Hands hold tight to the loose ends of hope
As we toil and crack, night and day,
Hoeing up bits of earth and its fragile retributions.
Our crops and little beads of sweat drip to waste
On the ground’s boiling soils.
Eyeh is another name for a deceased generation.
The ones that sprout stubbornly through restive
Delays get re-greened, losing vibes of communal
Watering, ceremonial baptisms.
Birds build their nests in haste,
When bent cusp-blades sprout secretly at twilights,
Behind ethereal curtains of dawn falling
To the consternation of treacly, bitter syrups of time . . .
Is this continuous planting . . . and delirious season?
Has it come to that —when drunken war mongers
Form weapons from slats of pallid bamboo stationed
At the guard posts of violated yams and their flaccid
Tendrils?
I fear.
Such suzerainty over yellowing crops
Transcends the coats of black dust hiding from the disease
Of identity.
It is still planting season, brethren.
The deafening sounds of cannons shake the stalks yonder.
There's a smug dance of weevils on the graves of tubers.
Some haunt me pleasantly,
Using the grains of dewy silence that speak loudly
Within the long, grey halls of history.
I recline on such images with smiles I borrow from
The penetralia of my soul and skin.
Behind them come lean trees denuded by the swift
Gales of re-greened winters that celebrated
Friendliness in the course of wondrous seasons.
I peer deeply at them, genuflecting to Time
For its abundance of grace and reflections.
A spell of the past descends generously on me,
Navigating genially through the winding routes of
General ancestry.
They must be black, with the silhouettes I crave —
And white —with the silky mildews that glue together
Dispersed unity of the fragile present.
They transport me back to where I should have
Been but couldn’t be, through the nostalgia for
Where I was —only on sufferance.
My calloused black skin got shoved in the soil by a white mans soiled thumb
Trying to make his mortgage off me
Buried
I found friends
Barely breathing
But we sang. One friend was named Hosanna.
We gathered ourselves together in song.
Mother Earth appeared in the darkness.
She pushed us together, further, until our sprouting threads joined hands in prayer singing,”Hosanna in the highest.”
And the farmer prayed while he and his children tamped us down in the dark wet black soil.
But the choir was loud that day.
Singing, “hail thee festival day”
And as we grouped, my new friends found the ground and the sun
And bloomed a watermelon
That plopped itself, all greened up,
Onto the farmers knees.
And he hugged all of us.
The green, the red, the white, and
The black.
Later, there was a picnic and the farmer kissed his wife.
And she spit me out back onto the soil.
I will always be a seed.
But in the fact that it was barking
trees
The wind moving the tree branches in the night
trees
I felt compelled to sniff the summer lawn
Compelled so to remembering my late nightly gatherings
Where are the dandelions I want them greened
night
So that I may eat them
It's that overnight I muttered fallen into winter colors
But in the fact that it was murmuring
night
That those leafs, brown in grey fallen falls colors socializing
While I pondered, gathering parts of shrubs
I threw my eyes upon the floor covered vision with evergreens
dead
It threw its ghost against the introductions
Dead blossom no longer blooms
That communal meeting
That communal meeting
Fallen autumn winter trees dormant
dead
There stood a social flower deaden bub
While yet still pondering gathered parts of deaden shrubs
And the party never clocking
splendid socialization sleeping
Fallen autumn winter trees dormant
Birds sneaking back building nest
dormant
2/10/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
The hand of dawn smashed the cleavage of the midnight sky
Cuddled the moon and flirted with the milky way
Until the sky missed all her stars
The clouds became pregnant
The night was still thick, so nature decided to make that one of their little secrets
But walls had ears indeed .
The birds whispered to the ocean to have her menu paused
For heaven is about feeding the earth
Quickly, the Hills and Mountains bowed
Galleys and valleys halted their pant
The beautiful daffodils tossed their heads gently to the rhythm of the waves whiles awaiting the rains
Lo and behold the rains kissed the earth
Birthed a new day
The fields were greened, pastures regained strength to feed
The sun gave a duchenne smile, and its effervescence spread the sweet-scented daffodils,
Charging the atmosphere with beauty .
May nature prepare our blessings whiles we snore
May we find the birds for heads-up
May the rains come timely
May the aftermath bring forth success, progress, fortunes and beauty
Merry Christmas and a Prosperous 2023...????????
?????????
??????????
I waited as I always do
for at this time what would ensue!
It happens in the month of May.
Like clockwork, it again came true.
It was a quite nice, sunny day
as I drove up on my driveway,
beside which stands a lovely tree
nearby where starlings like to play.
I saw those starlings soaring free,
and as they swooped, enchanting me,
to my front porch my eyes were drawn.
Can you guess then what I did see?
Five rose bushes my eyes fell on -
the only bushes by my lawn.
Though all through winter they’d been dead,
they’ve greened up with cold weather gone.
Spring’s here for sure. Yes, winter’s fled,
and never have I been misled
by Mother Earth. I’m welcomed each
mid-May by that first rose of red.
Written a few days after May 16, 2022
Posted May 25, 2022 For Sotto Poet's Rubaiyat Contest Poetry Contest
The calendar hanging on the wall says,
"Beware! It is yet winter,"
Though the night air whispers,
"Listen not to this."
The lashing rains, deafening and onerous, pass.
Frogs rejoice in loud, riotous chirping.
Newly sprung rivulets rush down abruptly greened slopes
Gurgling and gushing like freed children escaping school.
Fragmented clouds waft leisurely eastward, so unhurriedly that the
Stars appear to stroll southward.
On the moon's rising, a feathered chorus begins the
"Litany of Spring."
Nature mocks its own ominous tones of winter's requiem.
A springtime fawn found a placid pond and knelt down for a drink.
She bent her knees into the mud,
And placed her velveted chin
parallel to the pond
and the dawn found
the edge of the earth.
The touch of the fawn’s
Mouth made the water wake.
(and all things in it).
And as she drank,
the orchestra played the pond-song play.
The whole pond awoke to the sound of the little, lapping,
fawn’s tongue-song.
A tadpole was freed and ...Swam in the song.
He surfaced.
Greened in the dawn.
And surprised the fawn.
He saddled her sweet new nose
With his bright green clothes.
And she sneezed him
Aloft a red virgin rose.
The aura of spring is in the air.
It begins with thawing.
Next the frost heaves,
And the soil becomes ripe.
Spring showers
Begin as tiny droplets
And build into thunderstorms
Feeding the earth.
The essence of newly greened grass
And black soil fill my senses
First shower of spring is over,
And a rainbow appears.
Showers bring light.
Showers bring hope.
Showers bring renewal.
Showers bring life.
The disappearance
The Gulf of Mexico suddenly ran into the Atlantic
left oil rigs high and dry.
Naturally, the USA claimed the land which was disputed
by Mexico and Cuba and Belize.
What was left of the gulf had rivers and lakes
and as the land greened it turned out to be fertile and
the Amish people encouraged to farm the land which they
did with earnest enthusiasm.
Village sprang up, roads were built, and the famous
veterinarian Jan Pol opened up his practice as well.
As years went by, people forgot that they were farming
on what has been the bottom of a sea.
The sea had not forgotten.
Slowly seeping in and those who had built luxury houses
were the first to leave, but the fishery thrived and
the shrimp business had a revival.
There was a mass exodus, and the Amish people went
back farming the land they knew.
When the water had claimed, all of the gulf and people
forgetting. There was only Wikipedia left to give
a brief outline of the past.
Our springtime crawled in softly
Greenness walked in ahead of her
The daffodils laughed so gaily
Her tulips were lightly demure
Our springtime greened us overnight
We awoke one day, and there she was
Back in place, quite a pretty sight,
Reminding us she does what she does.
Upon the forest floor lie
trees of yesteryear forced by
changing seasons long past gleaned
comforter of summers greened.
Nature doesn't bow to restraints
devours walls with an embrace.
Grace solace with no complaints,
stretched tight among time and space.
5/28/2018
My parched wasteland waits
The rains love makes would come soon
Spread a green meadow
I would traverse to reach you
In the moist depth of my heart.
August 20, 2017.
Into the distance tracks of life reach
Worn rails from the rounds and rounds
Looking back on images bleached
Soon beached to then run aground
For as we travel life's tracks
Greened scenery caresses both hearts
But sadly life doesn't run so smooth
Just like tracks they can soon apart
You appeared before me like a road not on the map
Freshly paved and pounded flat
And I, having just inflated my high performance tires
Greened the light and shed my hat
No sign of speed bumps or sink holes to rattle my nerves
I vroomed down your stretches and rolled through your curves.
With the top down, in the pouring rain,
I gun it and floor it; not wanting to see
The Signs of caution in front of me.
Hands on the wheel, Mister!
Eyes on the Road, Sister!
“Oh please be the road I just know you can be!”
(as though you could alter your path to satisfy me…)
The road beneath does nothing to protest my bolt.
After all, it knows where it goes and cares not that I don’t.
As it yawns and bends,
I find myself wondering where it ends.
For what’s at the end of a road more often than not?
Nothing but a big ol’ parking lot!
And why should I care
How long it takes to finally get there.
So I down shift a gear and slow-up my pace.
Though now I can feel the rain on my face.
It’s okay though ‘cause now I know
I’ve no particular place to go.
I might as well lose the map, and as I grow older,
I’ll rest my vehicle on your wide soft shoulder.
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