lofty pines
encircle
the opal pool
surreal shades
of blue
shimmer through
shining
swimmers’ inspiration
skies elevation
Lofty phrases echo the quagmire,
labyrinthine there’s no easy exit;
Treading water but still feel I’ll sink,
intricacy leaves me meandering;
Labyrinthine, there’s no easy exit
for what prattles on inside my head;
I am starving for a turquoise breeze;
Treading water but still feel I’ll sink
beneath this atmospheric storm surge;
Maverick emotions lift me to crash;
Intricacy leaves me meandering,
the weather within is so complex;
My doppler radar spins endlessly.
All my life, a singular scheme,
I've chased the wind, a lofty dream.
But how to describe the spirit's gleam,
without them saying I'm so naive?
Things the senses cannot perceive,
are the hardest to believe.
So how to explain the foresight,
in hours of quiet, sacred light?
When transported to that divine height,
to witness a revelation like a joyride.
How to describe what's felt inside,
where words alone cannot confide?
They say it's a mental disease,
"a fool's Paradise" you live with ease.
For years, alone, I've sought release,
pushing through the lofty route.
Talking to visions, calling out,
birthing something, despite doubt.
I conceived a brainchild from the air,
a novelty of which few are aware.
A lofty dream, a vision to share,
a creation that blew the mind.
From nothing, I made a new kind,
a masterpiece for all to find.
We dream ourselves free and in our pride, we concoct lofty words of praise,
"We are democrats, lovers of liberty, free from prejudice and hate,"
In our furnace, we build the great human experiment, a dream always worthy to follow;
We speak melodiously, with noble sentiment, growing gardens of ideals meant to be seen.
But in reality, we are a vulgar mob, shoving and sharing quarrels,
Where passions are easily stirred by demagogues, media, belief profiteers, agitators.
Blasphemies uttered, this is called "the society of free people"; it's a heavy word,
What can we offer the world but overly full plunder we've stolen from humanity's land?
Under the hallucination that this mad theft can be called progress and bright culture,
We substitute our being in a blind race, too often tempted by subliminal deceit.
Everything is built on the foundation of illusion, a selfish altar on which we sacrifice common sense,
And we lose our hopes and dreams in the abyss of momentary prosperity, the delusion of a lawful happiness.
Wings are hard to fly
Not fair easy going home
Buzzing, lawless try.
Lofty sitting high and mighty,
casting shadows far and wide,
lift her head to summer sunshine,
she has nothing dark to hide.
Swaying, swinging dance eternal,
natures music weaves a tune,
challenge men to be her equal,
he'll come dancing with her soon.
Both of them, beneath the moon.
Both of them forever spinning,
underneath the summer moon.
A salty rol
a tender soul
a timid heart
Aloft as a meadowlark
Fly away spirit fly, away heart
5/23/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
chandelier precariously dangling over ritzy dreams
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Autumn Lofty Living Hues
Autumn's tall leafy live hues
cardinal oaks monarch elms
goldfinch palms arctic fox birch
tiger hid smoke trees
***Syllabically; 7775
2020 September 30
*1st Place*
Writing Challenge - Dodoitsu
~~Constance La France
Lofty Living
Let me take a moment of silence to listen to the noise that life decided to make_
Hear all the burps, the crashes, the hums of sounds it chose to stir me before I wake.
Inhaling a hefty dose of fresh air to withhold before the next one urged to take.
Behold the sunbeams beck to call upon me to play within its streams_
Yet the time for such a thing is found only in my dreams.
To gain a chance or gander is by sheer force it most certainly seems.
I raise my face high alerting to all above the sky’s_
Smile a greeting er’ flock of birds in union swirling by.
They sing to me a welcome_ fellow beholder of the eye!
For they can see such wonders not freely given to you nor me.
From a window perched and primed_ I enjoy this simple ease {esse} of mine.
It may not be the life I’d hoped of_ but 'tis I who's signed on the dotted line _
And at this moment in time, I am doing yay fine.
***092020***
Under the tower of confiner sisters,
Where the pine needles slide down the breeze,
Spiders become trapeze artists,
While ferns spread their wings,
The midnight rain forms into morels,
Playing hide and seek under the sticks,
Trails leading to empty shells,
From confident snails ready to leave,
Mosquitoes looking for red water,
From intruders of their home,
Worms wriggle in annoyance,
Footsteps echoing them out of sleep,
Wildflowers gather in numbers,
Slowly swaying with every breath,
From caterpillar transformations,
Each stitched by hues of smiles,
Armored beetles thrive to indulge,
Assembled in cafes of redwood bark,
The silence in the forest is blaring,
With bursting images in this realm,
Scents captivating our senses,
Songs breathing into our world,
To get lost in all the beauty,
Many colors and multiple forms,
Of tall towering lofty giants,
Changing colors from green to gold.
How the
fanciful
sentiments soar,
as imagination
takes flight
26.04.20
Poetry Poetry Contest - sponsored by Charles Messina
voluptuous voice elastic
rustling rhythm rustic
eerie extension etched
drooping callous crest
caressing glissando gulped
nocturnal octaves numb
lusty lyrics seeped'n
sumptuous squashed thrills
dainty dances drip
heightened fame fostered
vying veil triggered
hoisted days hanker
lofty twitch tossed
by blitzkrieg bought.
'20:03:06:13:45
Note: Dedicated to Sia.
A young pine has buried its needles in the wild grass,
Gradually it stands out of the thick basils in a mass.
No one realizes that it can pierce the clouds high,
And would praise its lofty goal until it reaches the sky.
(tran.)
And did those wings in ancient time
Soar upward in the sun burnt sky:
And was the father of our dreams
Seen boldly taking us on high!
And did the clever man of arts
Shed light upon our lofty bent?
And was a seed implanted in
That Cretan's dark imprisonment?
Bring me my wings of fair design;
Bring me the power of desire!
Bring me my aerobatic lines;
Bring me the chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental flight,
Nor shall my sequence sleep in hand,
Till I have reached the sun kissed heights
In hallowed halls o’er sea and land.
- The word "sequence" refers to a series of precision aerobatic figures studied in advance and flown by an IAC pilot. (IAC is the International Aerobatic Club)
-Inspired by William Blake's poem, Jerusalem, "And did those feet in ancient time..."
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