I raised my hands
to the sky
in agreement
to this the why's
but my left hand
is risen just a little bit higher
Than that of my right
I am yet accept I'm right with this
with my right hand under submissive praise
Write on
8/20/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
I
The metallic clunk
of intervals between voices -
cognizant cogs drive fluctuations
like ducks crossing a road.
I tilt away from
the coils of your being,
your sounding.
I see you speaking,
twirling
like a spinning six pence
in the rush of
on-coming traffic.
II
Together, we want
the same chromed leverage.
Knuckles cracked
where handles mash.
Long unused gears crunch
inside flesh filled leather, we
creak and stretch
over old maps.
Pushed against one another,
leaning in, until hinges unclasp,
we ride the hairpins,
spring-loaded instants
cream the road.
A clockwork hallelujah
that all ends in silence.
Memories of once the sun shined,
oiled and tanned we denied
the only living book and subtle nudges.
Nothing but truth in the grave
when too in love with everything
reached the top and found nothing
but the pain of a flame’s dedication
and an absolute conviction,
replays the familiar
screams and whispers them.
Strain a touch through the glare,
but they ain’t there.
No one left to save us
as we find common grace
included tears.
-----------------------------------------------------
12.05.20
Inspired by the song ‘The Rapture’ by Puscifer
When I was Seven,
Six of us piled in to a shiny
New Buick.
“A quick errand across town”
It was hot
I fell asleep.
I was awoken
By the screams.
A dump truck had eaten
us up and spit out our core
A heavy blow
Against my head
Made everything go dark.
I wake up to silence.
The screaming had
stopped but the blood
From my nose
was resilient.
I slink from under
My aunt’s unconscious body.
I can’t get the door open.
My little brother cries.
I find the strength to open
The broken door that trapped us.
I pull his tiny arm from the front seat
He cries out I’m hurting him
But I’ve seen too many movies
Where cars blow up,
And all I can do is keep pulling
Till I fall back with him
In my grip.
I look at everyone mangled
And unresponsive
Inside the tiny car.
I’d never seen
So much blood.
I hug my little brother,
His head, full of glass.
He points at my nose.
But I care more
about my shoe,
it’s missing and
People have begun to stare.
Child Of My Left Hand, Hide No More In Shadows Wide And Deep
Child of my left hand, bare not your sharp, ravenous wolf's teeth
enjoy majestic bounty that Nature seeds underneath,
consider earth, sun and Spring, flowering meadows that glow
parade not as a jackal, hiding to deliver blows.
Child of my right hand, look not at others with such contempt
for none are without faults and truth is you are not exempt,
consider the paradox, of what is Light without dark
or Life without Love's treasures, as such is so grave and stark.
Child of my left hand, hide no more in shadows wide and deep
seek not dominance for such costs are always far too steep,
instead reach out freely to touch eager hand on the right
for there is Hope and Beauty even in darkest of nights!
Child of my right hand, do not ever my left hand deny
Child of my left hand, we hear now that lonesome, aching cry!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, ( )
Syllables Per Line:14 14 14 14 0 14 14 14 14 0 14 14 14 14 0 14 14
Total # Syllables::196
Total # Words::::::152
Well, my left sided hand just isn’t my fave,
I don’t let it do anything,
If there’s ever a contest of “Who is the best?”,
My right is the one that will win,
It can’t button, can’t write, can’t hold a cold beer,
Can’t handle a racquet or ball,
It can’t do little tasks in day to day life,
No matter how big or how small,
But my right hand it can, it holds a place in my heart,
My right is right by my side,
My right hand has always helped me along,
Ever since I was the littlest child,
As a matter of fact, I’ve a wonderful plan,
A plan I might start later today,
I’ll go on a holiday, just my right hand and me,
To a beautiful place far away.
my left hand is crying today
through no fault of her own actually
tried to catch me while falling Friday
Shows me how sore a left hand can be
R-espect is truly shown,
O-n twentieth February;
S-aluting with the right or left hand
I-s comfortable and
E-asy.
A-fter the Sunday shadow,
L-ight fills the whole land;
V-ictory is all yours,
A-s you salute with the left hand.
She loves to shake her right hand about,
Hiding her left in a fist,
Hiding her real self away in a clench,
While waving her false from her wrist,
You see, she wants us to think she’s the happiest girl,
Full of fun and a life with a kiss,
That she has the best things and does the most stuff,
That she is the happiest Miss,
But, clenched tight away, hidden in her left,
Is her reality she hides from us all,
The reality of herself not able to cope,
In her mind she feels boring and small,
So, I open her hand and look into her eyes and say,
“Your YOU is a perfect for me,
I love you for you, not the pretend in a dress,
I love when you’re honest and free”.
You look like something I drew with my left hand
And I'm bilingual, but I'm sure you know where I stand
Don't mean to offend
But invert to your other end
Most assuredly you'll be much more in demand
the quest is developed in the second hand of the left and yes is questioned by what it's used for in the alarm of a broken arm, so I reach over to the other side and hope for it all.
I really have no clue about your arm or hand but it's calculated on the second hand. I give you a hand and it will be right not left.
Depression breeds artistry and keen insight,
Mania makes life a thrill ride;
Fever lends emotion a scalpel’s edge,
And mistakes cast much needed light.
Ugly is beautiful, and lies sound so pretty,
Blindness makes hearing quite keen;
Tragedy brings out the best in man,
And the rain washes everything clean.
Bruises are beautiful—such vivid colors,
Blood is an unmatchable red;
Scar tissue strengthens wherever it grows,
And nothing can hurt when you’re dead.
Now already we can boldly vomit out:
Nights spent at the bedside;
Late comings to the office;
Birthday present money collected with a trembling hand;
Cards stuck in cash machines;
Cinema tickets;
Rubbish bins attached to electricity;
Contraceptives;
Invented love
History oriented on politics;
Amicable trip ups;
Story of two seas and a little girl,-
As if a chewing gum is our homeland.
Stuck to stomach.
“Pedro, Donaldo,
Donaldo, Pedro, Pedro”…
Let’s everybody massacre our full up children.
With cookies
With chips
With emulsifiers
Overfill stomach and then massacre.
At least they won’t die of hunger.
Homeland, do spread a net in the hungry child’s eyes.
Fishes grab with backbones the seaweeds in the swampy coloured lake.
Homeland, have no mercy on us, show your utmost hate.
It’s so easy to reserve in regret ...
For global hardship we will justify the time, in which
You have not been changed,-
Just we turned into the globally dangerous beasts.
The time does not move.
Probably water has leaked in its feet,
Make us see the spring,
But...
We were cold.
Homeland, do colour the street with fresh blood
Paint bloody circles on the streets.
As if the suns.
Let’s quickly massacre our children.
Overcut the soft dewlap with a sharp metal and breathe out.
Deeply breathe out.
Breathe out and let out:
All our dreamless night;
Our tiredness of nothing;
As if we are sinking the white ships in the past;
As if we declined an eyelash,
On another side of the river bank
There are slums and Kurd woman
With a baby on her filthy breast
Drags sorrow in the colourful rags
“Pedro, Donaldo,
Donaldo, Perdo, Pedro”...
Drags. Shouts.
But “we” are hurrying home
With a smile on the face
Bringing to our children,
Colourful roads, residues offered by life
As if a chewing gum is other’s homeland.
As if a homeland is just this alkali lake of tears (which)
In exchange for ”Keva,” (a chewing gum)could not been bought for our child,
Never leaves us alone and conceals the past.
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