Long All the same Poems
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Standing on a balcony
Out by the sea
The waves crash endlessly
Staring back at me
They listen and wait
Watching and pacing
Sharpening the blade
Constantly erasing
Their pain
Dolls line the walls
Familiar faces painted on
They weep for my soul
Praying that I’ll soon be gone
I jump as a rabbit
Ears up and listening
I listen to the pounding drum
Of his crimson dripping daggerling
The door cracks open
An iron odor sways
Through the twisted halls
And into my brain
Inhalation of sanguine
Exhale the question
Will I ever leave this home
That became quite an obsession
I’m the murderer’s apprentice
Willingly taken by his chain
Dishevelled and bloodied
But euphoric all the same
It’s far too late to save me
Have you ever had that situation?
One minute you're lying asleep
The next you're awake
And in trouble deep.
On the pillow next to you where
There should be an empty space
Lies a pretty, sleeping, very
Feminine female face.
You look for the door and,
With a sense of doom
Realize very quickly
You're in a strange room,
The last thing you remember
Is being in a strange bar
So where on earth are your mates
And for that matter, where's your car.
This may be very nice
But all the same
Who on earth is
Miss What's her name.
She could cry for help
Or shout out rape,
Now's the time
For a strategic escape.
A sleeping arm flings out
And comes to rest
And suddenly you're lying
Naked breast to naked chest.
It's warm and it's nice and you
Think I might as well just stay
Tonight is tonight and
Tomorrow's just another day,
Remembering the proverb,
There’s no need to rush,
‘cos a bird in the hand
Is worth two in the bush
An evil little gremlin lives under your bed;
Yes! It's true!
You can't see him but he sees you.
Sometimes when it's real, real dark
You might hear him run across the floor:
pitty-patter, pitty-patter, on tippy toes…
Not very loud, but he's there all the same.
You can't see where he went
Or tell whence he came.
Lurking in the night,
Barely out of sight,
Waiting for you to put your arm
Or foot over the edge of the bed;
Then he'll grab you and pull you on the floor!
Did you ever wake up on the floor?
Well, that's why.
Sometimes, for an evil prank,
He'll give your covers a terrible yank
And you'll wake up shivering and quivering.
This gremlin isn't very friendly
As you'll have realized.
He even makes you dream terrible nightmares.
That's what he does best of all.
And even though he's very small in size
He's got sharp pointy teeth to sink in your feet
When you get up in the morning.
From the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It was included in my small collection Moonstill Tulip Wine and Others (Seattle: Duck's-foot Tree Productions, 1979).
instigated by Oberon in Act 2, Scene 1,
Midsummer Night's Dream, Wm. Shakespeare
Has the son of Venus, god of love, lost his aim?
Bow’s arrow rendered useless in men’s game.
In truth, ‘twas it the moon who was to blame?
One sister escaped love’s dart, all the same.
Young girls, beware of purple flowers, once white.
Unbeknownst to you, nefarious knight
may draw flower's nectar, dab your sleeping eyes,
and as new day dawns, cajole you with lies.
Beware, indeed, lest he leave you senseless,
no longer fancy-free, but defenseless.
Yon midsummer knight’s a mere apprentice
who has much yet to learn of consensus.
written May 2, 2017
"For Fancy-Free Poetry Contest" by Julia Ward
Write a poem of love?
Aye, aye, aye.
(Sigh)
I'll try....
It's like trying to recall a violent crime.
Describe the incident.
Details, be specific.
My body shakes.
Tears flow uncontrollably.
Who did this to me?
A police shows potential suspects,
questions my best guess.
I gaze at the faces, blankly.
Quite frankly, each looks the same:
a cruel man without a name.
So there becomes my frame---
They ARE all the same.
To ALL them is my blame.
A bitter woman I became,
claiming rapists among the tame.
You're one. So are you, and you, too.
Closed heart. Fearful, angry view.
Convicting the innocent.
Condemning them,
so the one possessing my torn out heart
still held it
in prison.
I waited for their impending death.
Instead I died.
I died inside.
Where is love?
Help me find
a safe place to hide .
I've always liked songs about Ohio but I've never been there
Well I think I drove through Cincinnati once
A cold grey concrete blur, and Indiana all the same
That corner of it anyway
Blurry eyed from the fast dashes of streetlights on the interstate, we are all just passing by
This is what it looks like spirits in flight
To quick for the naked eye
These things you think about staring out the window on long drives
Life is fleeting, cherish what you manage to hang on to
I'll keep my empty hands folded in my lap
While I bleed into the back ground noise
Embraced by the engines hum
Some interesting statistics that have to do with birth:
Every minute of the day 255 babies are born upon this Earth.
255 babies with different nationalities, different colors…different names
but every one of those 255 babies are humans…all the same.
255 babies a mother, father and a family welcome and hold dear.
That’s 363,000 babies born each day and 133 million born each year.
Every minute 255 families who, as this new life they perceive,
begin to enjoy this amazing creation…begin to marvel…to believe.
Every minute 255 families are excited…to hold a life so new
that includes, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles…
grandparents and great-grandparents too.
Every minute 255 families have found a reason for their smile to beam
255 families filled with wonder…filled with wishes, hopes and dreams.
255 families finding reasons to enjoy this moment of happiness
to think of all the happiness they have in store…
and to marvel at how every minute…the world is welcoming 255 more.
Every minute when we look around the world at all the people trying to survive…
and we see the the poverty, war and prejudice we’ve produced
we should think of these 255.
and wonder how many of our babies born each minute to a family that’s elated
will survive beyond their childhood…in the world we have created.
It should be our duty…from the minute of their birth…
to make all 255 babies feel safe and happy to have been born upon this Earth.
And if they don’t…if the world we have created makes some scared…
makes some of those families and babies sob…
then isn’t it our duty…
to do a better job.?
World all praise, everybody praise...
Man worship the true and only Father
Mankind open up,
And out of your mouths
Comes language only the Farther knows
Alleluia
and out of your mouths
Let the rejoicings start
Say..Alleluia
Sing..Praise Hallelujah
SPANISH VERSE...
Mundo todo elogio
El hombre adora al verdadero y unico Padre...
La humanidad se abre
Y de tu boca
Que comience la alegria
Di...Hallehuia
Canta...Alabanza Hallehuia
El mas alto
El mayor elogio
Hay..es HALLEHUIA
Say..Alleluia
Sing..Praise Hallelujah,Hallelujah
SWAHILI VERSE...
Dunia yote sifa
Mtu anaabudu Baba wa kewli na peke yake...
Wanadamu wanafungua
Na kutoka kinywani mwako
Hebu kufurahi kuanza
Sema..Aleluia
Imba.. Sifa Halleluya
Ya juu zaidi
PRAISE kubwa
Kuna..ni Halleluya
FILIPINO VERSE...
Buong mundo ang papauri
Sinasamba ng teo ang tunay at tanging Ama...
Bukas ang sangkatauhan
At mula sa iyong mga bibig
Hayaang magsimula ang pagsasaya
Say..Alleluia
Pinakamataas
Ang pinakadakilang PRAISE
Mayroong ay Halleluiah
Alleluia
FRENCH VERSE...
Monde tous les eloges
L'humanite s'ouvre
Et hors de ta bouche
Que la joie commence
Say...Alleluia
Chantez..Louange Alleluia
Le plus haut
La plus grange louang
II y a..est Alleluia
NEPALI VERSE
Visva sabai prasansa
manisa samco ra matra pitako upasana gardacha...
Manisajati khula cha
ra timro mukhabata bahira
rama'ilo suru garaum
bhannuhos..Lambiya
gaum..Prasansa hilaliuaha
uccatama
sabaibhanda thulo premi
tyaham cha.. Hilaleiaha ho
Let the rejoicings start
Say..Alleluia
Sing..Praise Hallelujah
SUNDANESE VERSE
Dunya sadaya puhian
Lalakai nyembah ka Bapa leres sareng wungkul...
Umat manusa buka nepi
Tur kaluar tina mouths Anjeun
Anggap rejoicing dimimitian
Say.. Alleluia
Nyanyi..Puji Halleluiah
Pangluhurna
Panggen mikahoyong pannggedena
Aya..neyaeta Halleluiah
...
~Just a few languages I've been around in the last two decades
from my former job...
All I know now is that in any language
Halleluiah is Halleluiah nyaeta Halleluiah is Halleluiah ay Halleluiah Alleluia est Alleluia Hallelujah hai Hallelujah Halleluya ni Halleluya Halleluiah is Halleluiah
In any language is ALL languages the highest praise is
Halleluiah
6/10/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
from anthology "INTERMITTENT PRAISE"
Misery's my masterpiece
I'm a Rembrandt of the blues
My bucket list, only consists
Of a pair of worn out shoes
Nashville spit me out
And that's a hard pill, to swallow
Much like my Backwoods
Bravado
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
It's also the reason
Why I'm still alone
I'm hard on myself
Because pride don't pay bills
And living helped me render
These skills
I like my twang with
A big side of whiskey
I'll take my heartbreak, with pain
It's all the same
But my backwoods bravado
Has kept me
From becoming
One of Nashville's greats
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
To often about hurt
And love that's gone wrong
I could wallow in pity
Or write it real strong
But my backwoods bravado
Lives on
The hills sing their song
From the breeze in the trees
And my backwoods bravado
Is like a disease
Wherever my heart goes
My life leads me
And my backwoods bravado
Just grieves
My backwoods bravado
Helps me write these songs
The truth's in the lie
That drags me along
Maybe someday should tradition
Come back along
My backwoods bravado
Can live on
Yes my backwoods bravado lives on
(very early stage of "Before the Door" encaustic, 2023)
The Stream Of Pre-Consciousness
A friend recently told me,
“Write a novel “stream of pre-consciousness” and be amazed”
But like a Zen koan
this doesn’t offer much immediate help.
Stream of consciousness writing has always eluded me,
not to mention what steam of “pre-consciousness” would entail.
Just the thought of it gives me an intellectual headache,
like trying to visualize solving a Rubik’s Cube.
I can stream along just fine in conversation,
climbing rocks or mountain tracks,
I’m even learning to do it mowing the lawn,
but words meant to stand the test of time are a different matter altogether.
The problem is simply that I don’t see my consciousness as much of a stream.
If truth be told, it’s more of a series of stagnant pools
in an old dried up river bed
that is prone to occasional flash floods and seasonal renewals.
But as much as I can imagine the worst
(a stream fully harnessed into a series of canal locks,
or reduced to a trickle in irrigational channels)
I know I am blessed simply to have such imagination.
I’m also blessed to have the blithe spirit
which thinks everyone has the same kind of mind, the same desire to create
same challenge with blocks and same ability to overcome.
For if we’re all the same, then I too can do what the greats have done!
Meanwhile reality is what I’m left with.
The greats are great precisely because they are great,
and the huddled masses remain huddled
through no fault but their own.
So where does that leave me, Oh Great Zen Master?
Right where you began caterpillar
certainly no closer to being a mindless flutterby
in the pre-consciousness dawn….
(8/29/23)