There is a rambling flowing see above my head;
There is a river a lake bed flowing floating above me;
There are drops lets of passions dreams;
A river flowing clouds controlling streams;
What does this mean;
Lo ! Alas oh, flowing rolling seas set river flowing o'er me;
5/29/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
I hear that it’s raining in Washington State,
In London there's snow coming down
as I look out across a wide dusty plain,
where everything’s pastel or brown.
I heard reports of below freezing point
at Regina in Saskatchewan,
I look at a lake bed all shiny through salt
with water and waterbirds gone.
Nothing is moving except for some dust
where there’s no grass, not even a blade.
It’s hotter than hell amongst the bluebush,
when it’s forty degrees in the shade
I’m dreaming of waterfalls cascading down.
Swimming pools filled up with ice,
I’m wiping off sweat that beads on my brow
and think to myself… where is paradise?
Its forty degrees in the shade through the day,
and at night I am restless, beneath a sheet,
for it barely cools down, and so hard to sleep.
Yes it’s so hard to cope with the heat.
So if you are flooded or battling with snow,
and the cold winds are making you glum,
start thinking of summer and how good it feels,
and you pray that soon it will come.
I say good luck to you for its winter I yearn,
once the frost and fog has begun,
when it’s forty degrees, where there is shade…
and forty-five out in the sun.
Here I sit amongst the long grasses and the reed,
in a solitary place, where my breath is freed,
on an Indian Summer's evening on the lake bed,
autumn has come, yet the warmth has not fled.
Blazing orange skies, are mirrored to reflect,
I cannot imagine a scene being any more perfect,
as I looked up, an unfallen leaf caught my gaze,
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.
I noticed this crimson leaf as it began to wave,
the end of a short life that I could not save,
then swept away suddenly by the wind's rake,
and ripples formed as it landed on the still lake.
The leaf was carried away and my eyes followed,
then drowned by the water's surface and swallowed,
windy fingertips tugged it from the branch to sever,
existing once, like today, and then was gone forever.
Note - This was my original idea for the poem "The leaf",
but it was revised for a contest. I just wanted to post both
versions of the poem.
Sun has chased moon, East to West, past the poles.
While warring thermals, cause thunder to roll.
Evening breeze smells of salt, from a dry lake bed.
Sky shimmers aquamarine, tinged in streaks of red.
Rugged peaks, wind tortured, stand in stark relief.
As last rays of sun, slip away, like a thief.
Long, shadows grow, upon ground, ancient dust.
Caressing, one last time, this land with gentle touch.
For the contest: A Poesy any theme
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Placement: 1st
By the lake bed a
small boys picks up the rocks skipping
them across the calm waters.
I'm going through some changes at this time.
I'm human, poetry in motion and I find
that my verses don't even rhyme.
I ask so many questions of myself.
Is this reality? Can I wish on another shooting star;
maybe this time it will shine on someone else.
If I walk in or stumble through the door,
If I fall down and end up on the floor,
or if I wake up as make up on the face of Madonna or Demi Moore;
I am a model, does anyone care about the real me anymore?
Am I alive or am I a victim of myself.
I wear my high heels on the inside of my feet and
my skeleton is on the outside of my skin.
You can see me looking out at you,
but is there ever anybody looking in.
My life was a new album and every song has already been overplayed.
I used to feel like an ocean and now I am like
a lake bed whose waters have all been washed away.
If I walk in or stumble through the door,
If I fall down and end up on the floor,
or if I wake up as make up on the face of Madonna or Demi Moore;
I am a model, does anyone care about the real me anymore?
Am I alive or am I a victim of myself?