The supermarket carries beer,
(I love my IPA’s)
But every time we buy some here,
We hear the same old phrase;
“You need to show us some ID,”
Which doesn’t make much sense
Since, speaking for my spouse and me,
There isn’t much suspense
In guessing that we’re of an age
That’s legal multiplied
By 3 or almost 4, the stage
Where we can’t be denied.
Yet still, our licenses come out,
As Pa. law demands,
Although there isn’t any doubt
Each cashier understands
That our ID’s are far from fake;
It only takes one glance
To know it would be some mistake
To look at us askance.
disaster waiting to happen
carload of teenagers
only two have fresh licenses
little experience but lots of confidence
they are celebrating the end of another school year
being silly
thriving on youthful antics
rejoicing with loud rock music
feeling invincible
exuding enthusiasm and energy
taking sneaky peeks at their cell phones
which would have worked
if the driver had not been looking at his too
A dozen dancing markers ran through the streets screaming for help
Avoiding Mr. Gold and his thugs as best they could
Unfortunately, coal and ebony got lost in a Chicago alley
Their runaway plans thwarted when the mafioso grabbed them.
I asked if the film maker had gotten this on video.
She said yes, and she had zoomed in on the door locks
Which went down the second they were thrown into the back seat
What kind of car was it? The detective from downtown asked her.
She tried to make light of it, but he was insistent.
Taking our finger prints too which was not easy
As markers do not have hands for this kind of thing.
The police sergeant was forced to try other ways to identify the markers.
Do you have green cards? Drivers’ licenses? School I.D.’s?
No detective was ever so thwarted without doing much of anything.
He went home saddened by his inability to solve the case.
false teeth
prosthetic arms and legs
diapers
wigs
grenades
expired passports and licenses
human skull
ribbons
plastic bottles
papers by the ton
glass
Styrofoam that never disintegrates
food scraps
filling up landfills one item at a time
No estate should be able to turn away health inspectors,
No estate should be able to turn away ambulances,
while bleeding internally,
No estate should need to employ so many muckrakers,
or bush lawyers.
No estate should hold so many water rights,
if they pour cold water over journalists,
who want to investigate,
No estate should hold so many gun licenses,
until shooting oneself in the foot is no longer endemic,
No estate should be given awards for mediocrity,
No estate should have license to print money,
to pay for influence.
No estate should be bereft of microscopes,
or access to an eye specialist.
No estate should hold so many contracts out of state,
to stifle competition,
No estate can survive without bread and butter
or an understanding that no freedom is absolute.
No estate can survive when it no longer sees the need to spellcheck,
and uses words covered in sauces past their use by date,
No society can survive when it has a fourth estate,
that no longer pays heed to the edicts of,
Walter Cronkite or his ilk.
Family’s purpose respond consent concord harmony oneness
Licenses aptitude ability qualify oneness harmony
Collect travail attempt struggle respond oneness
Ujamaa’s service product consume society produce various
Impetus intents apropos purpose fitting resolve mission
Fertile inspire imagine product qualify oneness harmony
Believe loyalty ability fitting resolve mission oneness
11/22/2023
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
In New York City- Nineteen thirty-six,
the crowds had gathered for a final show;
none playing the next day- no more to see
of organ grinders coming to their streets.
Throughout the city, all those places where
they came around to play- silent would be.
The citizens protested- with no win;
Mayor LaGuardia- ruled they must leave.
Renew their licenses, he would not do-
that radio and concerts were enough.
A nuisance, these musicians he declared;
he did not want them on the city streets.
As poor Italian immigrants, for them
their talent was the means to live and earn
a pittance from the coins left in their tins;
as songs, the sadness of their lives, unveiled.
On this last day, the organ grinders came
to greet their waiting fans and play for them.
When done, all waved goodbye with teary eyes
as the musicians gathered up their things.
With monkeys in their arms, they walked away
to leave their lifetime art of playing songs-
as each last organ grinder bid farewell;
to dwell as history from New York's past.
Thirty two years ago today
Our family was complete
With the arrival of a baby boy
Overdue, nine pounds, perfect and sweet
The purest love we had ever known
The day our whirlwind child arrived
Little did we know what lay ahead
Yet we all surprisingly survived!
A kind, caring ,affectionate child
With an angelic cherub face
With a spirit so wild and free
Life and its risks he did embrace
Adventuress and fearless
There was nothing he wouldn’t attempt to do
A childhood of stitches, bumps and bruises
Phone calls from schools and a policeman or two
His teenage years were the most daunting
Risks now being taken with alcohol and cars
Licenses lost , vehicles crashed,
Time spent at parties , pubs and bars
Tonight at seven pm he turns thirty two
He is loving ,kind hearted ,settled, happy
Genuine, funny and our lovely son!
No two parents could be prouder than we!
Digging through old ledgers seems a drudge
But searching for long-lost ancestors is fun,
The LDS Church can give you a helpful nudge
For they have records on almost everyone.
Dim documents in out-of-the-way courthouses
Include dusty old ledgers of marriage licenses,
You can discover names of parents and spouses
If you can spare time traveling long distances.
Good information comes from grandparents
Who may possess a well-documented Bible,
But, don’t underestimate your own parents
Close families tend to be exceptionally tribal.
It’s fun learning the exploits of your ancestors
Relating them to your understanding of history,
Far back you could be kin to some court jesters
You never know what you’ll find in your ancestry.
written March 9, 2022
Tonight I lay in bed in dread
of returning in the morning
to the beige building on that dead end street
that floods like the Nile after a rain
potholes in the parking lot like a lunar landscape
to my tiny office the last on the left in the back
its one window facing a barren farmer’s field
where I’ll listen to the click-clack of the keyboard
as my fingers fly nimbly over it
I must have been meant for so much more than this
mind numbing monotony
of minimum wage pay though I have a college degree
to type marriage licenses and divorce decrees
tax returns submitted by the wealthy
that only serve as stark reminders of forty years of failure
to make the world take notice of me
as if I were cursed from the cradle
to be covered with a cloak of invisibility
forever to remain a nobody that no one can hear or see
as all the magic in my mind withers on the vine
wasted before it could be made into wine
Politically correct doesn't always answer the desire of my heart. So I must
Open my mind and draw words and phrases that stir and erupt from the
Elective place of my very soul. I have heard a poet apologize for using a
Telltale word such as crap. I told her don't be sorry for using accolades that
Illuminate your angered emotions and rightful indignation. A writer needs to
Captivate his or her audience with compositions of natural vocabulary
Litigate, dispute and question the issue, for every word has its puzzle place
In the wonderful world of writers. Sometimes a poem can be wordy and
Caressing, other times it can be short blunt and to the point. Who can
Elect or disperse poetic licenses to the mass, nobody... We are,
No ones boss or slave, we are poets with a free will and a lovers heart.
Salute the other poets and say what you need to say with eccentricity
Endeavor to communicate, for you are licensed by desire, not law.
December 1, 2021
Mystic Rose
A consistently poor wage
Licenses rage:
An ugly fight against the cage,
Steady enveloping of stagnant wage,
A temper warning every wedge,
Rising while lowered with vintage.
Hirers open a sterile page,
Not a complimenting line for a sage:
Reflections of his usage,
Not a half paragraph for his adage…
The low income earner won’t this manage,
Nor life in his fatiguing village:
The vast hum drums sight,
Of farm-tools tauntingly bright,
For all their promises of fast tillage,
Putting The Townie at a disadvantage.
Any hopelessly downsized wage,
Is cash that the teeth sets on edge,
The Hired white with shock
Over Hirer’s heart of steely lock.
You Cannot Call Yourself a Counselor Until
We were told we could not call ourselves counselors
Until we graduated and had our licenses in hand.
We were threatened, so we abided by this sacred rule.
I called a plumber yesterday. He said “I am your plumbing counselor”
I then saw a car counselor on TV. I flipped the channel.
Found cake decorator counselors, and pest control counselors.
You can barely imagine how irritated this makes me.
It is right up there with news stations publishing misinformation.
It feels like cheating, did they have to take four years of school for it?
More later. My pizza counselor has arrived.
The "I" word..
The most common word in every language
For centuries has stood for the person reading these words..
Sages are known to possess a much larger I..but the
Secret..that you and I might claim an expanded
Version..has found its home only on fringes..hiding a
Reckless bounteous Freedom..yet..there are those who
In desperate times..found the Joy of this delicious word..
But..alas..have settled for a mirrored image..reflected
Most clearly on their driver's licenses...
The forest we planted
In the flatland of western Norway
where the wind has no hesitation rolling sheep into a woolly ball
horses turned their rump to the wind hung their heads
Refusing to plough, something had to be done.
Trees were planted and to our surprise survived but crooked and
strong because the soil was fertile.
When the trees grew strong the shielded fields, the land was plough-able
again and no chicken was carried away by the wind
except for ducklings but as we know, they are brainless.
People began erecting small cabins in the woods it was not legal
but the moist hands of the law lived in the towns, and there was a beach
nearby so white it blinded you.
When the law, awoke from the task of checking driving licenses,
they came but could do little except given the cabins a permit which was a bonus for the middle -classes who bought the cottages.
Got permission to build them more significant with white painted fences property
is essential, and gates were set up, no authorized people here,
this proves that money takes preference.
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