ALLUSIONS OF A VANISHED NOW*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
stainless-steel womb
welded shut,
buried beneath the oak's gnarled roots,
remnants given to the earth.
allusions of a vanished now~
faded sepia photographs,
a girl's clumsy drawing of herself,
a compact disc, its molded plastic brittle,
a mix of forgotten summer love songs.
headlines tell of wars, violence, and bloodshed
tidings of momentary joys~
the scent of potpourri, a best-selling book,
a poem scribbled on frangible parchment,
a smooth, grey river rock,
pocketed on some long-ago walk
treasured remembrances.
When unearthed decades from now,
will future inquirers understand
the echoes,
the desires,
the fears,
the loves,
invisibly etched in these ordinary relics?
Will they see us in the dust motes dancing
in the beam of their curious light?
Or will it all just be
a mysterious puzzle,
a murmur,
quickly forgotten,
returned to the earth's clutches?
*Note: Poem published 6/27/2025 then deleted; (Poetrysoup.com/poem/allusions_of_a_vanished_now_1737437) This is my original pom
Warm weather
welcomes wistful desires
into open arms
to shape and transform
into frangible reality…
Rise above noxious feedback,
naysayer noise is static.
Take constructive
criticism and create a buzz…
Warm weather
welcomes a hang- tough heart
into open arms
to stand up again
never become quiescent...
Rise above noxious feedback
naysayer noise is violet
change frequencies
turn to aquamarine ...
Rise above it all.
Let the shade of blue
envelope you.
Personify the serenity
of warm weather.
The feeling of fragility is precious,
But it demands emotional mortality.
A longing for something so distant,
Emotions unfounded and absent.
Hold me and I may break.
Kiss me and I may die.
I am not an angel, I know; I am a frail being.
Feeble, frangible, brittle, and breakable; self-fleeing
Like a glass or like a bone china vessel, breakable
Weakness has taken hold of me with strength unshakable
A tinge of innocence, yet, embedded by the divine
Is still sticking into the cores of my inner shrine...
Like an age-old yew surviving any weird wild weather
With leaves and fruits resembling rainbow-hued peacock feather
Like an antique rock holding itself tight under the earth
From the moment, as a pebble, it had taken its birth
This pristine purity sticks to me like a chroma.
Of a florally farm-fresh, inerasable aroma...
My thoughts, words, and deeds flow from this flawless, crystal-clear stream.
In forms of love and truth in day-to-day life, this does gleam.
Jasmine! Lavender! Pure white tulip, lotus, or lily
Nothing could ever comprehend this purity fully
I wear it. This wears me, rather. This is my existence.
Without this gem nothing in this wide world makes any sense...
a heart is not made of stone ~ it plays the strings of frangible feelings
Poetry is a tranquil balm
Healing for one’s frangible heart
A symphony of peace and charm
The tempo climbing up the chart.
Healing for one's frangible heart
A roam through undiscovered land
The tempo climbing up the chart
Led from the palm of the poet's hand.
A roam through undiscovered land
Idioms of dreams fantasy
Led from the palm of the poet's hand
An escape from reality.
Idioms of dreams fantasy
Scenes from a golden long ago
An escape from reality.
O’er the breeze fond echoes blow.
Scenes from a golden long ago
A symphony of peace and charm
O’er the breeze fond echoes blow
Poetry is a tranquil balm.
13th December 2020
in the fragility of dreams lies their opportunity
to chose between the royal road to consciousness
and a random clutter of misfiring synaptic transmission
cotton wooled clouds harvest seeds from a fallen day
gift a single candy apple or fruit basket case assembly
grow roots as they float into visions and fanciful exposure
at their will they dare to collect a soothing fragrance
of cinnamon and lavender perfume and scent at slumber
evaporate in doubtless measure a myriad of sacred rest
as harbingers in disguise even nightmares offer redemption
once taken to the task in search for terrors’ cause and signs
they speak uncomfortable truths like courageous guides
delicate in their ephemeral essence they tease illusions
highlight unspoken boundaries and sound divisions
which interpolate conflicting reason with emotions
frangible reliability enters realms of disbelief and faith
when morpheus wanders paths of underworld’s mystery
and that fragility reveals the strength of passing dreams
18th May 2020
My FANTASTIC FRANGIBLE Book - A Tanka Poem
O’ so love my book
as is pleasing and gracious.
As it has yellow factors
Brittle fantastic age pages
much it’s frangible
~
Love so I my book
pleasing and gracious It is.
Factors has worn old yellow
And aged fantastic pages
it frangible much
1/7/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020
“Autumn is a second Spring
when every leaf is a flower”
Albert Camus
French philosopher, author and journalist
WINDFALL
the wind-bell, the windflower
the sturdy gong
brisk breeze of anemones
the screen whips open
frangible leaves whisk about
autumnal bout on the deck
hollow limbs crack
oaken surrender
to pruning effect
the scent of cinnamon
mixed with aphrodisiacal pulp
in the amber-lit kitchen
lilliputians of school age
excitement of tiny twisters
scuff up mom’s playground
fatherwind tossles her hair
purple mood ring
spurs smiles to each child
8/8/2019
The Secret of Emotional Mist
Evincing nothing, she remained mute
To nuanced intimations of intimacy.
There was nothing left to conclude but that
The greatest prison is boredom,
The greatest torture --- betrayal.
Thus we parted in the concrete now
Leaving behind that nebulous separation
We had shared almost as if a secret,
Venturing towards precious.
Just as an ill-fashioned keystone
can splinter upon contact if
timing is precise...
Why is it that Time seems to know just
When to strike?
Always.
Leads me to believe
That if Time is not anthropomorphic
it is nonetheless prescient
No. That can't be right...
Time predates and outlives all
(has already outlived us all).
Romantics claim other yet I
Dare gainsay them each and every
Spirit can be broken
like glass
Love become mere bagatelle,
Children, still tuned to magic,
laugh at us as we follow our own
Shades to the underworld of
Wonderment and wonder
How did I ever believe
The intangible was not frangible?
undocumented bona fide lyric writer
very extraordinarily real
also buttery brown bathed in genuine poverty
unlawfully kept under change of invariability
willfully writing human unlawfully and lawfully man made particulars
with frangible dainty legislating to keep safe all that is mine
so how can you know who's
Authentic vs fake and shiny
As i begin the journey once again
I picked someone after the bloody rain
Ambiguous treated me with disdain
releasing wounds from diagram of pain
The frailty i saw is compared to feign
Please betoken all my trust you must gain
Extreme discomfort you made me insane
Wish i am strong but im weak and so drained
I cannot forget my frangible brain
The brutal ax is killing me again
Fathomless turmoil forever remains
Love is obstinate so hard to sustain
Perhaps a true love will never complain
Inquisitive heart always unchain
But my shattered heart can never restrain
So tired to carry the basket of pains
Traducent are we who speak with slivery truth
With silver fork tongues we malign the disclosure
Slanderous are we who act suasive and choose
The obduse of wealth, power, and fortune
In the overture of madness we play in absolute confusion
Vexing, beckoning with their temptations
Plausive are we to the eyes of the wicked
With frangible gists and terrible mindedlessness
Not a poor soul saved, not another guilt grasp
Ignominiously felt, and despodence lasts
All overawed with the overwhelming avarice
And lo the kings of the foul and the underlings
The face is still,
the personhood a mask
and from outside, there is no door.
The world slows down,
its voice as if a worn down tape
devoid of presence, drifting,
lost in its pursuit of time;
it is a galaxy of strangeness
where a breath of lonesome melancholy
would relieve, but still the wind forgets.
How taciturn, outside,
how churning is the turmoil from within.
How resolute, the longing of the sperm
to tear into the heart
and liberate its glory or its agony,
its oratorio to God, its plaintive hope for love.
How curious indeed, upon its evanescent throne
is love, still innocent of thrusting light,
still hopelessly naive
before the pounding hooves that heroes ride;
how frangible its shell!
Millenia preserve their heroes very well,
although their colors bleed
upon the pages that we read,
upon our inner souls when we allow them,
though the face,
yes most certainly the face,
is cold and still.
~
THAT ANT
That frangible small thing
Is it plausible poor thing?
To puddle, wade then die?
You labour without respite
Yet you never tire
For many days you built a hill
With the rest of your race you took to toil
But that turbid giant crushed it underfoot
Nothing daunted, in a spate, another was afoot
How obstinate is your optimism?
And how shallow depths your anger’s chasm!
Today I saw you struggle up that wall
Hard upon the unrelenting facade’s toll
Again and again like your life’s prize
Tumbling yet ever again but again to rise
Oh, how you stupefy even those wise
Not twice but again, and again twice
You moved a little to the right and again
And at once you scaled to the plain
And as you hurried away on the flat
I bid my guru of the hardest art
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