A LAKESIDE VIEW
Crabs crawling the shore,
Fish flip flopping the water;
Smiling crocks, resting.
crescent moon slides
into rippling clouds -
barbie of shrimp and crab
The dank cold chill
stills the dawn
to forlorn quietude,
as the day hopes
in vain for
summer rays to
lift eyelids awake
to a warm break of day.
Shorebirds huddle
out of the shadows
to catch the glimmer
of weak light rays
that trickle onto
the sand flats.
Syrupy waves ripple
the lake's surface
trying their best
to make the best of
the frigid situation,
with the scene
blanketed by the cold.
Yet the lakeside chill knows
its reign is short-lived,
with the lake's vignette
hanging-out
for Spring's relieving
high-five touché touch
of warmth.
When you have a rusty, outdoor table.
Hurting on the step.
Take a lake relaxation.
And moonlight spinning growth.
When you are the person on the home side.
They could have given you a little sip…
Except that they can’t control how far that line extends.
How far it does…
When you have hurt, trembling,
That wasn’t so much.
The money on the counter had to go sometime.
So the growth moves up the stalk.
In the pain, freely, writhing.
There’s something distracting in her hair.
But fighting isn’t real.
I could have been in a fight if I dreamed.
Trying to describe the person.
Have too many people who are.
Then she had eyes, again.
That’s what they give you.
On the lake.
When you expect a lake to be there.
The 26 dollars in my pocket.
As much as the lake itself.
dear gentle reader's, go out and have fun
the summer is here, visit a bookstore
feel the zaphyr as it touches your face
when sun is up high and
swan's playful game in the lake
sit by the lake with poetry in one hand
watch ladybug climb up your hand
lay down your head on the green grass
watch the paintings that tree shadow paint
forget your tiring efforts, make new memories
Picture # 4 used as inspiration
At our lakeside cottage where we have pottage at night
When autumn comes and russet mums' blossoms daze
Go to bed early, nothing to dread and wake by sun's light
As the sun sets there's no regrets just joy at summer's end
Fall wears her gown, her trees a crown as sun sends angular rays
All of those glorious colors and arboreous reflections seem to blend
Upon the lake beside our cottage , no place we've tried above it does rise
Our golden lab lying asleep, as nights slowly creep upon days
We peacefully rest, and feel so blessed as sleep softly creeps with surprise
right at the right plain
of my eyes I spy in view
with my eyes on the right side
sits a duck on the
roof sitting aloof yet still
right at the right plain
why? Is this duck here
on a second story roof
sitting still like he lights
just sitting upon
Lakeside perch sitting a top
a second story
concrete roof a duck
rests, sits, nestled ever still
concrete Lakeside roost
sitting still upon
on a second story roof
why? Is this duck here
4/23/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
The lake has its own orchestrated acoustics.
The quaking of oboes and the bassoon-ing honks
of a skein of geese
conduct a loosely scored morning air.
Rustling reeds chime in fluted stems,
a wind section throats through its hollow notes,
and then there is you.
you who hesitantly strum
within each lip-breathing earshot
nevertheless
your strings are tuned high
to the vibrating moment.
All this ‘a cappella’ is inside you now
like a chick cracking though its own eggshell.
You look around your shoulders
searching for the composer
see nothing, only a naught that imagines
paused fingertips above a keyboard.
Will you sing now or depart unfinished?
The ensemble of the assembled
has left.
You can try again
when your inner metronome
is less bolted to its mechanical tongue,
but for a time
harmony nest elsewhere.
Within this summer dream
Housed and bedded
Willow-arched, willow-awned
Buzz of cares slay.
Whilst that, cruel-edged, afar
As hard, no more
For city's hive shapes it.
Faded away.
The pummelled margins pulsed with steady sway
as reeds resisted swell. These shards in gilt
refracted dying light from summer sun.
Beneath their shafts a clotted mass of spawn
like slobber wobbled, thickening the lake.
There shiny flecks of tiny minnows dashed
with throbbing verve around the shallow edge.
Then hatching eggs released a swarm of flies
like pixilated screens that pepper light
as swallow wings in diving mode catch air.
Occasionally, trout would surface to gulp
a random fly escaping harmful beaks.
a heron diving, pierced a fish; but then
above a buzzard gazed before he dived
towards the lake with gilted talons bared.
In routine drill, the heron's neck was snapped
then slowly dragged along the grassy ridge.
Deep in the lake a shadow played with light
reflecting wings that fade into the cloud
that, similarly, words escape from pens
and morph in ink across a whitened page.
snake at the lakeside
soaking up the southern sun
fangs on vacation
In tranquility of a silver mountain lake,
dance the chlorophyll offspring of the
trees upon a exhilarating springtime breeze.
white and pink cirrus travels the stratosphere,
what it sees I would love to know;
perhaps all that the birds see, maybe more.
A bullfrog greets me as I wade into the aqua
and I laugh at the playfulness of a dragonfly
as it happily teases him.
My soul gently embraces the transition
that is springtime to summer’s grace.
7-21-2021
A BRIAN STRAND JULY 22 Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
They come for just one night,
Sleep over ‘til next day.
They must be off, first light.
They’re weary from long flight
But otherwise okay.
They come for just one night.
Soon all are huddled tight.
Silent they know to stay.
They must be off, first light.
On last leg of their flight
They’re keen to be away.
They came for just one night.
It's one impressive sight
When all fly up same way.
They set off at first light.
They flock at the same height
Beneath the clouds of grey.
They came for just one night.
They all fly off, first light.
Lakeside
cool waving waters
rapidly calming wind blows
fish floating resting
7/31/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.© 2020
I saw you on the lake.
You have a nice tan,
you glistened, wet, and smiled.
We waved halfheartedly, at a distance.
It was one of those 2020 moments.
We are distanced by discipline,
desires sheltered in place.
Mine are burned, as fuel,
for piquant eclogues or rest,
unused, like nuclear waste.
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