if you don't want to pay ticket fines
Don't drive all that fast or all that slow
Especially, if you want to get to where you want to go
Because accidents happen when you drive too fast or try to pass
And by driving too slowly you might get bumped in your ass
you must take the time to rhyme,
the design is divine and you will find
it aligns with the original minds
of before times when afore lines
were written/signed and mined
for stage binds and weaved vines
intertwined with the twine of dimes
nickels and pennys deepening fines
as greasy grinds gripping wine stines,
snipping lips with widely-eyed shine
sipping moonshine as they dined
behind locked door were blinds
which burglary was a dyne
like a katabatic slope incline.
Mission statement
broken promises
miscued satisfactory
guarantee Mount
of courses
Major pangs pains
Tranquil mission equality
Misjudge guided path
Lost on the road
Fables lies and stories
yet I'm told
Guarded yet misguided wonderful
Sheltered yet home
Homeless covered yet naked
How do you accept this
Prodigal Son has come home
isen from his lie down
Horizontal thoughts
In a vertical vessel
He struggles with himself
in life's lessons
~~~~~~~mission statement
He carries the weight
the guilt the shame of tens
maybe thousands of generations before him
Shown the light in his eyes
Yet do shine his heart is solid
And soul flickering
But yet they fines careless
Is the thoughts of the thoughtless
As the mind's wrinkles thesis
Floods The valleys overflows
The dry land I believe for you
I believe for Elohim my bloodshed
is not a worthless
Cause for you see
Jesus Christ died for you and I and all
Hallelujah
6/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
I am here
you didn't show up
death is not an excuse
I will put more coins
in the parking meter
if I have too
until
I run out of coins
then run out of tears
why oh why
tickets and fines
who cares?
my purse is empty
I have run out of breath
With integrity under fire recant and
You'll be labled liar.' There are riots
On the streets now' parades about
The middle east, sad-guy just counts
Up the fines, he gets from, his u l e z
Low down feats, its not because he's
Muslim..' or the mayor that gives them
Room.? Just one thought an earlier
Britian never lived within such gloom.'
He so fines, Beautiful so souls the days are fine;
Heavenly Father as wonderfully kind;
And His parentage is mild, ever breath is mind;
Adjourning love supply, He’s ever present always abides
Lovingly, assuredly He so inside, inside He is within me He’s finds
1/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Your index is still in grip than your appendix.
Your words are still in repulsion of mirror, consciously.
It does kill, I think, both ways. indecision as a pill cutter and anti-cutter
Three subjects wide ruled lines, even though
the very first one did not melt, so far.
Yet, these days, they do come again, as long-lost sun lights.
Once a study table with a glass top, used to believe that.
there was a student.
sweating to study,
harder and harder in watching lives, passing by, finetuning and fines and dues.
and tuning in the farthest try than in nearer sigh,
happening democracy in the pressing opposite
cramming the fine paper space in an obscure awkward offset
Where words fall short to heed or hide
or make a duo in understanding altogether.
Looking inwardly, I am too
Or else, it is better to let go
Truly it is far better to let go
than to hold back a strenuous good bye
That should end at least half an hour ago
Peculiarly, blossoming at the doorstep, once again!
In shackles, the angler stands accused,
His reel now silenced, dreams diffused.
Caught by the law, his freedom at stake,
No fish to take home, just fines to be paid.
An unlicensed cast, is the price he pays.
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