APROPOS OF BIRDS OF DIFFERENT FEATHERS
Feathering their nests,
Off they flew to labors of love:
Working against war:-
Time for us to be as doves:
Where love is, war cannot be.
Today’s bald eagle’s
Symbolisms are reduced;
Except that of war:-
Time for us to be as doves:
Where love is, war cannot be.
Can’t clip a dove’s wing;
They’re eternally jointed:
But not the eagle’s:-
Time for us to be as doves:
Where love is, war cannot be.
A screen door
creaks
small incursions
into rip and hole.
Unseen, a creeping grub and thriving,
chitinous mandibles
munch upon the desiccated dead,
thrive in the thrash and mingle.
Corruption forms its disorderly queue,
jointed question marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry
where slick eggs incubate.
As time swings its metronome,
splintered chips
flake away, wood
cracks its rotting bones.
Internal scaffoldings
crumble,
mold multiplies,
mildew clings to
muck.
A festering wriggles forth.
"Honey, can you oil the back door,
it's creaking again."
I scrunch my butt deeper into the sofa.
"I'll get on it after the game." I say,
making a mental note
to get more beers in,
Tomorrow, slap some paint
over the wormholes
maybe.
A foul stray-dog stink and a head smooth and pink,
A mouth full of razor sharp fangs
A gloss headed monster? The long-missing link?
He dines upon beast-hunter gangs
Its arms double jointed, its ears they are pointed
With hair sprouting downward from there
A long snout in place on his hair covered face
Means your blood he can smell in the air
He’ll sneak with such stealth which is bad for your health
For if you don’t spot him you’re dead
A few see him coming and make their escape
When the moon reflects off of his head
I’ve seen it in zombies and sometimes in ghouls
I think there’s been vampires as well
I once wrote a novel about this mad beast
My publisher said, “It won’t sell.”
He told me, “I’m sorry, I don’t like the story,
It’s silly, I can’t applaud this…”
But what he called ‘silly’ was my pride and joy…
‘The Werewolf With Male Pattern Baldness.’
They are smart.
And jointed.
They can tell time.
Knowing when to rub my face in the morning.
Or when to throw my backpack to the floor after school.
My mom thinks I fidget too much.
The hands know.
They are working to solve something but can’t speak.
I flip a coin.
Heads is better.
Tails don’t help us much.
Unless you’re a cat.
I adjust my glasses.
It’s very natural and smooth.
I rub my head sometimes.
It doesn’t itch so I don’t understand.
But the hands know.
Maybe hands,
Just have hobbies too.
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
I LAMB COVING MY LINKAGE
My beef is forced anger
So goose my way through life passages go figure
I goat what I eat what I ate aspirate danger
My by product waste excrement, temperament
Cleanse out covered wrinkle tribe
Neither lamb fry nor black pot
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Spiritual and Physical
~
Left over thrown away chitterling
Skins of mine intestines
Mutton never tasted spiritual under taking
I’ve been bomb basin
A jointed of veal provide
How we feel been denied
Speaks of feces yum turn inside out
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Physical and Spiritual
11/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Bet is bandy
Hair quite sandy
Thin and tall
Nose too small
Ears stick out
Lips that pout
Chin is pointed
Double-jointed
Arms are long
Hands too strong
Teeth all bad
Bet's so sad
I
As a person
Me
Without devoid of a spine
Green
Buckle at jointed knee
Cap in hand
Crackle like the wilderness
Inside my stagnant mind
My skin is red to the bone
She'd upon my empty bed
So care no more
Angel fair
Ghost of nowhere
Declare the wanting is pray over
For if as please be for the deaf
Born with pallets cleft
Numb and horse of voice
1 , 2 , 3
A , b , C
Then open up my heart
So my eyes dare feel
In which or whatsoever category
I should sit
In order to fulfill my remit of aligning interplanetary love division
So I can bleach , spit , and shine my
Hubbard shoe's and house in order
Before I red bone buckle and she'd
this ghostly angel back
From whence it came unto me
Multi talented American Man Ray
with Dada&Surrealism had much to say
His famous jointed mannequin*
was perhaps not the place to begin
*http://www.artnet.com/artists/man-ray/aline-et-valcour-jNS5kqWwm3VMSguQdullaw2
His disposition sweet and sour
Laden personality stuck by the hour
A water bearer an Aquarius
Hot pink, missing link
An unusual unconstitutional cunning consumer man
Just buying time crossing righteousness line
Doused in the oils at the fragrances of sinner strands
Adjust how can he stand
He needs to be reprimand
Snow day in the middle of summer
Spotlight shadows in the bright
Double jointed Gemini
Double piercing blinking eyes
And unusual unconstitutional cunning consumer man
Just buying time crossing righteousness line
Dressed in a suit of unrighteousness in flaming pants
Missing Link hot pink
Sinner man happen stands
11/21/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
when she saw letter
said someone stole her sweater
which would upset her
to control sanity
God herded up humanity
cleaned cluttered vanity
for better or worse
God did put poems in my purse
helped me write this verse
God helped bare the strain
put many poems in my brain
some were found in Spain
God has been my friend
message to me He did send
save from sin intend
God was a recorder
must build a better border
accepted His order
never anointed
by God a priest appointed
was double jointed
God went room to room
Swept out each one with His broom
made us bride and groom
Luminous as a star jointed at the seam with darkly hue, it
Imbibes the centipede of heaven's bliss and then releases
Quizinary scents of blueberry sachets. Permeating the night
Undulating it to motion with liquid verbosity it is light itself
Invigorated by the ocean sprays , it tells my fingers to
Do the math, " I am as moon as the star is star " it says
Legendary as a module of the starry sky it enhances and
Umpires the realm of my sweet imagination
Nuptially, it marries me in and inspires me to
Amalgamate myself to its lustre and twinkle
Laces of light emit from far and wide, she is clandestine
Alleviating all my worries for another day. I am a mere spectator
Clinging to the notion that some day I will join her crescent
Endearing me to her heart, she is my lantern in the night...
March 6, 2019
i once woke up and ate the bones in a tomb deep in
the sunken eyes of a faded god
the faded eyes of a sunken god
a
sunken
n
g
e
l
in the red water in the ghastly trenches at the pit of the universe
opening his mouth, screaming silence in sprite bubbles
on their way to each corner of this one plane
where selfless means not having a self
he once fell off the bleachers in gym class and broke off his jaw
it was hanging by a noose from the roof of his coffin
his neck twisted and blood falling from his mouth like he had eaten Betelgeuse and a wormhole formed in his spine
a distorted face peeling open like the paint of a doll
revealing plastic ball-jointed pieces
gnawing mechanically in spirals
he once pulled up to my house in a holographic Dodge Charger
and asked me if i wanted to dry swallow crystal balls with him
his license plate read “666”
and right beneath it was a bumper sticker that read “Try God. 101.7.”
i remembered it like it was tomorrow
i cried but only flesh came out
so i shook it off like a dog and went far away to die
I walk on given precious gems
far better than a crown of gold
two stands with jointed wiggling stems
to bring me places yet untold
As swift as wind, gentler though
to climb the highest rocky peaks
for dashing past the trees that grow
beside the spring time lazy creeks
Graceful, still, awkward Why?
Getting longer, skilled, with age
many shoes, new pairs to fly
a ballerina takes the stage
They're mine, not perfect but complete
down below, my own two feet
An empty space
There is an empty space that walks
Beside me: a shimmering in the
Fabric of the air.
No boundaries define this space
Until memories slip in, to give
Form, voice, palpable
Presence.
Who might this person be who
Is there, yet a phantom, transparent
Expression of my past?
My Mother walks there, stiff jointed
With age, gruff voiced and grey
Haired, yet bringing a smile to my
Lips, and joy.
Then my Father, a pigeon pair we,
In gait and voice; anxious, articulate,
Pedantic, perfectionist. Dead too
Young.
Memory fills the space with the
Nearness of love, the fleeting
Images of childhood, or raw
Emotion of adolescence.
As I walk the street, the empty
Space becomes the passing
Parade of my life, a picture book
Of memories.
It is the gallery of my grieving
Now laid to rest, each passing
Accepted.
Save you; who is a hundred
Phantoms, each one a caricature
Of hope, of despair, of perplexed
Grief. You are the empty space
That walks beside me, a shimmering
In the fabric of the air.
Did you know the Gecko cannot blink ?
No I did not, but it sounds alluring that image
Of a focused lizard reptilian in glorious intent
From hide bound tail to protruding cheeks and jowl
So I blink, too tired to contemplate the enemy who stalks
Unruly neighbor holding night long juice jointed jamborees
Where alcohol steams the atmosphere with its truth venom
Inhaling vapours that create this courage that carries cowards
Yes I will blink, sleep deprived laborer courting reluctant pens
Refusing to yield hidden gems and buried treasures like jade
And tanzanite blue rhythms that accompany melodies and dirges
Legend has it that only the cry of the lion is met with sympathy
That of the lamb actions firing coals and flaring wood piles
Eager to consume flesh of the flesh returning it to the soil
Crosses are only temporary and sting in Easter
If carried by the many Simons that dot our unholy lives
Mother was the first and most enduring taken for granted
Only Gecko’s know the patient denuding effects of focus
Turning this pages that refuse to yield riches
And daily only seem to offer me
The menses of aborted dreams
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