Callie had an obsession,
big time was her intention;
she was looking for a preppy,
slim guy in a town
full of chubbies
who drank lots of whiskey:
the best guy was tall Lanny!
Dressed up as Barbie Doll
she roamed shaking her butt,
a cop yelled, " Stop, pussycat:
your shirt makes guys drool! "
Callie laughed at him,
he reacted with a grim,
" A ticket for indecency,
don't ask for clemency! "
She quickly tucked the ticket
in her bra and sped away
tripping on the sidewalk crack;
a drunken fool, a drunken paid
for her summons, a hot body
for sale needed another bail!
Callie looked for a boyfriend,
but she was carried away
by lust and became the next prey;
her life ended: what a tragic end!
Thunder walked across the sky,
waking the energy waiting there,
and the mountains trembled
in reverent respect
for a presence
greater than they.
Father Sky cried,
unable to convince
the wind to lie down,
and the creatures of Mother Earth
trembled in misunderstanding
for this - the stormy season.
Hawk rose up,
spoke with Thunder,
and trembled
in anticipation
of purification
for all living things.
Darkness covered the people
where they had scarred the land,
and they trembled in fear
for all they'd done
and did not
understand
that with the morning sun
they would have another chance,
and the waters of humanity trembled,
rippling throughout the places
for lessons soon forgotten
under the weight of greed.
Now comes Thunder again,
walking louder,
and the unborn ancestors tremble,
for they will be the hungry ones,
paying the price
in coming after us.
Hawk rises above the noise
of humanity's indecency,
and trembles with hope,
beating in his chest
like a prayer drumming -
if only the people would hear.
If only the people would hear.
Go-go gadget, withdrawals no more,
a toast to addicts—there’s treasure on the floor.
X marks the spot, scribbled in Crayola,
connect all the dots—ecstasy, the night is over.
From Rock ’em Sock ’em robots to rocks in socks, a show-off,
hungry hungry Zippos, the money swells my lymph nodes, a lovely something sent ghosts—
right outside your windows,
trust no one, innuendo,
the night piggybacks the sickos.
I feel far from home, yet remotely close to sin,
my coffin’s so inviting—volunteer, I jump right in.
Fundamental frequency, but I only hit the high note,
incidental contingencies, lies in every word that she spoke.
Intentional indecency—my clip could use a reload,
a spectacle illegally, items bought without a barcode.
I yearn for entertainment, chose the red pill, hide from agents,
time’s complacent, me and drugs—true love, it’s our engagement.
And if I ever said “drugs make me a better me,”
I’m sorry that I lied—every night,
I cry myself to sleep.
My spiritual journey has been a weary walk
Into the unknown where sins talk.
My next step I can only see beyond my nose;
In the dark, I crawl on my knees and toes.
Beyond walls painted with indecency
I tread on, hoping I am on course.
Voices of deceit call on for me to see
How gloomy where I was heading was.
I took another route, one less taken
Covered with guises, goodies but mistaken
To be work, for it's draped in overalls
Especially when the divine messenger calls.
Now halfway to the place I seek
Where morality and godliness peak
I walk with vigor and purpose
For to the promised land I'm close.
Inquisitive sorts enigmatic notions as positions--scaled left for the right-hander--behold various perceptions, thus preserving perfection as a cure for misdirection's subtle draw.
Earnest forgivingly weakens its posture as truth betrays, incredulously, amidst reality outfitted in non-traditions; Judas kisses a face, while the strummed favors oils embrace a straining revelation that pleasures the muted.
Distractions of another sort muse the ne'er-do-wells, while diligence inks the lost, ambulates ambitious quill of risqué 'Olympia' whose indecency is shaded decently.
Tryst loses in translation, forms anew in an altered view; observant exposed a chapter; a spilled review cores a novel of two; meeting of the minds formed upon a ruinous and trifle distraction, whereto whenever praise ventures, "A dull knife makes a cutting edge."
Dilemma
I’m living two lives
and that is my dilemma;
I’ve one life to live.
***
Note:
Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) was a famous Irish poet, novelist, and playwright who was arrested for “gross indecency” on April 6, 1895, and was convicted of “sodomy,” for which he served two years hard labour (1895–1897) at Newgate Prison in London, England.
I’m going to send you
back to charm school;
Apparently you lost your manners;
Here, then in a flash you’re gone;
Nah; thats not a consistent scene;
How dare you walk into this room!
You think we will bow down to you?!
Absolutely no support, no respect;
Your fire went out long ago;
Turn around, get the hell out;
It’s the twilight of your indecency
it won’t go on anymore;
Flying in like you own the place,
but you left it behind to decay;
We don’t need you now;
We are flourishing, walk away;
Absolutely no support, no respect;
Spitting flames then you burn us;
We grew strong and ate those ashes;
Nah, you’re no part of consistency;
I’m going to send you
back to charm school;
Apparently you lost your manners;
Consistency builds a consistent scene.
God needs your faith
otherwise he disappears behind your eyes
and you both go blind.
There are ancient inspectors looking into
your kidneys and liver.
Their horn-rimmed glasses
peer from under tortoise shells,
they search for any useful ingredients.
The science of looking is very old.
God awakes in a dream of you;
immediately begins
to stuff your hollowness
with blood and guts.
The soil x-rays you,
the sky photoshops your mind
erasing the smudged indecency
of any brain-damaged parts.
Some say this and some say that;
warm breath and cold air
blows through your burning straw.
Both the wise and the simple
allow themselves to be rocked gently
upon their own cupped hands.
Keep on thinking young
for we will all be younger one far day away.
Time will skip away on lightsome sneakers,
time will outrun its miles to go,
time will melt its dream
of a ticking clockwork universe.
Sometime, out of time,
we will return to our prime,
the flower of being
will peak and not wither
nor will we be hostage to
the indecency of untimely entropy
for flesh will not rule over us.
Keep thinking young.
10 million years are but a short dream
for the blossoming of just one soul.
Imagine ten billion souls awakening
like beautiful flowers in Gods garden.
We shall not be old in our minds
and our mind will be our flesh,
our body will be a mirror
of our eternal reality.
Start to be younger today,
here in this mechanical timepiece
of earthly life,
for soon we will be much younger
and our light
will outshine every sun.
Behind the ambiguity, the cloaking metaphor,
the language used is indecent,
it sets bear traps, leers at logic,
claps ears.
Poetry drives a train through heaven and hell,
box cars swaying behind
full of
rowdy, rouged delinquents.
Some have mothers who weep for them,
some were born from mud wombs
as wild as unbranded cattle.
A poem may well bury its dead alive
in front of our eyes,
recite a lullaby backwards,
then plant sweet nothings
over the heaped earth.
Lines of linguistic train wrecks
crash their coupled words
into snowy fields,
then out will come the scatological oaths,
the unglued bawdy survivors
of their own gypsy jargon.
Here’s the sleight of hand,
here’s the real indecency -
we are gulled into assuming
we hear only the shy murmurs
of a deeply respectable muse
dressed up in its Sunday best.
If tolerance for violence be a sign of one's prime,
and indecency one can't unsee be viewed without crime.
If lewdness is excused as entertainment for adults
and cussing isn't obscene, just comical insults.
If vulgarity and barbarity be maturity's gauge,
then though I'm over twenty three, I'm well underage.
3-20-2021
Not enough incoming income peculiar proud pour decisive passionate affordable passionate such indecency poverty~
12/28/30
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Would you waste it all for a public intoxication?
All meaning the rest of your lonely night writing bullsh*t into a journal
I'm sure you all know that question was rhetorical
Public indecency is instilled into our innate cirriculum that can't be unlearned
Brilliantly ibid
Socialites anti-social distancing casted on the back wall like a flower hanging in the shade
Catching the anarchist rays that break through the blades of a withered hasta
That spew a fragrance of vomit and jager bombs like a sh*t bar does so well
Only to burn your shadow like your tongue on your last shot of cheap whiskey before the boys in blue ended your night early
A yoga teacher unable to disentangle her legs
Trazepe artists suspended in mid air flight
Contortionist arrested for public indecency
The snake charmer caught in a muddy sand pit
Poets drowning in an ink pot tied to their nib
Existential crises melting an iceberg of essence
Impressionist colouring in outside of the box
A funeral director counting nails of the coffin
Harlequin denuded down to the naked core
Artificial intelligence steering a robot gone mad
Jesus with Schrodinger’s whiskers on the rise
Unperturbed soldiers searching new graves
01st January 2020
Introduction
Stripping my soul of indecency, I enter into your abyss.
Secrets of tragedy I cannot explain, a tragedy that will forever exist.
Raw,
a wound from my darkest of hearts.
Unapologetically closing every door, as if you had planned to reject the part.
My darkest day, happened in our darkest hour.
Broken, I am broken.
But.
I refuse to be speechless. Because bravery is outspoken.
Heartache and bruising, this dance with the devil, I found amusing. Accusing my past, as if you choked me while chewing.
Hate.
Impossible, at least it was. You might debate me, but you lack the very definition of love.
You have introduced me...
To you.
Yet again.
To all of the above.
December,15,2019
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