Fumbles Poems

Tremor

Before thought–the heart: a struck bell's hum,
in the chest's dark chapel. No word. Only thrum
that echoes the void where meaningwill climb. 

Is this the soul's raw conference? A draft.
of prayer–unwritten–lifting like a raft 
on some deep tide. Not speech. Not yet. But chime 

of nerve and grace. Mind fumbles, blind, to trace
this pulse–intent–before it wears time's face. 

The vibration: God's fingerprint, half-dreamed,
still tuning the harp of the unsung.

Time and adieux, worthy farm 2025'

The vibrant popinjay has gone.' The harlequin no more really
Spins in song.' The magic's now all in a can.' Younger female backers
Parry times looming advance plan..' The age'd icon takes his glances
Across the acres, of yearning souls in hopefull trances..Parody banners they lie.' beneath sultry skies.' Echo the effigy of the past,  See it burned in the mans eyes.'
Actions Describe.' Writ large the irony of life.' Youth has
Flown.' All hail its ghost, Ronnie strums, the speakers hum.'
Geri-acrity...Fumbles combinations and with alacrity..' 0yet theres really not one chance.' No way back.' All I see is false hope.' Rod Stewart is a husk.' Not yet voiceless.' Nor danceless yet
Its the back end, of the romance.!

Feather Swords

What are you afraid of
Look in their eyes
For now it's time 
You've been soft for too long

Head on her knees
Arms wrapped around her legs
And just like a prisoner 
For freedom she begs

For a moment they pray
The other she turns to prey
If she doesn't marry, she's faulty 
For crimes she never did she's guilty

Each day every day she crumbles
Every step she takes she fumbles 
Her lips are like sharp sword
But she's forced to never say a word

Taught to be humble, always calm
It's the way you live without any harm
But when they've lost all the humanity 
Why are you afraid to do the same 

When they've abused all their right
Why are you afraid to still fight
What do you have left to lose 
Why do you fear

You can steal words, not ideas
You can steal moments, not feelings
If they do then let them
For they can steal bodies, not souls

Wordless Words

Wordless Words

Countless times of talking,  
On the prepared table of meeting,  
Killing is a sin and a silly action,  
A sin that brings sorrow and suffocation.  
Holy books wisely say:  
We are equal in all ways.  
Now look at how the world dismantles,  
A peace broken down into fumbles.  
Fire from far away, made by guns,  
Burning and sweeping away the innocents.  
What for? Possession and wealth?  
Not fair; speeches are not worth.  
They sound good and rhythmical,  
But bring no change in a circle.  
If everything is done to stop,  
Why are missiles still in prep?

apogee

Tomorrow will come today 
As I look behind to see past my second sight
Tomorrow is now as yesterday is future tense
I linger in this unknown moment as the universe 
Tilts on its axis as my mind fumbles in the dark
The planets aline along the horizon’s edge 
A blade sharp across desolate dreams
As today is tomorrow in hindsight, now
A future is here to the next, a world away 
Tomorrow is now and forever at play
The present is the next day and beyond 
I linger in the moments between time
As the planets are a line in the universe, divine 
Creation in its apogee, I’m in my mystery 
Tomorrow is today as futures are passing away…

Felix Culpa

Do you regret, when you make a mistake?
While I surely understand your concern,
do you know that you'll get an even shake,
a priceless education in return?
So, go ahead, and give yourself a break,
for it is life's fumbles that make us learn.
So say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
there is no need for self-assault.

Tragically hurt, no longer content,
you find life comes without a guarantee.
All harmful things, you can never prevent.
Maybe, it is helpful for you to see
that each and ev'ry good and bad event
is the divine branching of your life's tree.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
blest departures from the path of default.

When genes do not properly replicate,
It's not a problem, but a solution.
You might things it's a dirty word, "mutate",
but it's nature's brilliant contribution.
As the epochs and eons pass, just wait,
and you'll see glorious evolution.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
without them, life on earth comes to a halt.

Super Sunday, Hangover Monday

Wow, another Super Bowl Sunday is upon us here,
    While it's treated like a national holiday.
Yet consumption can be measured by all the beer,
    As the gallons are poured while they play.

No matter the victor, there's a residue of pain,
    As the long off-season is cause for withdrawl.
Even though touchdowns may set records to gain,
    They're soon forgotten as the sports world is a crawl.

Now fans do their best to show interest elsewhere,
    However basketball and golf just don't fill the void.
This is where the withdrawl is thick in the air,
    Only to desperately begin searching their I-phone or android.

We mustn't forget another creation in the wake,
    When millions of football widows then flood the streets.
Looking diligently for another interest they can take,
    That won't remind them of shoulder pads or cleats.

So as the build-up to the game slowly comes to pass,
    We should mention the epic commercials that are placed.
As they attempt to ease the pain from fumbles on the grass,
    To all those that lost their bets...and have that bad aftertaste.

If you can't say something nice

“if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”*  

Such a sweet talker
He could talk a buzzard off a meat wagon
The truth lied in his mouth
Waiting…patiently…
Preying on the moment
Venom dripping from its fangs
The rattle just a distraction
And still they listened
Responded to its plea
For an “AMEN”
As the basket passed
Pennies from the poor
To feed his “privilege”.

She was less subtle
Standing on a street corner
Jingling an almost empty cup
For emptiness draws no attention
She speaks softly
Causing you to slow…to listen
Speaks of need, of loss
Of a longing to serve god
Could you but help her
As she fumbles for the i-phone
Chiming in her pocket

*Flower the skunks mother in Bambi”

Restart

Let's learn to walk again,
hold hands for first steps, new beginnings.

Not afraid to stumble,
or fear being judged for fumbles.

Nap anywhere without setting an alarm, 
and no thoughts cross our minds of self-harm.

Let's make cheat notes rather than journals, 
not to conclusions, but let's jump over hurdles.

Shamelessly laugh like when we had one tooth, 
and when we didn't think twice before speaking the truth.

Let's start again.
Let's be kids again.

Maestro

Headphones cup his ears 
Like a sanctuary, a secret cave 
Here he can hide , he is safe 
Crouching behind the sofa

He hears raised voices
Muffled shouts, words become clubs
His mother is crying again
Sobbing as his father rants 

He fumbles for the Jack
Connects the black, curly wire
Like an umbilical cord 
Feeding his soul

He hears the needle touch 
A few scratchy seconds 
Then it begins. He is happily lost. 
His emotions surge and swell. 

His eyes shut as “Nimrod” builds
His school pencil now a baton
Caressing ,crafting, conducting 
Clothing music with movement. 

Now, prince of the podium, 
Blown like a seed upon the breeze
As the music ebbs and flows 
He is free. He has escaped

Eye Floaters

The tiny specks grow titanic tension.
They’re often harmless, 
     Google consoles her. 
Yet a rare chance burns beyond solace. 
Is it a harbinger of retinopathy? 
Will her eye-LEDs illuminating soul be burnt out? 
Will tomorrow be void of light and colors? 
              As she moves her eyes,
                  the eye floaters drift, 
weaving a cobweb of questions.
If the sense dominating her brain fumbles and falls, 
                                   the eye sockets will be graves. 
Precious sights from her memory lane will haunt her. 
She loathes retreating into the dark burrow 
       like a greater bandicoot rat in the daytime.

                                                                              Later, 
an eye chart and a slit lamp efface her optical anxieties. 
‘Life floats across a variety of blurring things,’ 
                                    she muses and smiles.


Eye Floaters are spots in vision, like black or gray specks, string or cobweb.

First published in The Literary Hatchet (Issue 30).

Winter's Perils

Ponds shiver beneath the ice,
whispers of frozen paradise.
Oh, so daring, with much vigilance,
he crawls on the ice with a frozen dance.

From climbing a slippery slide,
to surfing down a mountainous tide.
Ice protests, in bumps on his ride,
as he fumbles forward, in frosty freight.

Caught in the pond's icy grip,
where he thought the ice was firm, no slip,
but with a quiet scream, a gentle slash,
SPLASH.

In the wrath of chill,
he had thought,
ever so shaken, ever so still:
“Oh, how terribly fun this had been.”

I Being What It Is Not What It Seems-- Dedicated Verse To God Is Speaking Ministries Janeen Brown-

Superimposer 
such an imposter
 heart posture
 sinless composer
 keeps cutting a deal
 missing his field
 Prospect is killed
 blazing sacrifice 
trying to be nice
 humble and spiced
yet he's OK why cuz the Father got him
 leaving appalled 
being withdrawed
 suspected of twice 
trying to be a witness
 covered in nice
 falsely accused of being duped
 silently bruised
 yet in truth
 he's a bright moth attracted to the flame
 cursed fumbles the ball relinquishes his name
yet he's OK why cuz Our Father got him
 caught up in the game
 Withered and torn 
complacent  rebirth reborn
 and in saying all this
 yet instilled bless
 blessed is his type
 crucified for being nice
 following the dream
 being
 what it is and not What It Seems?

Praise God hallelujah he's okay because our Daddy's got it
What it is Is Not What It Seems

10/17/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2023

Eunuch Encouragements

Elephant trunk palms column, canopy claps hands
   Undergrowth glad heart shape leaves spiral 
   Navigator vines map branches, brace boa banyan 
   Utile duenna diary with my duties conspiring 
   Chaperone rope binds silent beside my grand plan


   Helpmaster holsters my faltering stride, hips squared
   Essential weapon for war against mediocrity
   Netted fruit bag binds ideas, ripe inspiration shared
   Collaboration binges exchanges evocatively 
   Oversees growth, buffers fumbles, humiliation spared

  
   Unbias advisor straddles drama, miniscule mosquitos
   Raised beyond current, stilts lift clear of silt
   Above ravaging river, twig leg log cabin cosy kudos
   Guileless sunrise server castrates lumpy guilt
   Enmeshed mirror wishes bud symmetrical smiling rose

 
   Mentor each moment monitor prods my furtive dreams
   Enlivens rainblur haze, unravels twisted maze
   Narrows channel between now and zany zone supreme
   Twines possible to present, pours zesty praise 
   Strengthened, gender invalid, my meridian self esteem





                           9th June 
                    Carbonised Agenda

Husband Fumbles Wife Grumbles

A husband continues to fumble
And his far upset wife grumble,
For his easy requests mere mumble:
She’ll shed no tear, if their lives tumble:
The once straight walker now does amble
“Are these ‘Evil’ or its preamble?”

But she shan’t go for it: a divorce. 
That should be living marriage by force:
If she remarries ‘Adulteress’.
Husband Nick claims he’s an example.
“Yes, in folly you’ve got an ample.”

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