THE VAN GONE MUSEUM
A gleaming, extravagant building.
Filled with jewels of art.
The brainless herd pile in at
their allotted time slot. No thoughts
Zombie tourists flock into the Van
Gogh museum. It doesn’t matter
how many nationalities are there.
Everyone does the same.
Observers drone from one gallery
to another.
Their eyes not even focusing on the
painstaking art.
The portraits and landscapes stare
back at the viewer in
disbelief and disgust.
Please comprehend what I am.
The constant shutter of a camera
can be heard but not the slightest
intellectual thought can be even
fathomed amongst them.
Those photos they taken cannot
even echo the detail of the brush stroke
or slight colour difference.
They are a false facsimile at best.
The painting now a lifeless corpse.
A digital copy is what remains on a
seldom used SD card.
Never to be looked upon again.
A gravity trudges the cattle toward
the famous sunflowers ; not for
artistic merit but for bragging
rights and social media selfies
Although Van Gogh is long dead, it
seems apparent his legacy, his art,
his life’s work is now
Van Gone….
Streaks of pallid moonlight
wash over blood-stained
burnt umber leaf blight.
Glistening stainless steel remains
within wilting noir roses
and blistered blades of grass.
Sickening hands shake my repose,
heart racing, sure to collapse,
feeling faint.
A revolting nausea elevates,
trying to find restraint,
as madness deregulates.
A heart separated
from a lifeless corpse—
death awaits.
Flashbacks play like static reports,
too hard to get a clear picture.
Splashes of splattered red fill
spaces in between scriptures.
Screaming echoes spill,
dirty visions getting clearer,
as the sacrificial lamb
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,
spinning out of control.
How could you bring me to this?
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,
covering fear-filled eyes.
One last-ditch effort:
grab the hilt and arise.
On this deadening night, collect.
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.
Under the ablazed ashes of my burnt hope
Over the lifeless corpse of my freshly died dream
Above the ninth sky's dark blue pasture of gazing angels
In the midst of paradoxical existence of reality amidst final death and rebirth
Like a newly built fine road in the middle of meaningless miles of a barren desert
I am thinking of writing a poem
Once a long time ago, I was dumbfounded by complexity of my intermingled thoughts
Once a long time ago, I lost the way back home
Once I held on to my mother's arm until I shouted and screamed
For the longing of the peace of ignorance gone far away
Lost in the jungle of philosophical contemplation
I am here lost, thinking
I am thinking of writing a poem
For once my life brightened for once it darkened
Who am I ?
When will I meet The God ?
I have millions of questions stored in my tiny pink flesh enclosing my infinite mind
Who ? Where ? From when ? Till when ? And the greatest of all, WHY ?
Until then I am thinking
I am thinking of writing a poem
They could never understand what you set out to do
Instead they chose to ridicule you
When you got weak they loved the sight of your dimming
and flickering starlight
How could they understand what was so intricate
to be loved by so many, so intimate
They wanted to see your lifeless corpse
This way you could not alter the course of ignorance
that they have set to make my people forget
What they have done for much to long
to just forget and carry on
I had loved you forever because of who you are
and now I mourn our fallen star.
I will not write you, poor lady
Because you hide like leaf beady
Caused recently uncomfortable paddy
I'm tired to delve in your world faddy
Logically think - we don't need each other
What is the use of feeling bother?
To meet us for what purpose?
Our communication is a long lifeless corpse
Honestly say - you don't want to communicate
And remove me from Skype without hate
If you offer a meeting, you'll meet my rejection
This is my solid unchanged selection
Even if you say "I'm ready to marry"
I'll throw you away like a savory cherry
THE REAL YOU
I went to the cemetery to the grave today
But there's only dry bones under the blades of grass
Your remains lying in the casket
Tissue skin muscle doesn't seem to last
As all matter eventually does goes back to dust
I know the real you
Was not who we knew
I know the real you
Wasn't in the view
Of a stiff lifeless corpse
Of a none speaking voice
The real you was/(is) heart, spirit, mind and soul
This is the real you
heart, spirit, mind and soul
And not those dry bones, dry bones
You are a borrower of time
Release for a season I'm not yours your not mine
For we all are borrowed sons and daughters from God
Here for just a little while, a little while
He's bless us to receive each a everyone to a due season
To be loaned not own for a moment a little while
Spent on this earth, that's cursed
This is God's business, His reason
Your remains lying in the casket
Of a stiff lifeless corpse
This is not the real you
You have escaped now the view
Is eternal worship and praise glory with the ..
All mighty Savior and God
As you praise in view
The real you
1/21/18
James Edward Lee Sr.
I can imagine anybody dying,
I can attach and sew like a cloth
Any face to a lifeless corpse
Except that of my mama
I try to picture her gone
My brain slips into darkness
And thought ceases
Until my ears hear her sweet voice again
Its true, death is our common fate
A destiny we all share
It is not hunger to terrorize only the poor
But a spear swift to pierce even palace doors
But my mama who has always been there
To just one day dissapear into a crack in the earth....
Lord take me
It can never be
It would never be
Mama will live forever
“Am I going to be executed?”
the prisoner asked the balding
old priest, as he leant across the
warped wooden shelf; lifting the
tattered bible, like a ticking, weary,
bomb.
“Yes my son, you will die here away
from family, friends and familiar trends;
alone with eyes shot with blood and sand,
it will not be pretty but it will be quick,”
“And who will be there, in blood and sand
with me by my side?”
“I will watch you fall and die, and anoint your
body in the blood and sand,”
“And who will deathly triggers pull?”
“My son, I am not sure; a line of soldiers,
with caps and boots, is all I know,”
And when the deed was done, and blood
and sand, stuck to the prisoner’s brow,
The priest, anointed the lifeless corpse,
then stood up, and mopped his face,
To die for yes, a major crime, and he
a part in this disgrace, was far too much
To bare, and for line of soldiers, caps and
boots: he really didn’t care.
At daybreak I feel relieved
Though at night I long for more violence
Only at dusk I fear for I know it is coming
Coming for me no not for me for it is me that is coming out to unleash that anger of which one holds inside
I am of evil and I am the darkness in the night I am the cruelty that comes as the sun has finished setting
My anger rises and so I let it loose
I break the chains that I myself fastened in hopes for me to not get away
Ravenous that is what I am
I stalk the weak child that is lost in the night searching for safety
And when that moment comes when he cries out in loneliness I give him my god-forsaken company
I snarl at laugh when I see the fear in his eyes
Then I put him out of his misery
Slashing at his throat I come to realize That I for one know his pain and so in his pain I plunder
The moment comes when I see that this child was mine
But that moment was too late for in that moment all I can do is stare at the lifeless corpse in front of me
Just another soul I've taken to add to my punishment of being damned for all eternity
Lift all the pain to just consume it all
Watch my lifeless corpse trip and fall
Enjoying all the last moments in this dimension
Break apart the long lasted fundamental foundation
-
It's hard to understand the rest of this
Just to sit and vision all of it fall in the abyss
I don't know where to begin anymore
Pick my carcass off the messy floor
Put the colossus back together again
But tremble in the fact of what has been
making her/his way from the car to the top of the small hill,
the memories flood in &
s/he is always amazed at how much s/he can still remember,
while also noticing just how completely alone s/he is,
now that the only memory is the trip to the hill---
stopping right in front of the stone,
s/he kneels down a few feet above the lifeless corpse down below,
shut up in the box that he/she had to pick out after the accident,
one responsibility in a series of things that
a grieving loved one should not have to go through
at the time that others want them to.
the conversation is always the same---
it is as if the person below is listening,
as far as the loved one is concerned,
because at this point in their life,
no one else is, the way that they need,
to continue living---
with no hope of meeting again in a “hereafter,”
with no sense of “justice” that might of come
in knowing a “god above” was taking care of the one
below,
the walk to the hill ends as quickly as it began,
come rain or shine,
the dead has been informed of the mundane events
in a life that now is as good as dead as well,
now that the bond has been broken
against the will of the both of them.
Lavender candles in the lull of applause,
Overture that begins with only strings.
Vixen of the opera besets this pause,
Ever so gently she produces her wings.
In the middle of her highest note,
Suddenly a phantom pirouettes down.
Bows on stage and seizes her throat,
Usurping the mistress in her gown.
In the uproar of this giant upheaval,
Lust wrought it's wrongs upon the floor.
The man behind the mask was pure evil,
Forging his ultimate plan of insipid gore.
Only devils could create such distress,
Roses scattered over her youthful remains.
Mahogany curtains in a bloodied mess,
A lifeless corpse slowly emptying veins.
Disappearing from the new crime scene,
Music sheets stained with operatic death.
Entering his home where weapons are clean,
Night passes day with a single heavy breath.
"Do you know those nights when you hold your hand in front of your face and all
you see is pitch black?", Killey said when she felt an energy source near her
nearly lifeless corpse. She opened her cold, blue eyes and got up off the floor.
She was startled to find that when she opened her eyes, was nothing but the
pitch black that she had been talking earlier. The headlights of a car hit the glass
wind chimes outside the window shown through the window and to the wall,
where it made an eerie glow all over the room. She could have sworn there was
someone laying next to her. She stood up after she had fallen and looked
around. She realized that it was morning and she looked at her mom and said,"I
had the craziest dream." her mom looked at my face and said"if it was a dream,
why is there a hand print in your face?". killey never learned what it was. but she
never had the dream again.
i wonder why
should i feel remorseful
for something i got no part in
they yearn
to see my lifeless corpse
those that i've not seen lend a helping hand
hated me right from the start
from the moment my mama
pushed me out of her womb
tell me why should i give up
stay up all night feeling sorry
when my family's got my back.
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