The past rises
grey and pink
amid rasping gravel
barnacled to chasms
sunken and sodden
clawing at hasty feet
that skate manically
and hurl bodies cruciform
onto mocking concrete.
The marred morn pauses
for a nanosecond
to ponder the maelstrom
of mangled flesh
and sirens.
There's gravel grinding in my gut; a godless gearbox of grief growling in my belly's black cathedral.
My heart hammers like hell's hooves, hauling the hearse of every hope I ever had.
I eat dirt for dinner and call it divine, choking on crumbs of my own creation.
My lungs lurch like dying engines, exhaling elegies of exhaust and extinction.
Every breath burns a furnace of forgiveness that refuses to cool.
The devil drums on my ribs like thunder made of teeth and tin.
My tongue tastes of tombstones and tar and a sermon spat through shattered glass.
Even silence stabs sharp sanctified hollering hymns of pain through the marrow of midnight.
I am the meat of my own misery devoured by despair divine.
And stll the gravel grins inside me, grinding and glorying in my ruin.
Contest Title: JUST TWO IN ONE SPREE Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: Tuesday, October 28, 2025
Title: Memory of Youth
Unit 1
the old gravel road
left her in a cloud of dust
broken hearted and crying
so long ago, still...
I remember my stone heart
and callous actions of youth
Unit 2
young love cast aside
bitter memories still walk
the recesses of my mind
If I could atone
I would make it right for her
she deserved a better friend
I'm totally exhausted,
wondering if life is a car exhaust.
Maybe I'm just smoke in motion,
burning dreams for fuel I can't afford.
Or I might be just a windscreen,
only of use when it rains.
People look through me,
but never pause to see the stains.
Often ignored,
like tires only checked on
once I'm worn out—
still I keep rolling.
Even gravel can’t convince me to break.
How many needles and glass
have I endured
to keep the train moving?
Still they wonder why I creak,
why my silence sounds like breaking.
I have chose you
in every turn and curve,
thinking you were my destination
but some maps lie in silence,
and not all roads were meant to arrive.
So reclaim what I have lost:
I'm taking the sharp glass and gravels,
embedding them on my crown.
Let them see every crack I survived
my glory isn’t gold, it’s grit.
Today I’m shamelessly proud
of every journey, ’cause
it showed me new roads.
And every scar sings of motion—
proof I never stayed broken.
Thursday, we might have some rain;
that would be a treat again.
Need some moisture on the road;
too much and it will erode.
You don’t have to drive real far
before dust gets on the car.
Wife goes to the car wash soon.
Bad for me; for them a boon.
Why a wash is such a bust:
ere she’s home, car’s veiled in dust.
Benefit we have discussed:
covers up the dings and rust.
lonely country roads
winding through back hills leading
into unknown towns
Air aided in gravel’s travel
Its ricocheting rhythm
Rhythming like the crunch
Of an ocean
The steps of someone
The left and right side
Sway as incongruent tides
Whatever winds wind up
Within an earshot, it becomes
Tapped in our orbit
Wonders of the world all around
Wondering what it will be like
To be a cherished kind of sound
a cozy cabin slumbers on the mountain side,
hidden within a thicket of wheatgrass
swaying in the brisk summer breeze,
full of fresh fragrances of pine and spruce
Behind the cabin, a lanky tree
dangles a long rugged rope
with a ragged sack seat stuffed
with horse hair that swings
higher than a mountain’s peak
Down the hill rests a mossy stone
gate guarding a dirt path next to
a line of pine trees, hiding
a shallow stream with weathered rocks
poking through the icy water
Nearby, a mountain trail leads
to a massive rock and its proud
little tree placed upon its peak,
bragging perks go to the first
to reach the little tree
Further, the trail passes by
a random red brick fireplace
its vent poking through branches,
and a calm clear beaver pond,
plugged by the nearby lumber supply
These memories I leave to you
my fondest of my father
Their marriage has to be dissolved,
Nothing again to be resolved,
Twelve good years and problems unsolved,
Their priest had her of guilt absolved,
Mark who had thrice their problem solved,
Three is Lord God's Holy Number,
No case against her being sombre,
She'll stay right through the Judge's Gavel,
And then to Great Britain travel...
Joan: The Fed up with her Marriage,
Not planning to find the courage.
gravel
crunchy like carrots
except I like them
can't say the same for
what's
grating to shovel
grinding to rake
and there's over a ton
would've bought Thanksgiving
got that
you have your truck
get me some gravel
sure
why not
shoveling gravel
like putting up with a fussy baby
except I love the baby
hot sweaty tired dusty
arms shoulders back sore
feels good
gonna take
two loads more
spreading gravel
like spreading the love
except...
yes i don't know
what pain hurts more
when the clouds themselves are cloudy
and the storm that triumphs
has the arrogance of insolence
when doubts assailed me
it was afternoon I smiled
happy with the majesty of my arrogance
there were no gaps in my thoughts
every lamp in the home shone what it knew
outside the fabric of the world grew soft
my way of cataloging these small victories
lending softness to the contours
but sometimes we find a stone
we are sure it is a gem
the jewel's glow anesthetizes our shields
and only when the gravel hurts our hand
we understand that the universe has lost its sunflower
ulcer
developed
from too much stress
on an old country road:
pothole
—————
bad tooth
cavity
where the filling
simply will not stay put:
pothole
If my shoes are to small how far should I walk the gravel mile bare foot~
11/20/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Fiercely flipping his tiller tail
The king’s snout turns to point the way
To lead kin from a briny bay
Up a rustic roiling river
Of flowing falls, rough rocks, and banks
Lined with greeting eagles and bears
Set to embrace with beaks and jaws.
Traveling on a fasting diet
The royal salmon swims upstream
Seeking passage between the hills
To reach rippling crystalline rills
And fill an ancient deep-sea dream
To find its childhood gravel bed
On which at last to rest his head.
Gravel
I saw her
I wanted her
I seduced her
Afterwards,
the lust in my heart
turned to gravel
I choked on it
1/30/19
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