He talks and acts accordingly
On his beliefs and visions
He spans through successes
Failures and break-ups
He embarks on countless trips
To the realm of ideas
And crystallizes them
To profit the system
He tends.
He has direct-dial button
To the souls and aspirations
Of his followers
He is always running
Since he knows
Time is ticking and fleeting...
He constantly cites
The latest need for the system
And when running floods of ideas
Begin to level off
He is there to put the best spin
On the buttons.
The running floods of ideas
Never tire rather fires him
Into churning out projects
With crystal streams of resounding successes.
Though feuds and controversies may rise
He remains undaunted in
Actualising his vision and ideas.
A true visionary is centuries ahead of his time...
And indeed a “COLOSSUS”
I DON'T UNDERSTAND
I don't understand the virgin snow
Why does the rain behave so
Why is the crystal rain drops that turn to ice
Why level off and cause so many accidents
But most of all
Why is below thirty-two the temperature of things that brew
Why does rain turn to ice and snow
Why why must it accumulate so...
What I understand most is
why there are no more ice-cubes
why why do the penguins bark and coo
Why why does snow have to be so pure and in the springtime where does it go
10/21/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
In tribute to Lt. Col. John W. Bell,
B24 pilot during WWII.
He was an ace in his flying machine,
Could spiral downward at full speed,
Then pull out and level off just in time,
To touch down safely on the landing field.
Well taught and ready for hostile combat,
Sent off to fight, our freedom to defend,
Was not there to socialize or chat,
But to drop bombs upon the tyrant’s den.
Flying with skill of a bat in the night,
He hit the targets time and time again,
Each sortie could have been his last flight,
Into the cold heart of the tyrant’s den.
He sat bravely in the pilot’s hot seat,
Shrapnel went through the wing and cockpit pane,
But he flew committed to defeat,
The wicked intents of the tyrant’s den.
And when the final victory was won,
He came back home, a new life to begin,
In a nation singing freedom’s song,
Having put an end to the tyrant’s den.
Part of the denominator,
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough.
The so-called experts
joust with the pretenders,
and they are wrestling still.
In days of yore the Seer
would proclaim the truth,
accepted by the old, the youth,
whereas for now we do His will.
Are we shackled, are we freer,
hungrily our mouths to fill?
Time will not stand for surety,
the prophet's exhortations gone to dust,
while totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try to compromise, a bitter pill
for those who crave acerbity
and swear our bliss to spill.
Were we to strike good earth,
avoid all roiling undulation,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
and ascend the highest hill,
then would excellence be realized for what it's worth,
and our hopes and dreams we would fulfill.
Part of the denominator,
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough.
So-called excellence will
joust with tomfoolery,
and they are wrestling still.
In days of yore the seer
would declaim the truth,
accepted by the old, the youth,
whereas for now the spirits mill,
are we shackled, are we freer,
hungry now our mouths to fill?
Time will not stand for surety,
the prophet's exclamation gone to dust,
while totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try to compromise, a bitter pill
for those who crave acerbity
and swear our bliss to spill.
Were we to strike good earth,
avoid all roiling undulation,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
and ascend the highest hill,
then would excellence be realized for all its worth,
and our hopes and dreams we would fulfill.
Behold the bold denominator!
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough;
so-called experts mingle
as they winnow fact from fluff.
Prophets' exclamations gone to dust,
totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try for clarity, a bitter pill
for those who trick with ambiguity,
and cause the truth to spill.
Avoid inaccuracies,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
exercise your p's and q's,
then will excellence be won,
the goal of true communication.
Golf Balls Did End Up Under
I just looked outside and saw so much rain
And hope that it all will go down the drain
Until one day again it finally did level off
We could play another great game of golf.
Fairways together each green should link
But when you walk on water and start to sink
Much difficulty surely soon started to see
What would your adjusted handicap be?
Through all of the rule books I have sifted
Nothing was said about being air-lifted
Fairways forgotten and had been skipped
While all of the water flowed and dripped.
To me complete conclusion it now brings
When you may need pair of water wings
Do be prepared in case of a big blunder
When below golf bag and balls go under.
When your balls are below water that
sounds pretty high filuting to me.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Part of the denominator,
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough.
The so-called experts
joust with the pretenders,
and they are wrestling still.
In days of yore the Seer
would proclaim the truth,
accepted by the old, the youth,
whereas for now we do His will.
Are we shackled, are we freer,
hungrily our mouths to fill?
Time will not stand for surety,
the prophet's exhortations gone to dust,
while totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try to compromise, a bitter pill
for those who crave acerbity
and swear our bliss to spill.
Were we to strike good earth,
avoid all roiling undulation,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
and ascend the highest hill,
then would excellence be realized for what it's worth,
and our hopes and dreams we would fulfill.
Part of the denominator,
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough.
So-called excellence will
joust with the buffooner,
and they are wrestling still.
In days of yore the seer
would proclaim the truth,
accepted by the old, the youth,
whereas for now the spirits mill,
are we shackled, are we freer,
hungry now our mouths to fill?
What price for surety?
the prophet's exclamation gone to dust,
while totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try to compromise, a bitter pill
for those who crave acerbity
and swear our bliss to spill.
Were we to strike good earth,
avoid all roiling undulation,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
and ascend the highest hill,
then would excellence be realised for all its worth,
and our hopes and dreams we would fulfill!
TAKE OFF
Outside the windows grass swathes rotate: we sway
Up and down the dozenth wide runway
To reach the final launch-point for our sally.
Engines whine up and down till finally
Pilot gives power and our necks are pushing
Back into the headrest cushion.
The wheels rumble disconcertingly now,
But the wing tilts up by magic - wow!
Forget your mastery of lift and drag, it’s a mystery:
Rumble ceases, ground drops away quickly.
Immersed in fingers of foggy cloud,
Like an immense cold shroud -
Flying blind, ever up, till we emerge
And blend into the brightness and we feel a surge
Of turbulence reassure us that wings,
Despite their toughness, are flexible things.
Tip to port, we see ground small and slight;
Tip to starboard, now the sky dazzling bright.
Level off, we breathe easier, belts undone:
We start cruising in the sun.
Crouch on the balls of your feet
lean forward in suspense
hands and arms out
as though reaching for something not there
staring at the body in front of you
listening to the soft boom, boom, boom, of the ball
see a pass
lurching forward
grabbing the ball
all instinct now
sprinting
dribbling
nothing but you and the ball
going toward the hoop
senses all aware
feel the enemy’s hot breath on your neck
grab the ball
just a couple steps away
1......
2......
everything in slow motion
jumping
release the ball
firmly,
yet gently
hear the buzzer sound
hear the thuds of the ball bouncing back and forth between the rim
ball not deciding whether to go in the net or not
see the ball balance on the rim
hear the swish of the ball going through the net
see the score change
the enemy’s down by one
hear the crowd
cheering and stomping
teammates screaming and celebrating
putting you on there shoulders
Gatorade on the coach
fans surrounding you
energy level off the chart
happiness incredible
a moment to treasure.
Part of the denominator,
extraordinary matters level off
and find the lowest trough.
So-called excellence will
joust with the buffooner,
and they are wrestling still.
In days of yore the seer
would declaim the truth,
accepted by the old, the youth,
whereas for now the spirits mill,
are we shackled, are we freer,
hungry now our mouths to fill?
Time will not stand for surety,
the prophet's exclamation gone to dust,
while totems crumble, metals turn to rust,
we try to compromise, a bitter pill
for those who crave acerbity
and swear our bliss to spill.
Were we to strike good earth,
avoid all roiling undulation,
seek and hold a firm foundation,
and ascend the highest hill,
then would excellence be realised for all its worth,
and our hopes and dreams we would fulfill.