Long Daughters Poems
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They're not celestial entities.
These shoulder angels
Are very real.
Real, tangible people;
As ordinary as you and I.
They're sons.
They're daughters.
They're fathers.
They're mothers.
They're grandparents.
People that make a difference every day,
Giving a helping hand
To lift people
From the bottom rung of the ladder.
They're changing the world
For the better
Without advertising
Their noble deeds,
Without expecting
Anything in return.
Yes, people of that ilk exist.
We hear stories about them each day.
I'm sure you know
Or have met one, or two.
Many choose to
Remain in the shadows
As they shine their light
For others to bask in.
Angels without wings.
People like us.
#Earth_has_swallowed_blackwoman's_pure_seed_of_life
Hopes and wishes, dreams and expectations, observed as they derail, watched as they grew thorns, losing their shape, changing into pain and nightmares, tormenting and devastating, turning bitter and sour, daily. Like a cancer virus, festering
Watched as a blackwoman, shook her head in disbilief, braking down into tears. Diagnosed with medical conditions, she never had, brought to life in her body, her mind and blood level fuming, cardiac arrest and suicidal thoughts invanssion. Her lil innocent ones, denied the blessing, gift of having to grow with someone to call 'mom'. The curse of blessing gift, of bearing life
Men, introduced health endangering substances, drugs and intoxicating beverages. Genesis to short life span. Inhumanity and canibalism. Fornication, nephews and heirs which were once sacred in a healthy and normal ovaries, now in shortage, scarce. Distinction of blackwoman's pride and honour. This is worse than death, the emotional burden of having to carry dead soul cross with you everywhere, for as long long as you still alive
Nyaope, placing blood chasing thought to what reality is, well homoured, smart, innocent, dark,light, thin, big, small, rich,poor, sons and daughters of blackwoman, walking out of their senses, sanity and purity, held hand by this drug, Quickfix, quick death.
Stress and confusion, complexities of life, trials and tribulations, hunger and desparation, circumstances and denials, faillure and hopeless. not to ignore jealous and witchcraft.
Ooh! Human! Earth has swallowed blackwoman's pure seed of life.
#Poetic_Ink
I feel this rush of affection
Each time I hold you, there is an emotional fusion.
Don't you love the way I stroke thy body
Each time I make you my object of study?
You're my true friend, my succor
The surgeon that cured my economic tumour.
Oh! I feel your warmth upon my fingers,
Each time you sing to shame even the Grammy singers.
I was born to hold you this tight,
breath to breath, every day and night.
My heart and brain are thy friends till eternity
For we are both lost in this Shakespearean fraternity.
I'll love you forever into my grave,
For you're the one for whom my heart do crave.
You're prettiest than all daughters of men,
I love you so much, My darling Bamboo Pen!
To be born a girl to a father with patriarchal dreams
born a disappointment to himself was all I could claim.
A pretty little thing, a trinket, a space holder, a seam,
to be a man is to be wanted to be woman's a shame.
Born a disappointment to himself was all I could claim
Mother cried, and tried but one more girl she bore to his frown
To be a man is to be wanted to be woman's a shame.
I watched and did not wonder as his lips turned upside down.
Mother cried, and tried but one more girl she bore to his frown
If I'd been a boy, his joy would have saved my Mother's heart
as I watched and did not wonder, as his lips turned frown down
I learned being male was something desirable and apart.
If I'd been a boy, his joy would have saved my Mother's heart.
I'd lead the pack, ride the rails, see the world, eat it all whole.
I learned being male was something desirable and apart.
But I'd not use my powers to break countless hearts untold.
Many children I'd seek, daughters and sons, all wanted each one
born a disappointment to himself was all I could claim.
But a man, such as I'd be, would cherish daughters not shun
to be a man is to be wanted to be woman's a shame.
The heavy curtain, refusing to be moved,
is slowly forced aside by those who understand
hidden scenes and private dialog
few audiences have experienced.
Inch by inch the rusty gromets
slide on the rough surface,
where oil has never been,
causing discomfort to tender ears.
She paid no money to sit in her chair
and watch the curtain reveal
what she already knew--
a kinship understood.
The scene was simple--
two daughters standing behind a woman
with a purse hanging from one arm,
while holding two confederate flags
and a sign of hate held over her head,
“ don't you wish you WERE WHITE,”
made her stomach-ache and teeth clench,
as anger of resistance freed itself from flimsy chains.
While the audience responds
with tears of empathy,
she refuses to acknowledge,
will not commiserate,
And immediately posts her feelings on social media,
“Hate comes in All colors,”
revealing a heart incapable of sympathy,
unwilling to give respect or show politeness.
I notice and cannot be silent
with civility dishonored
and pain unaddressed,
by callous and cold remarks
That create new wounds and larger scars.
With new vigor I write to avenge a wrong,
push back to help change gain a foothold
On the slippery slope of bias.
Some Cinderella's end up with glass slippers
others inherit breakable petals inside a rose heart
When duty calls most of them query to unanswered prayer
it is no wonder with time, they all become dragon slayers
Some sweep ashes and clean rugs until the day they die
others come to realize they matter and slowly begin to fly
Stage coach dreams bull-whackers and conductors
if they don't break out soon, they will need a doctor
Evil step mothers and brutal step fathers
they all turn out to be dutiful good daughters
some Cinderella's get to go to the ball
some, well they never leave home at all
Please don’t make a big deal about my birthday she said.
When you get to a certain age, you don’t want recognition.
She was wearing a pointed hat at the time.
I like to be incognito she lied.
Her six bracelets and fourteen rings begged to differ.
She was wearing a navy-blue strapless gown.
At her age it was remarkable, no one her age does this.
Of course, we do not know what age it is.
The necklace around her neck was a signature piece.
Louder and prouder than any necklace I have ever seen.
Her dangling earrings were fashioned from a designer.
Right, her sons said. “No attention tor you, Mom.”
Her daughters-in-law could not wait to get to the garden to discuss her.
I thank my Father for the New Day Dawn God
is working things out
He's our heart that flows our blood
He's our lungs He gives us breath
HIS love HE'S our FATHER
we're HIS sons and daughters
Ever grateful I am can you understand Hallelujah
I thank my FATHER for the NEW DAY DAWN
for all that HE'S given us placing HIS love
inside us
HE'S The greatest Love of All
HE showed gave His only child to save us
Unparalleled love
Mercies and granted ever so thankful
Yet and still I thank my Father for the New Day Dawn
return O'Lord how long and and let it repent
Be concerning by servants O' satisfy us early with thy Mercy
That we may rejoice and be glad all our days
Make us glad according to the days we're in love has affected us
In the years we're in we have seen evil
Look like works appear until thy servants and by your Glory
Until their children and let the beauty of the Lord Our God
Be upon us and established our work
Upon us yet the work of our hands established style it
(Psalms 90:20 27 )
I thank my father for the New Day Dawn
All that He's given us He's placed His love inside us
HE'S The Greatest Love of All
He's allowed His only child to save us on parallel Mercy's Love's
Granted I thank my Father for the New Day Dawn
God is working things out
He's a heart that flows our blood
He's our lungs He gives us breath air with His love
And for all else and everything that He does
Glorious gatherings
The mercy that He brings
I'm so thankful that I could sing Hallelujah
I thank my God my Father for the New Day Dawn
4/2/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
Have you ever kissed the winter's wind;
Have you ever been burst into birth on a hilly-plain;
What is your name;
God knows,
you see He calls you His son
Calls you His daughter;
Have you ever flown with wings
Spoke words songs of angels sings;
Hallelujah;
To the most high God;
Have you embraced the heart of your fellow man;
Have you given your least because it's all you had;
What is your name;
God knows,
you see He calls you His son
Calls you His daughter;
I've tasted the evil of my mouth;
I've lived bad and good also caught
I've caught the sins of my forefathers;
Passing them yet still to mine sons, my daughters;
And when it's all said and done;
I'll be fully repent mercies grace surrounds my spirit, my soul my face;
And freed at last from my distance past;
Let us all rejoice, singing freed, singing free at last;
Voicing with the angels we all sing;
Thank you Jesus
Thank you God
Hallelujah;
Hallelujah;
Hallelujah;
Amen;
1/3/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
IT IS ME
XXXXXXXX
With all the adversities in life, became a woman with an
open mind, a kind heart, a care free spirit and a teachable soul.
Oldest sister of six brothers and two sisters, strong willed mother
of four; two sons and two daughters, raising them all alone and
grandmother of seven; four boys and three girls.
Lover of nature’s beauty, the beauty of His creations,
like the glorious sunset, the colorful autumn leaves, the azure
sky, the splendor of the rose, the magnificent butterflies.
Lover of strong women and passionate people.
Feel profound happiness when dancing, feel great looking
good dressing up and feel excited learning something new.
Dislike snakes and digital stuff being from old school and
detest people living in lies, believing others, not themselves.
An aesthetic person appreciating beauty in art, music,
literature, photography, fashion and like to travel to learn
more about culture and explore the spectacular scenic views.
Resident of Golden State in the West Coast. XXXXX
8/1/21 This Is Who I Am Poetry
L. Milton Hankins