My childhood was both sour and sweet,
Sour because I lived with two mothers who were immiscible liquids,
Sour because of sibling conflict and strife,
Sweet because my brother and I enjoyed the company of communal friends.
Growing up on Apple Avenue was a memorable experience,
There was a large field at one end,
It housed a public school,
There were vendors on the field who sold indigenous confections,
My brother and I were their loyal customers,
There was a tree on the field that barely had leaves even during the rainy season,
We were told different mystical tales about the tree.
The highlight of one of the evenings was a bicycle race,
Chopper versus BMX,
The race was about which bike was faster,
In the maiden race, my brother was a few metres ahead,
The Chopper rider committed a foul,
He collided with the rear wheel of my brother’s bicycle,
My brother’s bicycle tumbled and he sustained injuries,
It resulted in a fight between rival groups.
The bicycle race was on hold for a long time.
September 25, 2026.
cold piercing liquids silver,
clear drops of rain fall from the
silver white cloud spits
~
attached to the grounds
glistening, wetting grasses.
tears nature rain falls
4/26/26
Written words by James Edward Lee 2026
many of us do not speak text
I am one of them
LOL
leave out liquids?
LOL
linger on lightly?
LOL
leaking oxidized lightfoot
LOL
liquids ostracize lefty?
PIR
You have to be kidding me!
the ghost was slippery, he outfoxed the wizard tonight
Took over the cauldron, for he was big, bold, white and bright.
The other animals were astounded that he got his own way
But this ghost is overbearing, every night, every day.
He poured in some liquids and said words no one had ever heard
They thought for a while he was being silly, rather absurd
Bubbling and swishing suddenly in the cauldron occurred
Something amazing was happening, we were all reassured.
He knows no night or day;
no future dreams dwell within him.
His is survival—nothing more.
He wakes up early to supervise
the street activities,
hunting his treasures in bins.
At least a bite would silence the talking belly.
His hard work is not worth a penny;
he can’t negotiate with an empty belly anyway.
So he’s ever willing to make a mountain
just for a plate of food.
As the night gives rest at everyone’s door,
he is always forgotten, for he has no door.
His head is ever open,
yet occupied from the inside
by toxic liquids and drug smokes.
This is the only state of sleep he knows.
His mind, shattered by the cruelty of nature.
In this condition, he patrols all the streetlights
in just a night,
looking for free items to add to his store.
Thanks to his arrogance and fast speed,
it’s either fight and take or grab and run.
Survival is what matters to him,
not the injuries or the beatings.
This is the street where he belongs—
the most beloved home he has built
from dirty boxes and stolen rugs:
a home no one sees as home.
I've tasted her lips
We've had kissed
Her saliva was sweet
Sugary like licorice
Juicy plump plum, like bubble gum
Like a butterfly sucking nectar
Life Starts preserved
Front lips succulent
Skin soft warm vibrant
Connect to sweet I received her sugar liquids
From after her lips
Within her heart's mouth
Her lips mybeloved kiss
Lips succulents
9/2/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025
"from LIFE DISCERN Anthology "
“The aforesaid five objects, which are the negative attributes of the five electricities, being combined produce the idea of gross matter in its five forms: Ki, solids; Ap, liquids; Tejas, fire; Marut, gaseous substances; and Akasa, ether.
These five forms of gross matter and aforesaid fifteen attributes, together with Manas, Mind, sense consciousness; Buddhi, discriminative Intelligence; Chitta, the Heart or power of feeling; and Ahamkara, the Ego, constitute the twenty-four basic principles of creation.”
~ extract from ‘The Holy Science’
In the realm of heaven, our eye is single
but with no adversities to overcome,
so the one becomes two and then they jingle
propelled by the power of the cosmic hum
and in the five elements they commingle,
ego distanced from heart, though soul is welcome.
Poised thus in subject-object relationship,
we discover God when love is our flagship.
I am soothed and calmed
As I lay on my bed
After the liquids you put in my mouth
After we kissed
Late at night.
They told me, if you’re camping and it’s raining,
to never touch the fabric of the tent
inside: they said it breaks the seal, explaining
that any person so improvident
as to commit the camper’s cardinal sin
and not to worry where his digit went
would link the liquids: rain would trickle in.
A lawyer now, I know just what they meant.
You have a client, and you feel, you care.
She trusts you with her secrets, which you share.
At first you’re formal: gradually, you warm.
Today you notice how she wears her hair:
you take her hand, to help her on the stair:
you’ve touched the canvas – now endure the storm.
You stay warm in the background
Your soul wraps me up
You fill me with liquids
And I lighten up.
Tivano Cutting Board Built-in juice grooves channel liquids away, helping maintain a dry, clean workspace.
Writings of a storm cold
The house gently
Creaks
From icy winds pressing against
Exteriors whilst slipping
Through
Small inconsistencies.
Sleet dances against window panes.
Piling glass against glass,
Particulates of infinite possibilities.
Fractals dancing down,
Tap dancing on rooftops.
I sit at kitchen table,
Bundled from the cold.
My only friend and partner, a
Dancing flame from candle
Casting shadows upon the walls.
Words scratching valleys and
Mountains across vast white expanse.
Scratching eloquence..
Moving still.
Plumes of billowy
exhale
surround my head
Like a haloed angel.
Tonalities of gray, from white to
A Dark and shadowy blackness.
Reaching out,
Ever growing,
Like the reach of sea creatures lost beneath vast depths.
Here I sit,
Staged against the cold.
A storm of ice,
From liquids fallen from skies with stories
Told.
I am their conductor.
Dance for me of wind,
Whisper in mine ear.
Settle still o house of moaning temperance
Against a northernly wind.
All the while my quill to
Parchment
Sliding out visions painted by verbiage.
Liquids
Liquids for injections oscillate to
attract big snakes who
squeeze the life out of
their prey.
Each day is a sampling of liquids at play.
Nye sniffs the water bowl,
Not to her taste.
She will agree, "It's not for me!"
Halo samples the rainwater on top of the dock box.
It has a lovely flavor.
Turns his head sideways,
Leaves nothing for later.
Muddy holes,
Other dog bowls.
Standing water near a tree.
All of this they do agree,
Is better than any bowl of water I may offer.
The champagne of water,
They both agree.
Comes from the toilette,
It's cold and refreshing.
And never ending!
Unlike an apple falling from a tree
We were floating aloft, hearts very free
The force we shared was magnetic
Drawing us closer like molecules in a compound
We defied the laws of motion
Embarking on a whirlwind of innovation.
Even when we rest, our emotions danced
A perpetual celebration!
But like any scientific experiment
Our reactions became unpredictable
The elements that once harmonized
Began to drift apart, signaling our end
Yet like liquids in a Bunsen burner
The chemistry in our hearts' laboratories lingers
Though as heteronuclear molecules we now stand
The chemistry we shared was truly grand.
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