color beautiful
floristic patterns colors
wings flaps flutterIng
~
virtually free
and shiny effervescent
flower gather Butterfly
8/30/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
Come on! Is that the best blast you've got?
Your thunder tantrums don't scare me - Your flash and flare they're half hot!
I love this dunder, blunder, thunder, and underhand rumble-in-the-jungle!
Touché! Olé! We're duellin' again with fork-pronged lightn' sparkling lances.
Clang! Bang! Ker-pow! Ker-plunk! Ker-thump! - Your thunder's late by years!
I flash, bash, smash, crash, gnash — while your Ker-boom goes boom blah, blah, Ahah!
Your quick flashback, claptrap wisecracks come back five seconds late.
Bolt after bolt, your jolts, revolts, cheap-shots and pot-shots hit my ear flaps.
All roar, no score, no gore, no nosebleeds — just air stabs in ionized air.
By then your temper, torage, outrage, out in the garage is binned — You lost!
You ain't learned nothin' from last night's plate-a-smashin' dry run.
Oh No! Don't let the rain come down!
We're both having far far too much fun!
You can't resist, can you — spoiling the perfect row —
By making up, way, way, way ..... too soon!
blue skies, white foam;
ride turquoise seas.
pine scent, sourced breeze,
green sunshine glow.
flag flaps, afloat -
turns, twists; a treat
of shadowed clouds -
p i c t o r i a l
with chimney smoke.
earth’s breast heaving;
sun’s eyes gleaming
as dusk breaks through.
ribboned moon glow -
a heady gloam.
Mr Pigeon puffs his chest out for the chase.
The female edges away as he creeps near.
Because she doesn't know how to get away
They run in circles everywhere.
She skips and hops like it's a game.
She eggs him on to do the same.
The ducks lay nestled and oblivious
To the chaos of his crush.
It's funny to watch his attempts to woo.
Yet however varied his depths of coo
She flaps away. He stands briefly alone.
Then he continues the search for his pigeonette
In the park he roams.
Her eyes were as blue as the ocean,?
Those eyes that always seemed to take my breath away.?
Those hands I’d die to touch—
?All the butterflies, with their flips and flaps,?Couldn’t stop the room from feeling like a fireplace;?In fact, I think they helped.
But these words—?
These words are where it ended,?
The lines that we crossed and blurred?
Between what was real and fake.?
You said, “Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
But the words that you speak—
?I mean,?
You say one thing, but
you mean a whole other.?
It’s not all cute and fluffy;
it’s pouring down rain,?
And I didn’t bring an umbrella.
?But you’re just going to say,?
“Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
So I’ll sit back, and I’ll listen,?
And I’ll try to comprehend?
The things that don’t sound
like what they mean,?
And the exaggerations beyond human comprehension.?
Because at the end of the day,?
After the games that
you’ve played,?
All the mistakes that I’ve made
?Well,?
If we’re speaking figuratively,?
It’s just our language.
The albatross ‘victor’
Gets up in the morning
And does wing-exercising;
Rain is not stopping him this morning;
He has done it repeatedly,
On rainy and sunny days;
He flaps his big wings against the strong winds,
Hops in the air
And falls back on the ground;
Flaps his big white wings another time
And hops back to the ground;
The albatross has a clear set goal in his head;
He aims at learning to fly;
One day he knows, he will roar up in the sky
Like his friends and parents;
With his big and powerful arms
He will explore
The skies;
O greenish blue neighbour of mine
across my kitchen window, sunning in shine
perching very high on the doctor's house fig tree
resonating your tunk...tunk louder than metronomic glee
Saw you today, puffing your yellow throat,
the silk floss petals plucking with your hand glove
bobbing your red head and flicking bluish tail,
have you tracked a sincere mate?
have you picked a red berry or two for your consort,
hope allopreening is not building on snort?
what about fluttering your blue grey black wings side by side ?
start a "Beak Game" in a full stride?
Keep flight straight, with rapid flaps
Be away from that, extortionist Blue-throated barbet
avoid flying klepto red-vented songbird,
eyeing at your red berries and burd.
PS:A coppersmith (barbet) , very old next tree neighbour, annoying sometimes by her incessant calls ,many times reminds me that that is how a life goes on
The butterfly wiggles free of its cocoon, so must I wiggle out of my own cocoon of unjustly fear.
The butterfly yet small fight its way of its small home as to reveal it self to the world, Our Heavenly Father created its home upon the trees.
Lord, from your creation this symbol of grace, mercy, shall soon fly away, upon the winds of thus earth in which your hand shall lead, a destination only you shall know..
It’s gentle wings it flaps open and close as to discreet the fluid from its belly to its thirsty wrinkled wings, slowly it blossoms into a beautiful butterfly ready to fly from the home of the trees in whom fed it, nurtured it all these past months…
Black orange wings spread wide as the angels of your words and deeds accompany her into the skies so high, let Us not weep, for we know she shall see us soon in the warm summer days,accompanied by birds and eagles as not for Gods hand in our time upon thus earth, as only for awhile, untill He calls us HOME.
196.
Our Golden Times During PNoy – Part 3
Behold PNoy who is like a dragon
Faces no retreat from any contention
He has poured down his wrath
On those who taint the Straight Path
From a mighty magistrate
Who tried to abominate
To a feeble commoner
Who is considered a destroyer
And when he flaps his wings
The whole nation sings
For he is also just and forgiving
For those who went against him like the Comedy King
Because of peace and stable economy
Foreign investors and famous entertainers flocked the country
During this Year of the Dragon
Philippines has become a brighter nation.
-12/31/2012
(Dumarao)
A hole in my door I don’t need anymore
It’s meant to allow mail to fall to my floor
Ex-colleagues don’t call since the day I retired
When I reached the age of ‘No longer required’
A hole in my door with flaps inside and out
Never with one envelope sticking out
These days I think it might even be great
To receive a small note re the next village fete
A hole in my door what’s the purpose of that
Never one communique on my mat
It seems that I’ve wound up on life’s storage shelf
Should I perhaps send a note to myself
A hole in my door that lets draughts in at night
But no mail comes through it… does nobody write?
I could seal it up… I’m quite sure I could do it
For nobody visits… nobody calls through it
This chilly spring morning it’s Valentine’s Day
I look to my door and my heart tells me, “Hey!”
The envelope, clearly, is not just a flyer
For it says my name… not ‘The occupier’.
Have I an admirer, my heart starts to race
I open the letter in impatient haste
I ask myself, “Who’s sending letters to you?”
Then, writ large in red… ‘YOUR PAYMENT IS DUE!’
Delighting our Black Caps chaps
Uniting fans fighting nite nite naps
Gaslighting Indian foes mishaps
Rewriting those cricketing maps
As the Black caps hit their straps
Darryl the toast the host soul saps
Gunbarrel straight out of the traps
They unravel yet another six slaps
Our great festive carol never flaps
A late Christmas pressie unwraps
Flicks & tricks spate picks the gaps
Indian spinners fate sinners lapse
Black caps chaps claps & back slaps
Kiwi yippee we see diddy GP scraps
Even that fat cat Virat finally snaps
Zen of Darryl and Glen victory laps
After white-wash a chance perhaps?
Hitch both Ajaz & Mitch under wraps
No Will or Matt but still Indians zaps
The plush crushed can’t turn off taps
Out gunned out spun another collapse
Lush waves rush flush with Black caps
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
vacant control tower hisses in static~
a Morse code signaling the absence of departing flights.
B-24s dissolve into prairie stars,
fuel streaks fading like old film burns.
Midnight mechanics still roll toolbox shadows
across tarmacs swallowed by Kansas crabgrass.
a windsock flaps—empty, always empty~
counting dead radio waves as prayer beads.
barracks hum with old Glenn Miller,
though the record needle’s been stuck for decades.
midnight taxi lights still trace the runway,
guiding no one home.
airfield ghosts wear leather bomber jackets,
not shrouds, sighing at how quietly war forgets.
End Line Rhyme as a Footle
What compels every life to be alive
It is best to feed themselves to survive
Sunlight and water nurture the flower
Enough to sustain and give it power
Like the winged bird that flaps while humming
Some saw it as an expected coming
And as it thrust its long beak sweetly
slurps while wings flap swift and holding deeply
I am from low cars
From classic old cars and car shows
To race cars and race events
From street racing and on the track
To sunset and sunrise joyrides
From cheers, victories, and even trophies
To boos and losses
But everyday is great when you’re from low cars
I am from lifted trucks
From Chevys and diesels
To offroad Jeeps and lifted Blazers
From black smoke and burnouts
To speeding tickets and even citations
From big, wide, tires and mud flaps
To the beautiful sound of the roaring engine
But everyday is great when you’re from lifted trucks
I am from a shop
From once clean clothes to work clothes
To a dirty cement floor
From mud everywhere and oil spills covering the ground
To working hard and getting your hands dirty
From cars and trucks that enter broken
To repairing and restoring, where they leave fixed
But everyday is great when you’re from a shop
No matter where I am, I am always
from low cars, lifted trucks, and a shop
*************************************
Insomania
Wakeful serves the friendless dark
Humming brain flaps its wings loud
Fatigued body longs to rest
I'm lain with my wearied soul
City rests, midst, symphony
Speechlessness screams in my chest
Longing to drift off to sleep
Last Train to Georgia
Wheels sing their final, slow tune
The great machine commences
Fade and rumble in the night
Lights obscure the platform now
Whistling a faraway song
Iron beast, turned: to a ghost
The last station has arrived
To Not Kill a Mockingbird
Gray flash flies from the high fence
A loud, insistent cascade
He steals from feathered neighbors
A tenacious performer
Mocked the world with its great song
Radiance sings a frank bird
Hear the joy of its wonder
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