I wrote when I was a young girl
and each entry ended with
“It was a good day”
because it was
and tomorrow was a present
wrapped in ribbon
I dreamt again
that I was swamped by customers
ordering drinks I cannot make
and food I cannot translate
while trying to keep everyone happy
while sneaking away to read
the diary of eight-year-old me
to puzzle together why she became
the lost waitress
My diaries had dainty locks
and charming keys
for little hands
They are in a box
with yearbooks
in an attic
full of cheap nostalgia
I wrote my sentences
in pencil
I cannot feed and care
for all the caged animals
(there are too many per cage)
The floor never promised
to hold me
I once collected pencils too
and grouped them based on
popularity
I didn’t have friends,
I had unsharpened pencils
and erasers that came
from vending machines
I learned to fill the quiet
and danced in negligee
to David Bowie’s ‘China Girl’
When his voice broke,
I felt his falling
and stretched my fingertips
high to a popcorn ceiling
“It’s in the way of my eyes!”
I
on the beach of every person that was and will be
i was but a single grain of sand…
nature and death the humblers of man…
external labels should be replaced with simply “i am.”
much like life this poem is free verse no iambs…
where every face seems to have an ulterior
in today’s world, at birth none are superior or inferior
the key rests in judging less of the exterior…
though many men choose evil,
so one must gage their interior…
they squander the gift and deserve society’s backlash
still some men are unrightfully
grouped in with society’s trash…
our judging eyes often deceive us like cash…
the universe which sees collective over (>) the Ego’s trap…
looking in nature’s processes will help one see that…
there is a “you” that exists off society’s map…
expand your mind and it may land in your lap…
Once we were hunter-gatherers
tribes grouped outdoors
before the days of yore
now we're hunt and peckers
each cooped indoors
on personal computer keyboards
and way back when
we'd communicate
banging on the drums
yes since then
we've progressed
today we're all
fingers and thumbs
My mind is like a river,
And constantly it flows.
Something's always floating by,
Whether or not I want to know.
There is garbage and pollution,
Tossed in by what others say.
If I don't dodge them by refocus,
They can affect my day.
Accusations and false statements,
Just floating garbage in the stream.
Tossed in there by others words,
The ones that want to be mean.
O' boy here comes condemnation,
They are the big floating logs.
They always come, grouped more than one,
My thinking they want to clog.
And of course there's floating plastic,
Made of material like it's source!
I step aside so it can pass,
Because it comes with such force.
Lord, help me focus on You alone,
And not the garbage of man.
Help me to keep my river clean,
By focusing on your plan.
One day I'll gather at your river,
At the end of my life.
Where there's love, peace and unity,
And there will be no more strife.
The man in the moon met the children of the sun
The stars grouped together and twinkled as one
The planets applauded as a comet flashed by
An astral reunion that lit up the sky
A nebula formed with hydrogen gases
Dancing neutrinos entertained the masses
The asteroids clashed when Venus came to call
A black hole appeared and enveloped them all
Wicked hexing creatures
Wagging their evil tongues
while casting ancient spells
Wart faced old hags. Women
who recite sorcery,
with newt eyes in cauldrons
Wretches grouped in covens
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.
Long, Long ago in a hut made of bark
Children awoke to a loud raptors hark,
Where misty moonlight filled the night sky
And shimmering stars twinkled up high.
They never did flinch from what they did hear
As birds were more vocal that time of year,
Day time like nighttime the animals spoke
To tell of their stories to all the kinfolk.
Plus not faraway a corroboree grew
Where they could peer out to get a vast view,
And what they did see had widened their eyes
They thought they were dreaming from such a surprise!
Aunties combined all clapping their sticks
A shadow was cast to lunar eclipse,
Didgeridoo loudened and looped
A traditional song for all who had grouped.
Singing had echoed and how it was grand
Whilst dancers kicked dust and golden white sand,
Though this was real common in such an event
Where music evoked all that was dreamt.
There through the flames and embers that flew
The children were puzzled if anyone knew...
As never before within their lifespan
Was sighted a dancing goanna-man.
The word balloons may stir a pleasant thought
of happy times- to which they're often brought
to celebrations for so many things-
alone or grouped together by their strings.
Or given as a prize to bring delight
to little ones who hold on with their might
less they escape and vanish in the air
as tears roll down while they look up and stare.
These days balloons now hold a mystery
appearing way up high for all to see.
Both large and small, they roam up in our skies!
What are they seeing with their AI eyes?
No answers yet have we to what these are;
Chinese surveillance? Creatures from afar?
Balloons take on new meanings of belief!
Will space become a field of wartime grief?
February 14, 2023
Contest: Balloons
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
AI - artificial intelligence
I am His story come forth
Before placed my heart and soul
In spirit into a vessel of sorts
I am a word within His sentence
He spokes, speaks to me for a while
Still caressing me I am who He says I am I be
I am part of The Great I am I am
I am not dark I am light
I am I'm a spark, part of His light
I am I shine bright diamond
Because of the Great I am, I am a word
Word spoken from His mouth
I am found not lost
So the words spoken grouped and with other words
Speaking humanity of spirit encased in His spoken creative vessel
I am a sentence
I am devout
I am Elohim
And He's in me part
A part of a royal spiritual family
God speaks of words spoken
And it is producing
Produces life God is love
God is light Father
Help Me shine and grow
Help Me blow
Trumpet I am a word spoken sprouted
Vessel birth from the Earth with the spirit unchallenged
And as this soul's hears His word
Words of I am I am His word humanity
Humanity is just a mound of clay in dirt
With the breath of God inside
11/1/22
Written words by
James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Five hundred twenty million light-years far
from Earth a meld of galaxies has spread
its multi-arms wide open ‘midst the star
Orion cluster in its wedded thread.
With limbs outstretched, in stellar reach enmeshed,
the astral realms seem grouped in fondness spree,
by constant star formation e’er refreshed,
as if united through affinity.
Mankind’s subsistence may revolve around
embrace of nature’s procreations rife
in cosmic regions or on earthly ground
a wakened sense of reverence for life.
That human beings be humane is key.
Could spheres celestial teach us harmony?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The poem is in sonnet form…
Some sources of inspiration were the following…
‘The ethics of reverence for life makes no distinction between higher and lower, more precious and less precious lives. … How can we know what importance other living organisms have in themselves and in terms of the universe?’
~ Albert Schweitzer (1875–1965)
Explanation: The Hubble image shows LEDA 17532, a multi-armed galaxy merger some 520 million light-years away in the constellation of Orion.
Cats blessed
Rain rest
Rule, reign
Domain
Dull yard
Rain hard
Dogs see
By tree
Mean dog
From fog
Sidekick
Close stick
Bat, Gat
Hate that
Up, stride
Eyes wide
Chicks couped
Goats grouped
Dog guard
Goat yard
Calm still
No thrill
Closed gate?
Not great!
Dogs there
Gave scare
Poor Blue
Scared too
Break through
Crate too?
You know
Juno?
Dog horse
Of course!
Plan hatched
Slide latch
Slide latch
Fair match
Swing gate,
Now great!
Dog horse
Fight force!
Big gun,
Mutts run
No help
Loud yelp
Mutts wail
Tuck tail
Juno!
Mutts go
Blue scared
Bat cared
Bat strolled
Consoled
A wrap,
Gat naps
Bat, Gat
Smart cats!
My lesson back then- to paint a still life
with bright hues, reflections- and shadows too;
of textures and shapes that stand out as real
and grouped in a setting, balanced as art.
Red plate and a round aluminum pan
with apples, oranges there tumbling down;
a silvery teapot- blue pitcher, glazed-
grouped nicely on rumpled, satiny cloth.
My still life is not very still at all;
the shine on the metals flashes and glows
reflecting bright light and fruit forms below-
the rhythm of shapes and textures is felt.
It graces my kitchen and starts my day
with uplifting feelings, welcoming thoughts.
The balance and colors applied with my brush
still stir my emotions to feel the joy
of bringing to life this painting back then-
and painting it now with brushstrokes of words.
We are bound by the shackles in our minds
Stripped of our identities
Replaced by numbers
Grouped by the color of our skin
Killed by our own
Wasting away by the wayside
Overlooked by our environment
Forgetting what we come from
Accepting what we are taught
Slowly we loose ourselves
Reimagining a new self
To fit in to what would make you feel safe
Just to loose ourselves again
We were kings and queens
Society made us pawns
We were masters of our own destiny
Now we look over our shoulders
The shackles are fragile
Easily broken
We are not lambs to the slaughter
Just like the sun we will rise.
"Life overflows with brilliant memories-
lodged deep within to find again and see."
by Poet
I ponder on a word that means so much-
a word that congers thoughts of lucent things
grouped as those objects we observe or touch-
such as the glowing moon- or diamond rings.
Yet, special is that shine that dwells within-
those memories that spark a recalled scene,
then rises to our thoughts as we begin
to search that field of images still keen.
So many gems lay sparkling in our minds
of wondrous days and years, we can recall;
and each gets glossier as it unwinds-
while joyous recollections shine- enthrall.
Pray that our shiny jewels are kept sublime-
as we proceed to polish them with time.
April 12, 2021
Contest:A Brian Strand Premiere No 1198
Sponsor: Brian Strand
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