I have ants like Easter eggs lost in the grass.
Feeling the wasp nest in my neck like a mass.
I bellowed because my head has no chance.
Like grasshoppers who can’t prance.
I belong because I am a basement floor.
Who gets cracks in it like a burning core.
I belong like spiders sipping on the harmful dust.
Hurts like sandpaper we can’t trust.
But I belong because I am like Saturn.
That rusty, reddish pattern.
Head musty like decisions.
No kind of revisions.
Shocking.
Spiderwebs interlocking.
Belonging isn’t always kind to me.
I still am a glob in the sea.
Soap scum come to fruition.
I was just wistful fishin’.
Darkness whisks the egg white strands
into the yellow yolk glob.
Time claws its way
wallowing through a quagmire
of booze, ooze and bog-breath delays.
"I'm Late, I'm Late!"
"Who Spake?"
"Who's seen better Ways?"
Feet spread strangely,
disengage and untangle.
Interlocking with toe taps
pin-pointed to barre-
laughing at those old elbows and knees.
The gasp of old shadows
lurking in clouds
dispels the carnival
confetti spaghetti charade,
to yell:
"Joie de Vivre!
"What the hell!"
"Is all this stuff about?"
Silence lies petrified
by a pillar of Babel-borne salt
outside of the window.
It can't get out of bed.
“I’m fine! OK!"
"I'm laying in"
"Playing dead!"
Each contradiction
spoke with impeccable diction.
Intonation interlaced;
with poise and puréed perfection,
personified.
It brought applause, clapped with one hand
behind the other,
a contra-counterpart.
A toot toot touche,
bowing to cheers
from both ways.
My hope for the year 2026
is for me to heal and try to fix
my waves of grief and stabs of pain
that flatten me daily and keep me from gain
in my faith, future, and doing well at my job
I feel like I am running in place and feel like a glob
of struggle, grief, no concentration, and lots of reaction
to small things that turn into a huge distraction
from what I am trying to accomplish and find
which is peace in my soul, heart, and mind
Sometimes I wish the moon
was cheese -- for those hungry
nights of unclaimed desire
subdued somewhat with a late
night snack -- now I am really
talking crackers...
as the heart is never appeased
long, by glob of jelly
or a dab of peanut-butter
Truth needing more than ice cream
brand, what will be remembered
as the cone of Democrats' Melted
Glory --
do you know how to conjure a turtle? asked the snot.
Wonderful Winnifred Witch was unsure, but she tried.
A fat spotted frog jumped out of her pot.
Ran under her china cupboard to hide.
Next she conjured a snake, who slithered away.
Maybe it’s not my time, my task, or my day?
Winnifred gave her cauldron and spell book another try.
This time conjuring a happy glob, who would not let her cry.
I really like this happy glob, she thought, he makes me happy.
You are insane, said her familiar, a scroungy crow named Nappy.
She gave him his freedom. He gave her a feather and a nod.
She was joyful now because she had her happy blob.
The Sitter
There it is
Sitting in the old wicker chair
Grinning its foul slavering grin
It moves nothing than its face.
Every night it appears
Until waking and shaking
I reach for the pull light string
It then evaporates at pace.
I will take the chair back
With its eviction will go the glob
Never more to appear
With its evil sneer
Its cynical jeer
I will not fail in the execution of the job
I will not ever again fall into the snare
Of buying an antique second hand chair!
jay is different than he has ever been
a neatnik of course, and he is my twin.
whereas I am a beatnik, messy and thin.
he is a cleaner, a duster, no dirt on his chin.
I am slovenly, a messy hoarder, a collector, a slob.
my dungarees are usually filthy, rolled up in a glob.
no one is dirtier than I except maybe our uncle Bob.
bob eats like a hog sloppy buttery corn on a cob.
my brother’s cleanliness is annoying; it gets in my way.
he is way too serious, always cleaning, never has time to play.
his skin is sun-deprived, he stays inside to wash down the fray.
a beatnik, I am the exact opposite of my neatnik brother, Jay.
A daylight daze
has been removed to a dark city
in a DC Comic.
Nations have swallowed their tongues,
have become a caped parody
of an undeclared independence.
The good are caught in the search lights,
the bullet heads and bare-faced bad
run the globe, turn the coats,
unify the unwilling sheep into lambs
until liberty itself is the aberration.
The enemy is a suit stuffed
with daemonic dandruff
reserved to snow job the helpless.
There is a new world order now
for the meek, weak and bolder.
Globalist's glob onto the taste of power.
Our super heroes are pot-bellied
and cancelled.
RoboCop is now a peace poet;
he gently rants
in a soundproof basement,
writes sonnets to forget
the already forgotten.
Tears and beers freefall
behind crumbling walls,
we must add too tight tights to the list
of all our ripping sorrows,
shake enfeebled fists
as menacing shadows gather
and we
ever willing to cast
accusing looks upon each other.
I was feeling mighty low one day
Till wifey-poo came to the rescue
“Close your eyes, I've a big surprise!”
I was tempted to take a peek, wouldn't you
Held 'em shut tight and played the game
I could smell this aroma so sweet
Heaven had descended upon this poor soul
Smelled like that glorious treat
It's a smell that really can't be disguised
Described as the food of the gods
Chocolate oh glorious sweet sweet chocolate
It takes you where angels fear to trod
Finally she said, “Okay open your eyes!”
And there in all of its splendour
Lay a bowl of sweet chocolate pudding
I just knew I had to surrender
Adorned with a glob of fluffy whipped cream
And a yummy red cherry on top
My heart started pounding so fast and loud
Thought my ears were going to pop
When I had gluttoned myself like a piggy
I slumped back down in my chair
The air was filled with the sound of angels
Spent the rest of the day without care
Thank God for vegetarians there is more meat for me
just wish those militant vegans would let me be
It's not that I don't like vegetables I'm easy to please
just flavor that pot of green beans with a dab of bacon grease
But now they made plant based meat marketed as fit to eat
packed with chemicals and fat so your taste buds taste a treat
At first it was Burger King now they got KFC
honestly for meat eaters it sounds like preaching
Real seafood, poultry, pork and beef I desire to consume
and for eating almost anything adding bacon makes room
Barbecue it, grill for sure, roast or frying pan
for the smell, flavor and taste of meat I am your man
Fake meat just doesn't sound right eat a salad instead
but put my salad on a thick hamburger between buns of bread
Feel free to eat what you like but don't mess with my menu
I want crispy golden fried chicken, not bite into a glob of tofu
Today I’m a blob
a slob
a glob
a perturbed mob hob
don’t ask me what it means
you will be peter fink snob
you’re ugly and spoiled
and it’s not your business you see,
so get away and stop pestering me.
today I’m a blob, a snob, a glob,
a perturbed mob hob.
uglier and more surly than
a spilled kernel of a sassy
Iowan corn cob.
Hair brain glob pores;
Scape congested cog webs spores;
Covered chrome top
Afro?
4/5/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2021
The world of our ancestors
keeps rolling around.
I watched it on an old globe
bought from a pawn shop.
The front lines, though faint,
led to blood-red delineations.
The glob made me dream.
I was spreading a map
over a wide table
I could see minuscule life
running forward or retreating.
I saw armies charging here and there
body parts everywhere.
Back in the wide-awake world
some old warriors ended up in Florida
tanned but terribly wounded
they send me pleading letters
not to say another word.
imploring wand wish
waves glob white alien arms
indigo conjured
A juvenile mulberry tree was transplanted
into my yard a year ago.
Currently the vibrant serrated edged erruptions
are stuck like green balloons
against Bambi leg branches.
Blossoms have tickle of toilet brush bristles.
Maturing mulberry will seep, dire as ink.
3rd August 2020
Traditional Haiku Nature Poem Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Globby pearls, dog smiles
Huge glasses, make-up, high heels
Sunlight on eggshell
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