Eyelash flashes and soft, sultry, hips
Languid, lascivious, seductions
Hot lust drips from sweet, lump-luscious, lips
Intimate, discriminate, influx-ions
Fast fingertips and slow gyrating hips
A night of lascivious influx-ions
Took one last sweet kiss from the sweetest of lips
Now no more discriminate seductions
The paper sack left on the floor
has come to life. It’s haunted. Look!
It’s growling and gyrating now—
gone wild. It’s time somebody took
control. Aha! I’ve got ya now,
my little kitties in the sack.
I’ll get your lunch now, Pat and Pete.
Okay, I’ll let you ride my back.
Ouch! Watch the claws. They really hurt.
I’ll put thick blankets on my lap.
Then you can be so comfy but
won’t draw blood. Soon we’ll take our nap.
You’re fighting for the bouncy ball.
Sometimes you’re an aggressive pair;
but, after all, you’re little ones.
Sometimes my human kids won’t share!
Don’t climb the curtains, Pat. Oh, Pete,
you’ve overturned the water dish.
I see what y’all are staring at.
You can’t get to the kids’ goldfish!
You’re so much like the kids when they
were small—just into everything.
When they get home from school, we five
will have ourselves a happy fling.
When he was 13 and I was 12,
he sang “Clap your hands
just a little bit louder,”
and I followed his playful commands.
We out there in TV land thrilled to the sound
of his superb, inimitable harmonica playing
on the wildly popular “Ed Sullivan Show.”
Stevie had us gyrating and swaying.
At the time, I didn’t know “Fingertips”
was a Billboard number 1 hit
or that Little Stevie had been deemed a child prodigy.
I just knew his music made me move; I couldn’t sit!
Forever Elvis
The guy with the pelvis
lives on, and on, and on, and on.
in the hearts of his fans he’ll never be gone
He was a guy who knew how to sing
Gyrating his hips was his special thing
When performing on stage
The crowd would rampage
It’s no wonder they call him “the king “
From gospel tunes to rock and roll
Folk and Country, blues and soul
Near fifty years since he’s been gone
But his memory and music still live on
Handsome Hardy Hal haphazardly hung horrid hearts on healthy hedge
Impossible? Impractical? Improbable? Too near the ledge?
Justifiably joyful, joked Jerry’s jolly jubilant jonquils, gyrating
Kansas kittens carried kaleidoscopic kits that clung to the ledge
Legitimizing lovely lively lilies laying in lovable lulls near the hedge
No secret poets are fond
of stars and dreaming --
of gazing and seeming:
using one's mind as a
portal, focusing crystal -- using
the heart, to capture as
a vessel, all that is clean
and unclean -- no flat safe
of a writer is he... daring
pens
wallows in dear slobbers
like bacterized faces of dog
lovers, equally affectionate scratches
he wincingly endures
as his feline shreds
making more opaque the steely
curtains purring deeper into veiled
folds of day and night --
unlike those
who keep the world
firm on proper axis turning,
the poet off tilts
transposes
confounds convention with broader
gyrating mystery, elevates to
novel royalty
that which would
otherwise remain
mere serviceable
far too primary
for his quaking soul
basic impressions of
dark and light --
Charlie Bug on vacation is dancing a jig
Almost got stepped on by a heavy pig
Gyrating and wiggling, he shows his best side.
Here comes that pig again, Charlie, you’d better hide!
They'll be no hop scotch with a broken crotch.
No gyrating like Elvis with a fractured pelvis..
Don't plan on doing the hoot Chie cootch.
Better settle for a smooch.
No leisurely long car rides, not until the pain subsides..
If you are planning to stand, better keep pains meds. at hand.
Just want to sit a bit? It's painful until the bones knit..
Our pelvis supports our bodies weight, if fractured one
must rest and wait.
Two legs are less efficient then four, if there's life after life,
I will need two more..
Ever wondered if angels fall in love
With a divine beau in heaven above
Do angels long for an angelic kiss
Or for to exist in romantic bliss.
Do angels dance upon God's holy stage
To divine music that's seraphic rage
Rotating, gyrating, twisting, twirling
As was done when just a girly earthling.
Would angels play games, such as hide and seek
Or are they simply too mild and too meek
To indulge in those long ago playtimes
Games that they played when they were in their prime.
Do angels wear dresses spun from gold thread
As did princesses in those tales once read
Does it matter to them how they are seen
Or do they dress for the heavenly scene.
Is it true angels watch o'er us in sleep
Singing lullabies to God's precious sheep
Keeping one safe in dreamland overnight
Until moonbeam and starlight fade from sight.
I wonder if angels weep many tears
When they're witnessing war, worries and fears
When all they desire is peace upon earth
That all folk and creatures have equal worth.
Clay climbed and clobbered Clemson Clue
Doing deliberate diamond disciples daring do,
Enough Elizabethan excitement expressed Ellie Lou
Finishing fancy French frankfurters, freeing Friday’s flu.
Gigantic gyrating griffendorf’s glazing gibbon’s glue
Harboring horrific hellacious hippos’s in hindsight’s hue.
Ignoring illustrious iguana’s illustrating indigo’s favorite blue.
Jiggling jumbled jabborwock’s justified jellies and jams for a few.
captivating winter child
outside playing gyrating
spinning and twirling hula hoopings
vibrated so much landed on the roof
plastic ring slowly falls down
until the ground
~
the little girl
still dancing, jumping up and down
little girl on the outside full of joy
bye and bye
she hula hooping outside
in the winter time
2/12/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
Charlie Bug on vacation is dancing a jig
Almost got stepped on by a heavy pig
Gyrating and wiggling, he shows his best side.
Here comes that pig again, Charlie, you’d better hide!
When sun sets and the deepening shadows creep
When most birds go to roost under the canopy of the woods
It is then I start my nocturnal odyssey,
Flying through still air on pinions, foraging food.
I have a heart shaped face with eerie round eyes,
Positioned like two peridots fixed on a concave disc.
My claws are as sharp as razor knives.
With gyrating moves and cavorting glides
With eyes fixated, searching and observing,
With a swish and a swoop, I subdue my prey.
I love the golden sunset but hate the blushing morn.
My weird hoots rupture the stillness of the night.
Send chills down the spine of the young and the old,
Many see me as a bird of ill omen,
A harbinger of death and bad luck,
But some say, ‘there’s nothing foul about the owl’.
A yummy mother with pram is walking
to west Dulwich from West Norwood
The blind lady walks under scaffold
the gyrating lumps of bolts
gerates her white stick
and your plimsole beggar man asks for a pious 50p piece
what he can buy Lord knows!
Your street preacher with only pigeons as an audience
conjures a better day
until the expected gales up lifting
the tiles as an erstwhile punishment
for repentance
Lets do the coconut strut,
Hard shell oh well,
As long as its nice inside,
Lets all dance with pride.
Oh, let's do the coconut strut, lets cheer,
Movements so smooth, it's better than cold beer.
We'll sway to the left, we'll sway to the right,
Our hips gyrating with all our might.
We'll shake our coconuts with style and grace,
Our feet tapping out a lively pace.
We'll twirl and spin, we'll dance and prance,
Feel too old? Just take a chance.
With each step, we'll feel the beat,
Coconuts leading the way, can't be beat.
We'll strut our stuff, and do it right,
All holding a coconut very tight.
So come on, let's do the coconut strut,
Its an easy dance, open and shut.
So come on all, out of your huts,
And all give praise to COCONUTS!
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