Amid great darkness
A beautiful light appeared
Carbon filaments
Incandescently lighting
Moving man out of darkness
When night closes in,
In the candle light she sits,
With book under chin,
Procuring knowledge in bits,
As the moonlight sneaks through slits.
They said the procedure would help me see
in the dark
But darkness was never the problem
It was the shape of the hand
resting on my shoulder
long after it stopped being kind
Instinct returned quietly
not as violence
but as refusal
I noticed patterns
the pauses
the borrowed warmth
Love, once examined under surgical light,
revealed its fingerprints
everywhere it had been rearranged
When instinct awoke
I did not grow teeth
I grew distant
Tonight we light the candles
When the holiday begins,
As the latkes fry in oil
And the dreidel quickly spins.
We’ll try to block out hatred,
Often aimed to harm or scare
As the world keeps moving onward,
In most cases, unaware.
It’s impossible to fathom
So much loathing and for what?
Yet we’ll watch the candles glowing
And be glad for what we’ve got.
Lightning in my heart, they want to make it stop.
Running from our faces, like ghosts we forgot.
In our multiverse, they're trying to catch us.
Hiding our fears, with their touch too much.
Lightning in my heart, they want to make it pound.
But this heart is mine - I refuse to be drowned.
You turn the light off
I begin to bump into myself.
Jeeze, I am a such strange shape in the dark -
all that fat and sweat moving like eels,
bones sticking out of my mind,
hair crawling over a lumpish face.
You turn the light back on,
just a bedside lamp,
a warm halo and honey glow.
Damn,
I am lovely!
FORM : Tesla Form : 3/6/9
_____________________
[ Poet’s note of interest ~
Tesla’s Birth : 10 July, around midnight : 1856 : stormy weather |
Poem came through : 10 July, 3.33am : 2025 : winter rain |
Numerologically speaking 3.33 is the divine number of alignment. Standard time in Croatia, where Tesla was born & SAST is same | July is the seventh month : 7 is the luminal no. linking Heaven to Earth : compound number between 1856 and 2025 is 7 | 10 is the number of leadership. This poem came exactly as presented here : rhyme & syllable : no edit, so I consider it channelled]
*****
midnight struck on one to power of zero
birthing table seven decked heaven for July
legs open
waters broke blood
breath rapid heralded
lightning cracked sky broken
zodiac Cancer genius creation curious
another reality coded inventions
Light eyed itself transmuting token
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Projects surround me like fences ‘round my head,
Telling me to get more done and to follow where I’m led.
There’s grass to cut and seeds to sew,
People to meet and places to go.
A model ship lay waiting for glue and paint
While the kitchen faucet has a non-stop leak.
I’m too far behind on my reading list
As books on the shelves cry out and hiss:
“Read me, read me and forget those chores.”
As more projects lie waiting at the old front door.
Take out the trash and clean the cans
And pay those bills before they wreck your plans.
Call friends and family you haven’t heard in a while
And do your best to try and make them smile.
All the while you’re barely holding on
To the last vestige of feeling whole and strong.
Praying for time just to write a new poem
To yourself, and others, feeling forlorn.
Something to lift you up out of the blues
And away from the projects that suffocate you.
Knowing life is a matter of choices we make
For better or worse, our triumphs, mistakes.
As for me all the projects that come and will go,
Writing is lighting like rain is to snow.
© Terrell Martin 01/08/2025
I joined the crowd last night to watch
The local Christmas tree
As it officially got lit,
A lovely sight to see.
Although it’s not my holiday,
The festiveness appealed
And as the neighbors gathered ‘round,
That spirit was revealed.
A choir was accompanied
By instruments of brass
And caroled with enthusiasm
No one could surpass.
The park was filled with families,
Hot chocolate in the air,
And in the moonlight, everyone
Was happy to be there.
I am a flower
Scented is my heart blossom
Smells aromatic butterfly hovering
Lighting on my body I’m a flower
8/27/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
A Poet is not like other writers …
all narrative be damned
Charging and fusing each word with a spark
redundancy to ban
Poets and Novelists both drawn to the fire
their kindling looks the same
The differences clear when striking a match
— poetic verse rising in flames
(Dreamsleep: January, 2024)
Rather than delusion that separates,
let’s cultivate the forces that unite,
like childlike innocence that celebrates
and a pure heart pulsating with delight,
suffused in bliss mists by day and by night.
To this end, we identify ego
as the spoilsport, which we need to let go,
enabled upon resting flow of thought,
whereupon our love drenched presence aglow,
entwined with existence, becomes self-taught.
("Creation Myth 101", 2018, original encaustic)
Make Believe and Crazy
A world gone mad
Upside down, inside out
And if you don’t like it
You must be a phobe.
Gaslighting's nothing new
But today it’s all the rage
In the name of a new religion
Of which thou shall comply.
But if you don’t
Where does that leave you
Old and in the way
Or ready to slit our wrist.
It’s all make believe and crazy
No longer's a spade a spade
Now it's whatever you choose
A hoe or rake by any other name.
Maybe that’s the condition of some
But it used to be
It wasn’t the delusion of all
Till asylum walls were overrun.
Now in the name of compassion
Everyone must drink
The Kool-Aid of confusion
Or else…”The doctor will see you now...”
(11/9/23)
Whenever love ebbs
Happiness too dies
Our soul’s light begs
Since it yearns to rise
Truly, this age is dark
Inner light is veiled
We see not our spark
Being by fears assailed
We yet have a lifeline
Within this dark abyss
Head and heart align
To rekindle God’s bliss
In a room besotted with lavish grace,
An expensive glass lampshade has its place.
Its exuberant glow, a soft hug warm,
But, somewhat less convincing is its form.
For a bruise on the heart, a hidden wound,
Belies the way the stained glass is attuned.
Lead and glass are immiscible matter.
Dull and gray vs bright, color splatter.
The lampshade's design is a compromise.
With horrid thick black lines through clear blue skies.
With the wondrous glass insulted and demeaned,
To fill the gaps among the lines between.
Expensive trinkets can't mend bad form pain,
When deep within their sad souls, scars remain!
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