There was once a grand dame named Sara
maledicted with hyperactive sclera,
but the even heels of fine-treading rain,
laurel leaf tea & lavender from Spain
would cease her state of Chiroptera.
If I was your Squirrel
I'd employ my unique style
To bring you joy and entertainment
And find ways to make you smile.
I would skip around you playfully
Just to make you giggle
Which would trigger my transformation
With a hyperactive wiggle.
As with many amongst Squirrel kind,
You'll see my hair is red.
And just like my tail
I've a frizzy, bushy head.
I'd offer friendly company
And a listening ear.
Help to ease the bordem you might feel
Through insomnia.
I'd show you all the places
We Squirrels like to forage.
I'd tour you through the danger zones
Where we need our courage.
When shifting back to squirrelness
I may scurry back to my den.
But my Squirrel sense remains alert
To your need for me again.
Here is the situation as I see it
It's now time for me to just admit
For this moment, I will commit
I have loved you from the very start
The day I met you, it pricked my heart
Bearing witness as I fell completely apart
You smiled at me, and you said hello
The impact you had you didn't know
I melted inside. I know it had to show
As your voice turned me into a captive
I said wow, you're so beautifully attractive
My words lost as I became hyperactive
I knew there was nothing I wouldn't do
Or anything I wouldn't simply go through
Just to see that wonderful smile on you
I could see there was something there
To those brown eyes and pretty red hair
No other woman could even compare
That's why I was lost from the beginning
As I write, I am even reflectively grinning
Because of this, there would be no winning
By you, my heart was stolen from the start
I beg you, please don't ever leave or depart
Lost without you, I never want to be apart
Diode or anode
Are they enough to remove negative thinking?
Transistor or adviser
Which is best to help one off sinking?
Banister to guide
Yet the hyperactive will still jump it over
Canister to hide
Though expiratory date will not hangover
Resistor or an adjuster
The behavioural disorder are hardly bewitched in rehabilitation
Capacitor or curator
The world remains to all a pleasant habitation
An argumentative person,
She spins nuanced thoughts for hours,
With an underappreciated approach,
Her resentful nature keeps her afar.
Agitation becomes her greatest foe,
Disrupting cycles, not just her own.
A hyperactive mind racing without pause,
Aloof and distant, fearing the spotlight on her flaws.
Bustling brainwaves bring it to life
better when both eyes are blanketed;
Hyperactive insomnia’s strife;
Gears inside feel like a hamster’s wheel,
it keeps going and going won’t stop;
Blinking and scanning I have to deal;
Bedrest blatantly bombed before dawn,
I need sleep but I need to stay up;
Marred by my mind the moonlight is gone;
Listless I sway through the night and day
I’m always a step above the clouds;
Words burst so fast much to my dismay;
Stars out, on queue my pen misbehaves;
I succumb to me and don’t backtrack,
branded and bombarded by brainwaves.
In my lonely times,
I feel crowded the most.
In my sad times,
I feel happiest the most.
In my crying times,
I feel playful the most.
In my hurting times,
I feel healed the most.
In my stormy times,
I feel calm the most.
In my chaotic times,
I feel peaceful the most.
In my happy times,
I feel troubled the most.
In my hyperactive times,
I feel less concerned the most.
In my sorry times,
I feel wronged the most.
In my loving time,
I feel rejected the most.
In one's living time,
He feels dead the most.
In one's dying time,
He feels life the most.
In the presence of my mind,
I feel absent the most.
In the face of many readers of mine,
I feel numbness in my pen the most.
Little Bit waddles and limps downstairs at the sound of my voice. Barks at the hyperactive English Springer with all the fervor of Boris, the Russian Wolfhound, of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp fame.
the scruffy old stud
with four legs close to the ground -
wisdom’s on his side
The raven is too hyperactive at my window pane.
Hear how noisy its wings are; was napping, now knocking knees.
Was about to turn over, with restrictions of the homebound,
As the shadows fly off tight walls, this cot, my face.
I am bothered; I am covered in ebonic feathers.
My eyes tick-tock, they’re grave, and my blue hands they are warmed by ice;
And the cuckoo visits ev’ry half hour as my flesh morphs pale green.
Look closely you will see my gears grinding,
they race like a bullet down the highway;
Ping pong against the walls inside my head,
my hyperactive mind’s always running;
It won’t slow down even on a good day,
the story behind my eyes is pure dread;
I never see that point of no return
flying past a sign that says ‘Stay Away’.
Push forward when I should let go instead,
hanging on too long I know I will burn
that thread.
Pillows of cacao,
webs of spun sugar hold you;
Chocolate cocoon,
it soothes your lips with a sweet;
Your sigh tightens with each taste;
After hours boost,
that pick me up melts the wounds
dragging through your mind;
The past remains behind you
thanks to a euphoric fix;
With a hyperactive smile
so high on those endorphins
you’re buzzing, humming;
Seduced with a single drop
of the chocolaterie.
Have you ever felt from a song
A song that reminded you how you can live
The rush of the wind, the desire to climb
A quickly-building monument to the beauty of creation
How quickly a mood changes with a play
The sorrow of loss, a lament to the sky
for what was not lost to you
what you may never be lucky enough to lose
A mournful numbness, a malady of words, a sea to be swallowed by
An arrogant strut behind what they have done and claim to do
A hyperactive child in a candy store
An invitation to someone else's moment, a happy party
A strut in saying something how it is, sauntering up to your boss's reddened face
A spontaneous guffaw from a line so out of place
A dance in a language you cannot understand
Siphoned emotions from founts
Some people urging you to drink from
Some urging you to bathe and not drink, to not feel
Some that were left and coyly watched
Some that were abandoned
Some that were trapped in amber
How could where we live, where we choose to drink, not say a lot about us?
Such a pure crystallization of what is so slippery to say
FRIVOLITY
pleasure
of people-watching
witnessing
ruses
subtle
or blunt
the prospect
of spectacle
so
diverting d
&
amusing
scrutiny
at a glance
ostensibly
a
light-hearted
ticklea
an
unsuspecting
cascade
of
the
bright
&
hyperactive
bubble
of
the
simultaneous
prompted
by
pretensions
in
a decorated
gleaming view
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
From the ancestors
Generations to generations
Lives carry on like new sprouts
And flourishing like a jungle
Newborns are our hope
Nowadays newborns are totally different
Imbedded in an aircond surrounding
With love and care
A lot of toys
A lot of playmates
Hyperactive, alert and wise
Will carry on the family tree
And our mission
A mission of love of course
chatty squirrel chitter
squawking frolicking standing
on his hind legs sits
~
While in its paws he
handles something he dug out
underground left in
~
autumn blend grasses
squirrel sitting eating hazel-
nuts that he's dug up
written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Number one James Edward Lee Sr poem for the week of March 26th through March 31 2022
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