An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
patches of coarse green grass
seem like raw silk yarn
pearls of dew supple them
glimmer as dyed green linen
Place: 3rd
we watch red petals on a couch fall
pistils are blood cells raw opened
falling on white linen watching
grey from wear and tears
our bangles shatter shy shiver
eating opened figs red
S
LICED
knifed you one loaf for eight
near and far you are my star
crazed or tranquil polishing brass
oceans with oil spills rush ship hull
fish dying as gills ooze dna flying
king then peasant or poet, know it !
weaving words regret and regress
how you escape depths, mate of slate
where Persephone eats ocean peaches
the fish are tuna, mackerel and yellowtail
sailors break their bread on rope deck
I watch enthralled from hoping shore
shore and red petals merge with urge
blood cells bright as fire roaring
slaves washing linen at river snoring
tears from stratus clouds dropping bangles
figs fat, ready for pudding angles
we will slice it with your sailor’s knife
g o
BB
LE
IT
UP __________
iron on linen
an old fashioned smell I loved
whiff of memory
Out of the autumnal cold you arrive,
humbly individuals and families come in.
We're setting the linen table,
your burdensome famish ends here.
Feast with thanksgiving and God's Gospel. ~
Can I just,
Take a look,
At the back
Of the linen
I sew
And the pockets i made
Nd the memories new
With some frnds nd some lies
Nd some things that i knew
Intended things that i did...
With the patterns of dew
With some beautiful color
Nd the lines and the curves
Some pigmented smile
Nd little showed the truth
The fragments were shred
Nd the threads being shed
Nd then i drowned it in water
Nd stitched what was left
No opens no closure no itsy bitsy threads.
.no shreds no pieces no drops are left ....
Its cosmic ..divine...it's out of the world...
Sewing with love this magic of words
I took every piece nd took every shred....
Created a very beautiful spread...
I matched it with linen ..Nd added it in .....
Casements are oozing... brighteness nd light ...
Of that power that just came to lifee..
Nd is it me
.It is me ..what is quite pretty fine ...
Nd then i wore that linen
Nd it let me be me ..
What i wanted to be ...
On the outside she’s totally calm,
In her head it’s not the same
A little mystery in her eyes,
Held up by the devil’s disguise
Black hair,
Linen and lace
Always trying to win the race
When she smiles the whole world stops
When she’s angry you better run like hell,
Where you go it doesn’t matter,
Your death will end with a giant splatter
On the outside she’s totally calm,
On the inside it’s not the same
A twisted look in her eyes,
Hidden desire,
Hunger in her eyes
The witching hour,
Nothing will ever be the same
She lived to be the oldest of a staid,
unremarkable bourgeois family.
Lavender and off-white lace,
complemented her black ruffled attire.
She played the Granddame with much aplomb,
the matriarch of her passionless clan.
Occasionally her offspring
and her offspring’s offspring came to her for money,
a few with questions, appeals, unctuous compliments
She offered only sneers, curled and haughty lips.
In her days there were giants on earth,
they did not reach just for the middle shelves.
Their thoughts were painted hot-air balloons,
they imagined rocket ships made out of
bicycle parts.
Was it her fault that humanity had shrunk?
Day after day she gave audience
to unimaginative midgets, the small minded
affronted by her regal demeanor.
When she died they gathered
to pick the spoils, unfortunately for them
she had long disinherited her fortune
considering her kindred all just cheap satin
stitched over bovine buttocks.
I guess you can only use a rag so long
before you're left with a tabloid
(I think this was actually a comedian's joke years ago if I remember correctly)
In my linen closet
There are sheets that go way back.
In going through them, I have made
A quite imposing stack:
The brown and orange flowered ones
Of hippie-ish décor;
My husband’s, used to cover
His old mattress on the floor.
Our first set as a couple,
With bamboo boughs, colored peach
And all the rest on shelves I need
A ladder just to reach.
My kids’ twin-sized cartoony ones
Or those with baseball themes;
The extra-long sheets for the dorm
Which held some college dreams.
It’s finally time to winnow down
All those we haven’t used
In many years and which to ditch
I’ve up ‘til now refused.
I’d heard the ASPCA
Accepts old sheets and such
So they will find another home –
I will not miss them much.
Yet still, I’m sad to see them go
But I won’t be too vexed
Because I’ll have to face the fact
The towels will be next!
A fleeting glance
no need to remove them
Specks, particles, of no import
~ a banquet undone
And I am captivating pleasantries
I am optimistic
In my realities
I am comforted by my comforter made of cotton silk
Etched in gold
My blanket embraces me
and I am comforted
8/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
I think of you as my bedroom drapes,
Easy shaded armour to the days.
Sometimes breaking, sometimes braked.
Totally held up inside cliche,
We all always behave the same way.
The shadows have hungry hands and
Your lullaby can't sing
Because your throat is linen.
I'm captured by your curtain,
Thus one thing is for certain..
We must stay wrapped up together for all
Of always.
Hot summer sun in clear blue sky
golden light pounds down on pavement black
searing heat reflects on walls near
boiling hot the wet summer air
shingles of white reflect to sky
captures the heat that lies beneath
wire screened windows were no wind blows
moist searing heat in stillness lays
cold clear water now called forth
shocking contrast within the heat
freely flows running down
too quickly lost into the ground
weaving mesh of shocking white
clinging tightly on moist curves
trapping holding moisture there
growing warm within the air
quickly dancing within the flow
chilling frigid unbearable cold
washing the heat quickly away
coldness clinging within the weave
cold white linen clinging tight
to quickly warming within the heat
briefly cooling what lies within
giving form to what responds
searing heat wrapped in cold
shocking message boldly told
slowly fading diminished away
moisture hot lost in summer air
suburban walls lock away
burning heat on a summer day
frigid cold of waters clear
cannot long the heat contain
Oh, lord
what’s the use in tryin’?
Nothin’s turned out
the way I planned.
I got the whole world
tellin’ me I’m dyin’.
Think I’ll just lie here with
the Good Book in my hands.
I’m on board
and bound for leavin’.
No farewells
from family or friends.
Guess in the long run
I just broke even
while I lie here with
the Good Book in my hands.
I won’t bother tryin’
to sell my soul
before I rest in peace.
I never found
an ounce of gold in anything
I claim to believe.
Reminded of my sins
when I feel that linen
soft against my skin.
Oh, lord
too late for cryin’.
Ran out of reasons
to save this man.
I see four walls
closin’ in around me
as I lie here with
the Good Book in my hands.
I won’t bother tryin’
to sell my soul
before I rest in peace.
I never found
an ounce of gold in anything
I claim to believe.
Reminded of my sins
when I feel that linen
soft against my skin.
I got the whole world
tellin’ me I’m dyin’.
Think I’ll just lie here with
the Good Book,
die here with the Good Book,
in my hands.
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