The leaves are starting to change color
The door opens, to bring a new season
My dog runs with his blue collar
He's dancing in the field without a reason
It's cloudy, but it's a quiet day
The signs of Autumn bring peace
My dog reminds me to be free, to play
I will hold a stop sign at stress increase
It's a blessing, more time this is
to live, to love, to give, to be
As i share some of what is his,
I praise vision for all that I see
The purple flowers look at me
with wide open blossoms, like eyes
Then, I notice the buzzing bee
reminding me time doesn't stop, it flies
Heidi Sands
9/17/26
(C)opyright
monarch butterfly
follows me around the field
my spirit flies
Heidi Sands
9/5/26
(C)opyright
On Saturday afternoons long ago, when cartoons faded from the TV’s glow
A teenager earned a modest pittance, to finish the week with his remittance
From coins for cans and chores to do, the basement became the work place too
A weekly ritual dust and sweep, and memories were polished for us to keep
Years rolled on yet still there lies, a wooden shelf with the writing of “pizza flies”
A phrase half-lost, a family thread, echoing something once misread
From allowance paid to words unclear, the past returns as I sit here
In chores, in jokes, we had a good time, it’s these small moments of which I write
cows and horses graze
tails sway from side to side
oh those pesty flies
Tony's
enclave was
saved from
construction
by an
elf-select-
ed goop
of tainted heavenly heads cas-
ing
joints out of time enough to curse
ever
spiteful sets of
Twins born
right on the cusp
of Virgo and a li-
brarian's back-
water
wishing
village.
The birds are singing, because they can.
I am looking at the clouds, because I can.
That fly is bugging me, because it can.
Time flies
Where did the time go
How did I get here?
I may not know
My favorite music is now a classic
Young folks view me as Jurassic
As much as I love to try new things
To be adventurous and bold
But sadly, I need to face the facts
I'm getting old
As the leopard
can't change its spots
the zebra of which
there are species three
(Burchell's, Mountain and Grévy's)
its stripes also cannot
black-and-white
supposedly
but white on black
front-to-back
in reality
it's cryptic colouration
a synonym
for animal camouflage
for which an entourage
of biologists resound
with unproven hypotheses
(e.g., keeping flies off in summer)
and specious theories abound
The flies are back
All last night the mosquitos wouldn't stop to itch
They buzzed
They bit
They stabbed
The mosquitos pestered
But not nearly as much as the flies
I killed the last of them off
Until the flies came back
They came ruthless
Even more
And even worse than the mosquitos
They buzzed
They bit
And they persisted
They swarmed our bodies as of we were decaying corpses
Hours upon hours
I waited until dusk for the flies to leave only for the mosquitos to take their place
In the early morning I rose with bumps
As if they weren't annoying enough
The flies were back
love a quiet day
nothing to do but relax
a fly in the house
I have many thoughts
write poems and do some art
the fly has a friend
my garden lovely
me and kitty take a stroll
bees chase us inside
Like dragon flies
your words fly into my face
a trail of smoke
fills the air
I cannot answer your questions
Dry dirt
shows the cruelty of time
I lie still in the field
I assume you interpret my silence
I am unable to answer
You read my eyes
I fling it all back to you
in my mind. I manage to laugh
The dust flies in my eyes
finds wings and breaths
fire into you. “Get me out of this barren field
you fool!
You roll into the dust
and I am alone
in my Eye I spy
a wayward fly he and a---
nat both kissed my two
~
my eye, eyes heard the
pupil so flickered and blinked
sounds like quiet bees
~
in my Eye I spy
nats and flies fly by my eyes
sounds like quiet bees
4/19/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
A channel of warm coastal breeze
and sun this afternoon lights up
the patio deck on forest hillside.
A dozen tiny flies now congregate
mid-air beneath the redwood limbs
nearby, and here the dance begins.
Clay Sombrero Man on patio delights
in all the revelry. The flies now circling,
dive and dance, a flit and flirt.
Patio Man wonders at the grace
of this tiny troupe of dancing flies,
spiraling, then vanishing in shadow.
The tiny acrobats have gone.
They've left our Clay Sombrero Man
to muse the why of things --
the where of things,
the feet and wings of flies --
the flies of wing and dance.
Here everyone dreams,
Hearing no one scream.
Hopes flow like a stream,
Hearts kicking but no deal.
Just the normal feelings,
The normal life.
The better stays in the dream,
Dreams playing from within,
Reality fleeing to the abyss.
A good look at yourself,
Your dream is described.
Like the mouth,
Too big,
Too loud,
Too many problems.
You are not the only one dreaming,
Others are screaming
For that same dream.
Flies dominate the world,
Gathering useless things for free.
Just a few honey makers
Stay and build together.
Beware of flies,
Remember their lies,
And know they will die
In the grave when they try,
Or pit where they fly.
Take a little bow,
At least to ages,
If not those offices.
But basically,
Look to the sky, knees down,
And say your words,
For heaven gives the world.
Check the road,
The thorn at your feet,
Stumps on the way,
Or the holes
Do not stop the heartbeat.
It's nothing to crash on a rash.
A faster stream splashes on the rock,
A steady one finds another way.
So lead your way
And be brave
Don’t feel sorry for the Ayatollah
Just ‘cos that old man has to fly solo
Yes, he’s got to make a buck
But he is not out of luck
They say he’s a fine amateur bowler
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