~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The third drawer down,
stuck sometimes,
resists like a child refusing supper~
then gives all at once.
Inside:
a landslide of faded cotton,
each square a surrendered flag.
Some still crisp with the ghost of starch,
others softened by years of fists,
damp with forgotten tears.
The blue gingham one
worn thin at the edges~
once blotted my knee
when I fell running toward her.
The white lacy one,
embroidered with spring flowers,
never used, as if saving itself
for a grief too clean to stain.
At the bottom,
one still folded tight
into a perfect rectangle—
the way she left it,
the way I won’t unfold it,
keeping her last touch
trapped in the seams.
related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/lavender_time_and_mother_13659
dainty handkerchiefs
pretty embroidered flowers
too tiny to use
lavender sachet
permeating bureau drawers
old woman items
This life is a fierce battlefield,
Little did I know before my birth,
My weapons should have been better honed,
So no earthly force could conquer me.
Friends I made while I was nobody,
Turned to foes when I sought to be somebody,
Those I loved with all my heart and soul
Blew pepper in my eyes when vision blurred.
Deceit comes robed in sheep's clothing,
But in its mouth lie poisonous fangs,
Mental torture is their specialty –
They wield it without a flicker of remorse.
When I wept from the pains they inflicted,
They dried my tears with clean handkerchiefs,
Their smiles conceal their bitter hearts,
Veiled in peace, their souls steeped in a vile bile.
Why were some people made just to hate?
They rejoice when they see their friends cry,
They are logs happier as stumbling blocks.
Than as bridges across a stormy river.
Had I come with my own weapons,
Their jugular would have been severed
To drain their wickedness till dry,
To purge their hearts of bitterness till empty,
And plant in their minds true love to grow.
Dactyls are metrical
Feet that are named after
Fingers with three little
Parts like the knuckles that
Lie in a pattern of
Stress like these sentences:
'Jealously murmuring
Elephants quietly
Sob in their handkerchiefs.'
Feet that are fingers -
How odd!
white infusion now the snow is melting,
paddling down south,
handkerchiefs plaintive cry
tears in the pastures
Dawn down Munster
gathering shadows outshine
the walkway
through concrete glades
tall shadows smash silence
heralds the new day
Whispers of Autumn
Whispers of Autumn
Autumn wakes to an umber jubilee
In the splendor of scarlet reveries ~
When she shakes free these her golden tresses.
Now Autumn whispers an amber sonnet
In summered fields, for fading bluebonnets ~
Love poems float above forest undress.
Summer's ephemeral breath turns cold
In the oncoming blush of autumn gold ~
Frosty zephyrs pass with a silk caress.
Honeyed harvest of falling crimson leaves
Fill winding paths like golden handkerchiefs ~
Rhythms and rhymes of silver sighs that bless.
Sung sonnet gathers notes from spinning leaves
Portrait of spring in autumnal reprieve.
The dawning sky lightened
as day crept up the horizon
pushing Night
toward his exit passage
While all of early rising
could hear the wind of Night
pleading piteously to the Day:
Do let me stay cast me not away
from Earth, my love so dear,
His grieving tears
of pink and rose bright scaring
early morning sky.
Good-bye, good-bye,
cried the Night to his beloved Earth
each clock tick away from you
I’ll cry
His sighing scattering adrift
A ream of puff white handkerchiefs
to cloud-dot
Day’s blue fresh sky.
Such was his sad farewell
to his love
dear Earth.
So in wait
Night coursed the southern
back world
until the hours
be clocked away,
Waiting for sunset
when he would chase
a tired Day away
in a dazzling blaze
of streaked glory,
To then again
softly shroud
his beloved Earth
in his loving arms
of Night.
To all the MAGA minions, let me be clear and concise ...
Your loyalty is somewhat admirable, but its limits have
Been breached, by a man who's truth is vacant of any
Meaning, and void of substance or growth.
That being said, this legacy will share its history with
The criminal, as an enterprise where the law and justice
Would remind Americans of their greatness again,
By their oath.
The greatest hurdle that must be met is most difficult,
Where your eyes and mind awaken, and you realize
That you have been misled repeatedly by this movement,
And need to break the bonds of those false beliefs.
Now if you're successful in climbing off your high horse
And returning to reality... you might consider rebuilding
Some of the bridges you have burned, causing damages
That may never be healed, but we might save a few handkerchiefs.
Lastly, you may realize that the anger your group displayed,
Is but a fraction of the rage that people against you feel.
Due to a platform that aimed to discredit democrats and
Democracy, my independent, non-partisan position had dreams
Of twisting off heads and dumping loads down your neck,
And that's real !
They had for him come in a cab:
Mister Sabinus for short, Sab,
A guy with the gift of the gab
To receive wounds or the wounds grab...
If only he'd leave fast - A Crab!
He'd prevent what handkerchiefs dab,
His movements had often been drab,
For which reasons they could him nab
And over hand him to Wahab...
Luckless chap for Torturer's Lab,
For boxer's blows and waiting swab;
They shall this celebrate with tab.
No god greater than their Wahab...
More and more sweat on Sab's poor neck,
On a spot imaging the wreck:
"Scream after ascending a deck:
I did not a woman's cheek peck;
Men need to know who's being tortured
Plus the guys who had it nurtured".
does them off darns sews
it loves silk worms handkerchiefs
silk webs spider weaves
1/4/22
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
It’s the elephant,
the huge shadow,
the gray bulk of gray in the room,
and it’s such a small threadbare room,
four bunks deep
barely five feet wide.
Wood lice are eating a cheap village fiddle,
it was discarded in the rush
to meet this moment at the end of the tracks;
for many the ride ends in open iron doors,
but here clapperboard hatchways yawn
and close,
and those that go out and return
shelter no thoughts of steps taken
without instruction.
The musician in the spotlight
could not have known any of this,
for her an elephant is beautiful
and perfect as it is.
yet she cried at the rehearsal
when her lips were scratched
by these fretful notes.
I am watching the video,
orchestra and audience;
seeing the camera scan
faces caught off guard.
Everyone is leaning
into a memory
where violins were once
as common as handkerchiefs,
rags used to blot and dab
at sadness,
but this music is a river
that will not dry up.
Only the bored taxi drivers
outside the concert hall
happily leave this repository
of anguished beauty.
For those going home
there are prayers
and perhaps tears for the tears
that did not fall
when they should have.
Las Vegas, Reno, the Hoover Dam, the casinos, the resale shops!
Screech.....they have resale shops in Vegas? Only the best in the world.
They are filled with rhinestone boots, hats, bras, handkerchiefs, zippers.
I know this because I have spent years in these shops –not consecutively
My daughter lived in Reno for seven years, so we used to travel there.
Reno was reputed to be a little Vegas. I think there are three casinos there.
So if you want action, head to the real deal – Las Vegas, here you come.
The city that never sleeps! I used to live out there.
It shuts down four hours a day.
The only time the strip is dead is 3:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m., I kid you not.
The rest of the time you can dress like a celebrity, wear sparkly clothes,
Wear miniskirts, and blue hair, and tattoos up and down your legs.
No one will even look at you though because everyone else is doing it too.
The gift shops in Vegas are filled with the most gorgeous items in the world.
The casinos are bells, whistles, shows, lights, cameras, actions.
You feel like you are in Hollywood, but this is better.
When you run out of money which is day two, go see the Hoover Dam.
ANGELS DANCED
In evening gowns, with wispy wings, tenderly they twirled, whilst astral handkerchiefs conjoined them — the diamond disco ball, your first sun. Intricacy of threads unwind. Each angel reaps half to dab their eyes, as your born again between the moon and stars — this day began in a confined space. . . now seraphim commend you.
the sewing circle —
the silver and golden threads
waltzing through fingers
8/28/2019
Senior citizens
Crated in old people’s homes
Discarded denizens
Wrinkled forms
Pivotal during heyday
Generating national growth
Beyond payday
Bestowing cloth
On backs of offspring
Pouring sweat day and night
Zip in their gait and spring
Delight and sunlight
In hearts of extended families
Fountains of love and generosity
Inspiration for hallowed homilies
Wellspring of wisdom in the city
Senior citizens houses built
From scratch
Committed to the hilt
From a rural hut with thatch
Where senior citizens originated
Trekking hundreds of kilometres
Sunshine baked and incinerated
Through bush path nanometers and metres
Feet aching
Parched tongues
Future taking
Mustangs
Searing heartache
When senior citizens forsaken
Monumental mistake
Faith shaken
Time
To reconsider
Importance of the dime
To consider
Values and beliefs
That pride of place accord to the aged
In kerchiefs and handkerchiefs
Rummaged and foraged
To honour the old
Held in high esteem
To withhold
Neglect in family fabric, team and stream.
There’s an empty space at the table
I have a ready meal for one
It’s the first year without you
I can’t prepare a meal
Now I’m on my own
I’m grief stricken
Sweet angel
I miss
You.
This
Christmas
I’m alone.
My family
Live so far away
They sent me some presents
But they remain un-opened
There’s bound to be white handkerchiefs …
They’ll be useful to mop up my tears.
Checked with how many syllables - 45 per stanza
It’s Christmas Time Again Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
11-28-17
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