Long Congratulating Poems
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We talk about the sacred,
places ancient as fire, palaces divine in quagmire,
getting lost in footsteps of artistic archaeology,
uprooting ghosts in structure's facings,
We want to know why knowledge is forbidden outside the skin
of nourishment's tastings,
pineing for the verbotten dialect of perfect sin,
needing to understand why boats become skuttled in sands of dread,
asking why it seems angels along with demons our confusion conspire,
Staring into faces of stone like children seeing new color,
wondering if those rigid lips will ever confess a crime that We could forgive,
is there rhyme in love haunted by punished valor,
could there be trust established in harmony with ambition refusing to give,
communicating as birds before the malstrom
for directions to the shelter that made Time begin in form when thunder rung,
running into the genesis of Life & Death We trumpet like heros
congratulating each other for finding beauty in burdensome burrows -
J.A.B. Dedicated to all community builders -
I should be jumping up and down in delight
Congratulating myself profusely for
Getting rid of four truckloads of stuff
I was not using and probably would have never used.
But instead I am thinking of how
Much more there is to do. Yes, there is a lot.
I have accumulated this junk over eleven years.
Should I really be kicking myself that I have not
Gone through all of it in a week?
I am trying to reason with a self that is choosing
To not be reasonable. I want it all gone right now!
My unreasonable self is screaming. It felt so good
To see the closet door again!
We begin our daily tussle.
You can ask yourself what
exactly is the judge thinking
about when he decides to sit
on a bank blow his on brains
out I wonder calmly is he thinking
about his funeral the flowers
I mean how many flowers for
a judge is he thinking about
the last brown eyes he seen
at the Italian American club
or perhaps the vintage of war
in war the pope the choir
singing hymns loudly as the
arch bishop walks in everyone
rushing to kiss his hand
congratulating the judge
is he thinking of old disagreements
payoffs bribes mafia corruption
organised crime his reputation
on the bench being devoured
with corruption the many falsifying
documents Abraham Lincoln
tomb the harshness brutal wrath
what is he thinking as the cold
shot gun is placed ever so calmly
in his mouth family community
loss flowers how many on looker’s
awakened to a dead judge brains
splattered on the trees autumn
breeze leaves are changing
from green to red to brown
blood stained the leaves what
is he thinking his lifeless body
displayed for the town to witness
the most horrific crime against
humanity suicide he murdered
himself thee unpardonable sin
after handing harsh sentences
attacking brown innocence he
begins to beg for forgiveness
leaving corruption in shambles
life short circuits heavy hearts
heavy breathing who else knows
what is he thinking forgive me
lord for I have sinned thee
unpardonable sin I am so
sorry mother in that moment I
found peace knowing he killed
himself because he made me cry
I ordered Aiello’s daisies yellow
and white ones pleasant I will
always fondly remember
the Italian American Club hey
what’s a matter you hey what
you think a you do why you look
so sad say it’s a not so bad say don’t
you like a this place Ah shaddap
a you face rest in paradise Judge
thank you for your compassion
your clarity and granting me such
personal peace Your Honor may
peace always be with your spirit
forgiven
stop terrorist threats
corruption organized crime
intimidation bullying abuse
of power falsifying cruelty
it will always always leads
to horrible loss
So let me tell you,
if I'm looking between lives
with multicolors
and gentle genders
and green cards
in one graceful hand,
And Trump-heavy President fixation
away from restoring
Earth's ecojustice for All
on the other RightWing denomination,
Then let me tell you
seeking Trumpish twitters
of self-congratulating trumphalism
as more patriotic
then loyal honored deep Yintegrity
On Gaian liberated knee
as if too matriotically humbled
to stand for Yangish
and self-righteous thee,
then let me tell you
I am so very quite sure
your poppa raised White elitist you
to spell anti-matriotism
with a positive patriotism Peee
only while standing up
as royal Thee.
And let me vice versa tell you,
if you find loyalty
and honor,
civility and mercy
and compassion taking on a matriotic knee,
Then your Momma,
well let me tell you,
she spelled patriotism ecologically right
with left,
bicamerally.
Which, if you spell justice
with domestic peace of clear blue mind
you suspect dipolar
co-arising
matriots
of bipolar disarray
and too wild left,
and let me tell you,
no way we'll move love with Mother Earth diminished
down to a way out somewhat sleazy loose-lived girl
only good for lunch.
It just might become our hunch
hanging out with a more permaculturing bunch.
Midnight silent
And as the sun burning
My flesh is redden and blacken
Pangs and pains
Bruise skin
Like a kingdom full of sunlamps
Brightly
Eyes blinded by the lights
Skin torrid pains
When I thought of the sunlight
Deep into that darkness waiting
Blinded by mid days sun a brazen
Brightly
I crave the darkness, lonely luminescence
When I thought of the sunlight
That lights, light basking
and the photosphere never congratulating
eagerly I looked for the andromeda galaxy
eagerly I looked for the ionosphere
Brightly
I threw my heat upon the cool breeze
in there stepped an agog 'zodiacal light'
only this and a golden glow brightly
Suddenly, I heard the sunshine some glowing
Brightly
the dayside brought such sorrow
somewhat louder than the Ferrero
My mind always strays to quasars
Rev up motors lights
as It threw its ghost against the atoms
Deep into that darkness shining
Shining ever so, so
Brightly
7/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
fast as a blitzen comet,
this dashing prancer
contra dancer
(i.e. Rudolph nary hoof) didst zip
with cupid ditty toward his vixen wife,
who loosed a suppressed yip
asper one discovering remains of the day
from the donner
(newt the majority) party whip
ping her olive drab camouflage attire,
as if she hapt to be a vip
endlessly congratulating herself
(and bow wowing her ego) bing awarded
the housekeeping seal of approval,
and expected me to tip
her gore gee us Martha Stewart déclassé
snoop doggy dog rendition
as she did slip
agilely (with broom and dustpan in hand) rip
peat head lee uttering
an apropos Mary Poppins quip
booting muck can clear across to Compton
(wherever that might be) pip
pin like a cat on a hot tin roof,
where no cure existed to nip
in the bud at this stage,
and rid thine beloved Narberth bride,
who caught a bout clean destine
feverish frenzy to make house beautiful,
oblivious to beseeching despair,
sans this husband who cried
plaintively imploring divine intervention,
lest extreme heroic measures
need be taken, thus guide
me asap before her blistered hands
rubbed red as tender (vittles) raw hide,
which could find her catatonic, doggone
ill eagle lee flying a boot
like a bat out of hell, and stupefied
hence, this urgent message typed out in a huff
for less severe invasive
experimental treatment truly tried
on this, that, or some other missus so and so
.....please pardon this abrupt end,
plus initial idea wide
lee differing from my initial intent won
during how to write an elegy to mister son
describing, how aye felt enervated with run
hills of beaming solar rays, oh how none
synthetic drug to bathe,
enhance, suffuse away mon
day moody blues,
and now...gotta tend tummy hun!
(just an
exaggeration
of
negativity
lyrically, so
dont come
scolding
me):) ;)
They
might
wish me a
'HAPPY
BIRTHDAY'
or even
'many
happy
returns
of the day
My folks
send me
gifts and
greeting
Congratulating
me
on a life
that's
fleeting?
Yeah, so I
happen to
be
pessimistic
on this at
times
who sees
life as an
hourglass
One who
sees the
glass half
empty
rather
than half
full
For I
vision
each
birthday
as a step
closer to
old age
A step
closer to
dreaded
death
Isn't it
hard to
look
forward
to going
gaga and
decrepit?
When
smooth
skin would
end
up
crumpled,
wrinkled
Thus each
birthday
to me
is a step
closer to
the end of
a
lifetime
A step
closer to
that
unwanted
guest-
senility
The
reverting
to child-
like
inability,
debility
The
dwindling
of all
agility
The age of
doddering
limbs
half in the
grave
So I'd
rather not
celebrate
the
nearing of
the time
when
we'd
playback
em' flash-
backs
and in the
mind re-
live our
life
tracks.
When
everything
would
trickle
down to
mere
memories
With
ample time
to linger
upon
life's
souvenirs.
So a
birthday is
a step
forward
but
towards
thy
graveyard
The road
to it may
be longer
or
unfortunately
may end
abruptly
in a short
cut
to heaven
or to hell
bard or no
bard!
It was a sad day today
The girl at 87
The guy at 95 had split
It was all over social media
Old Mrs Malathorpe said it was a shame
Billy, who had just left the army after a hundred and fifty years, couldn’t give a toss
Chelsea, who had mentioned to the girl at 87
Her boyfriend and Mary, who worked at the dairy, were maybe a bit more than contrary
Had she checked, she would have realised the dairy was a Turkish barbers' run by asylum seekers incorporated
Billy couldn’t understand why the bastards he used to kill were living next door to him now
Old Mrs Malathorpe said the girl at 87 was 18 months pregnant
Billy couldn’t understand civilians, hated not having a structure
Why couldn’t he die in the army
Chelsea would make a move on the guy at 95
The girl at 87 left the area
Billy saw the enemy walking towards him, quickly plunging the knife through his eye into his brain.
This would get him into prison, where he would get structure
The team monitoring the suicide bomber ran towards him, congratulating him on his bravery. Nothing was mentioned about the knife.
Billy was now a reluctant hero who hated the media even more than civilians now.
Chelsea who had now dumped the guy at 95, could see something in Billy
She knew he needed structure.
It was a simple conversation. Be at my house at 8, repeat it to me.
I’ll be at your house at 8. Billy liked being ordered about.
He turned up at 8 sharp
Go into the bedroom, get undressed and wait for me.
She entered naked, holding a burning candle and got on top of him
The burning wax dripped onto his body as the gentle rocking reached its climax
Chelsea would now take total control of Billy's life. Every night at 8, he would return for more
It was in the second week that she decided this world wasn’t for them.
They would end it tonight.
The walk up to the bridge was slow and deliberate
They both got on the ledge, briefly kissing before jumping
The car pulled up, and she got in
Mrs Malathorpe asked if he’d gone to a new place
Yes, mum, a new place.
The media were all over the story
Chelsea played up to the camera, telling of Billy's pain, his PTSD
The funeral was televised live
She looked good in black, like that was her colour
The public crowdfunding helped her heartbreak
Only the guy at 95 knew the real Chelsea, but he was history.
Sophia
Wisdom is not the loudest voice that shouts and fills the room with noise,
It is the light that sees through illusion as through fog and all its ploys,
It is not the brilliant IQ that impresses and accumulates cold data,
It is the divine clarity that separates the truth from every strata.
Sophia is not the sharp cunning that defeats opponents word by word,
It is heaven's perspective descending gently into hearts that have been stirred,
It sees through deception the way water sees through sand upon the floor,
And discerns the hidden motives... where the mind can answer nothing more.
The wisdom from above is pure and peaceful and gentle as a healed wound's grace,
Full of mercy and of good fruit... not harsh... not self-congratulating in its place,
This contrast cuts through the world's confusion like a blade of living light,
True sophia produces peace... and integrity... and gardens blooming bright.
Intelligence gathers data the way a bee gathers honey without meaning or design,
But sophia applies the truth where the pain is deepest down the line,
Intelligence impresses for a moment and then fades away in applause,
Sophia transforms the heart in silence... without praise... without cause.
It is not the one with the sharpest argument who reflects heaven in their gaze,
But the one who sees reality the way God sees it... through love's haze,
Who aligns the heart with the perspective beyond personal gain and glory,
And responds not from pride... but from justice... and from sacred holy story.
Sophia descends slowly like a ray through the stained glass of a cathedral old,
It does not rush... it does not boast... it does not trample paths of gold,
It evaluates by lasting fruit and by righteousness and by what is true and good,
And the truly wise one... speaks less... sees further... and understands... as wisdom should.
I already accepted.
The gold metal, the grinding sounds.
Every type of glue that isn’t as good as a nail.
Unknowingly.
I already accepted.
The sweaty feeling.
Wings falling off.
Brand new socks that have tears.
I already accepted.
How everyone is congratulating me.
Smoky and no eyes.
An award like a gravestone.
I already accepted that lock of hair.
I already accepted an apple with a bite mark.
I already accepted the howling staircase.
I already accepted help from a werewolf who can’t remember anything.
I already signed that slip of paper.
That tells them I can stay in the hospital.
Got folded up.
And poof.
I already accepted.
And they say they have proof.