Black kitty, my sweet cat.
The memory you left behind,
A small cardboard delivery box—
To you, it must have been a micro-universe.
And close to my bed,
Near my notebook where I look at the screen,
Sits the backup mouse
I bought for the frantic Nasdaq futures trading.
Unable to forget you,
Who has departed from me,
I just sit on my bed,
Gazing and gazing at you,
The you who is no longer visible.
Yet, I must sleep on this bed.
But my feet keep drifting over to that spot,
Inadvertently pushing your space away.
Then, the memory floods back.
Because I never, ever want to push
Your precious memory away,
Before I know it, I curl up tightly like a grub,
And fall asleep.
And then, I awake.
And that memory comes alive once more.
Whether from the east, west, north, or south,
The winds blow, sometimes with great noises.
Yet, at other times, I hear melodic whispers.
A vehicle passes with a sound, but its directional
certainty is concealed. A search is enjoined,
and only then is its pathway revealed.
A light fixture falls, and the sound is heard.
An investigation is undertaken to identify the fall.
We search the hallway and check the walls.
The inquiry yields no results, but weeks later,
although inadvertently, the light fixture is seen.
It's hanging against the wall, still attached to its electric wires.
The past sets a stage,
As you engage in the story,
The future claiming most of the glory,
A glorious moment goes unseen,
While your lost between emotions,
Creating an even bigger commotion,
Going through the motions,
Rocking your boat in an ocean,
Not sure where its going,
Flowing towards a future,
Rowing fast away from the past,
Slowly passing by the moment,
It could be your last,
A vast existence is evident,
In the moment you stay present,
A sentient experience,
Creating the interference,
Necessary in this performance,
Creating another chance,
NOW is your time to advance,
Dance with uncertainty,
Inadvertently stumble upon yourself,
Grumbling about what went wrong,
Don't linger too long,
Sing a whole new song,
Moving along to a better view,
Feel love for all you do,
The future will wait for you,
NOW is the moment it comes true.
I'm very good at it
-- running that is:
Most my adult life
seems to have been
a treadmill of sorts:
Morning Gush. Got to love
those subway jousts! All us
elbow warriors fencing for
optimum position, wanting
fast entrance and propelled
retreat.
Elevating to the running-board of
city sidewalks and streets...step to the flow
or be bowled over, trampled upon. Tires, Florsheim, Nike, high heels~
They all mark deeply!
(Evening rush escape no less a trek)
Joggers make me laugh
heartily! Roadside exhibitionists,
inhaling deeply everyone’s
filth. I swear, that If there are
schedules and timetables in heaven,
God inadvertently has given
the Devil but another tempting card
to play.
As I walk I find randomly, rocks shaped like hearts, it’s uncanny.
Throughout my life I’ve found so many, but two stand out.
As a child in Cleveland while walking the railroad tracks
Looking down at thousands of rail rocks.
And what I saw in this sea of grey baubles
Was an almost perfect heart rock.
Perfect but for a small imperfection on its back.
So, I picked it up.
And many many years later, as a young woman,
In the military in Germany.
And oh, by the way, this is really a true story!
I was walking casually through a field.
When I happened to glance down inadvertently.
And what I saw in this sea of green grass
Was an almost perfect heart rock.
Perfect but for a small imperfection on its back.
So, I picked it up.
The most incredible thing that I noticed years later
Was that these two almost perfect rocks,
One from Germany and one from Ohio.
Because of what they lacked.
Those two minor imperfections on their backs.
Made them fit together like two pieces of a puzzle,
But 3 dimensional.
I now know these rocks are signs.
From something unseen, something divine.
we often do pause to assess
tremors by us inadvertently created
as we mindfully refine our consciousness
we also wonder why we are sedated
The divide between my neighbour and me,
The strangeness that makes us strangers,
The silence that echoes our unspoken words,
The books that those words create.
We turn through the pages in the loneliness of separation,
The unhealthy world we inadvertently build.
March 17, 2025.
Lead me, lead me, my God,
Through the thorns of life, through the gloom and darkness,
Lead me to my beloved,
Through the heat of life, through the blizzard of sins.
Lead me, that I may not inadvertently
To keep me from straying from your path,
Lead me to be one with you
To be one with you, but accept me
“Lead me not to perish
And not to lose the thread of life,
To overcome myself, to rise again,
On the day of your coming, alive.
Mrs M was a teacher with a clean desk
there was only one pencil in there
it was always sharpened
and a pink eraser that looked brand new
I never saw an ink pen
the top of her desk had a small plaque
with her name starting with Mrs. of course
Even though she was divorced
She never wanted the students to know about it
We all did
She was fastidiously neat and fussy
staying late to sterilize desks and seats
she inadvertently taught me one big lesson
I never wanted to be like her
She was too punctilious; cleanliness was her world.
Students were probably twenty-six on her priority list.
Soars beating is my heart
as it flex it's muscle so in part
it's flat Like an Eagle abreast
breath hovering over its nest
Elder Statesman and women sleep depressed
Nonchalantly inadvertently not aware
that they are blessed
Like the Rhythm Section in the rhythm and blues band
play on beat the drums rhythmatically
Soar beatings of the heart
Percussion rivets beats in my heart
5/31/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
I am
I am man
I am nature
I am of life and of death,
I am lesser
I am greater
I am of right and of left,
I am mechanical
I am manual
I am technically a wound up mouse,
I am loud
When I am silent
I am inadvertently at fault with doubt,
I the ego, me the person
I the genius, me the fool
I am lost when I am chosen
Found
I am
A part from you.
“Rambling is not how the crow flies;
it is how a rose covers the wall in perfume.” – by poet
At the Rambling Club, they met each other:
Nanna and Grandpa, before they were lovers.
Inadvertently late, when finally home,
She’d climb in the window all on her own.
He was a buyer of silk from houses in France,
And she was a shop girl glad of romance.
When I was a child in their house in the night
I’d hear them talk softly, but never a fight.
Laughing out loud was a trademark of his;
Kindness and elegant grace were hers.
I’d hold his big hand and walk down the street.
He’d stop for a chat with the people we’d meet.
She knitted my jumpers and mended my clothes.
She let me climb trees and taught to me to sew.
The hug at the door is the thing I loved best.
I cherished them, miss them, and yes, I’ve been blessed.
What time claims for itself,
Memories placed on the shelf,
Memories of the lost,
And the reckoning cost.
As life’s journey unfolds,
It takes away and remoulds,
Some things are hidden in the chamber,
It stays with us until our final slumber.
Time teaches,
Like a voice that preaches,
As the day departs and the night arrives,
Courage inadvertently thrives.
Looking through life’s windows,
Some things are veiled in the shadows,
Some are revealed before we ease into the night,
Where nothing is kept from the light.
January I, 2024.
The vanity of pleasure,
The young hearts can’t measure,
They yearn for leisure,
Vanity is their utmost treasure.
Some inadvertently yield to pressure,
They're caught in the delinquent compressor,
As they grow older, vanity becomes a displeasure,
Until the night brings a closure.
December 7, 2023.
Just be yourself is almost always
inadvertently shamelessly said.
Few can see themselves as they truly are
for indeed, being oneself is a rare lost art.
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