A heathen, a stone,
A cut that doesn't bleed.
A clown, a shapeshifter
We’re all one of these.
A closet full of masks,
Not sure which to wear
Carrying stones on my back
Not sure to put where.
We all hide stuff,
Indeed we all lie.
I keep it locked, away
Out of sight yet not out of mind.
When there's an urge, and i slip it out
How simply pathetic,
In the moment self control doesn't count
So ill hide the rest, laugh out the week
But my mask becoming a sieve,
The weight more than my own
I simply cannot carry it
Hold it alone.
The urge to give out,
Call life at quits.
But i have no right, i am simply a vessel,
Of my thoughts and shouts,
Laughs and pains,
Loses and gains.
So i let some out, feeling bad after
Keep some in, staining my laughter
-mika
May Mjölnir's might strengthen you.
May your thoughts flow from Runic streams.
May your chosen path feel miraculous,
And may the northern winds uplift you,
So that Yggdrasil fills you with kindness!
May Frigg ignite your divine visions!
May Freyja summon fertile dreams.
May Magical Mead pour freely from above,
Letting your courage lead to valorous action!
Walk the forest's path, where unique trees and flora thrive.
Listen to the wildlife 'round the trees.
Meet your inspirational animals,
And live boldly as one who ventures forth with courage,
Allowing the vines and flowers to entice you---
That they may be your good companions.
God's name is Pootidoodle
Don't use it in vain.
He had a limp noodle --
This caused him psychic pain.
He took a blue pill that made him ill
Then whipped it out and spun about
And got it bit off by the devil's poodle.
[A couple… ONLY TWO?… of you have wondered about my recent absence from Soup. I’m on a personal challenge to write 52 poems for kiddies… maybe, only maybe, to put a booklet together. My mind doesn’t naturally do ‘kiddy think’ so it’s stretching me a bit.
This little ode, I felt was too grown up for kiddies, but I rather like it so I thought I’d share it with you lot ;-) ]
Harry the haddock swam proud in the sea
He said there is no fish that looks down on me
I told him of one and he looked at me odd
And said I’m not sure that there’s really a Cod
WHEN THE HEATHEN COMES
When will the horizon;
Spin down and shine;
When will never come:
Whom am I to cry out;
When the heathen comes
When will the fire rain;
Sprinkle down my pain;
And who shall remain;
Why must I sustain;
When shall I cry out my name;
When the heathen comes;
Shall I stand or will I run;
Am I just a joke
Missing the plan of hope
And what of those new Christian beginners;
Those who were once sinners;
When will I embrace those...
When the heathen comes
11/27/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
A wandering heathen
compelled to wander and wonder,
clinging to the subjective notions
and half-baked personal philosophies
that evolve with each new day
and whisper with each pale night.
Away from the Kingdom Hall,
past temples more austere
and churchyards more severe
and cemeteries filled with believers.
Away from the witch
and away from the doctor
and past the feckless witchdoctor,
casually to the throng of the witless,
clinging to the odd concoction
of odd concoctions.
Wan hoodoo drags the bones,
no voodoo holds the dust.
4th April 2019
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