Long Departed Poems
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September 8 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Matthew 11-13
Key Verse – Matthew 11:1 And it came to pass, when Jesus had made an end of commanding his twelve disciples, he departed thence to teach and to preach in their cities.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY SOVEREIGN PREACHER
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always asserting Your truth, perfectly right
Thank You for saving me by Your Gospel that expresses eternal life’s delight
Midst worldly forces I must overcome by Your Scriptures’ insight
While instilling in my heart Your Word of divine light.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always affirming Your prophecy
Thank You for Your upholding me toward faith’s fervency
Midst heavy burdens challenging my spiritual consistency
While rebuking my doubts and unbelief’s persistency.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always attesting Your law
Thank You for guarding me with Your mercy against guilt’s claw
Midst false doctrines espoused by those who are out-law
While protecting my soul, sanctifying my iniquity-flaw.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always ascertaining Your judgment
Thank You for teaching me to maximize Your offered ministry involvement
Midst lurking discontentment that hinders my commitment
While propelling my dedication for great commission engagement.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always assuring Your forgiveness
Thank You for pardoning me in confessing my sinfulness
Midst arrogant behavior disclosing my haughtiness
While cleansing my heart from wickedness and filthiness.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always advancing Your kingdom
Thank You for allowing me to learn from Your wisdom
Midst earthly vanity bringing futile boredom
While letting me participate in Your work with spiritual freedom.
Lord God, You are my Sovereign Preacher
always apprehending deceit by Your fire of revival
Thank You for correcting me of my foolish survival
Midst skeptical mockery against Your imminent arrival
While checking my lifestyle according to Your approval.
September 8, 2023
First he went into the Ukraine as there he'd remain
This man being so vain grown from a separate grain
Now he's in the Middle East and arguing with the U.S.
Trouble to say the least, for it has become a big mess
Now there have been threats, deals have been broken
And even still Obama lets, barely a word ever spoken
He was out on the golf course while Putin was moving
Setting about his Trojan horse to Obama's disapproving
But now here we are as a hungry Putin seeks to devour
How quickly we've come so far with this shift in power
The U.S. no longer in the lead in so being pushed aside
For the things you now concede many others have died
Not being here anymore but now that spirit's departed
A long unsettled score with a people now disheartened
As there he sits and waits but he won't wait very long
Holding all of our fates, the beginning of what's wrong
Only Prayer is powerful enough to change this World!
For by not praying is how we got in this predicament.
What’s in a name? That’s what Juliet wants to know when she sadly discovers the last name of her beloved Romeo.
And as a way of coping…of cushioning the pain…
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” She doth explain.
Like most people I’ve had a variety of names…which I have happily worn…
James is the name my parent gave me on the day that I was born.
But as I grew up James seemed too formal and one day…on a whim…I made the decision from that day forward that everyone would call me Jim.
Then I married and lo and behold…a father I became….
I was Jim to my wife and Daddy to my children…suddenly I had two names.
And when my daughter married and a mother she became…
I was Jim and Dad and PopPop…now I had three names.
My christened name James was biblical…it had dignity and grace…
but Jim and Dad and PopPop are the names that bring a smile to my face.
Three names I am now called that help to make my life complete.
It matters not which one I hear for they all sound as sweet.
Whatever I’m called my hope remains the same…
that you embrace the person I am…the one who stands behind the name.
So when I’m gone…when I’ve finally departed this world..this time..this place…
whatever name you remember me by…will bring a smile to your face.
Perhaps that should be our goal in life…our one ambition…our final aim…
I wonder if that’s what Juliet meant when she asked…What’s in a name?’
The Hyperactive Stranger At Bristle Grocers WHERE'S THE BEEF - A Narrative Poem
One day at a grocery shop,
I met a man selling meats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I wanted some wheat.
"Got any wheats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No ears of wheat here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you an excellent price."
"I'd rather have some steaks."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit hyperactive.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty reactive.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the grocery shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."
"Veggies, kinds of wheat, you shall find.
Cakes, hakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Bristle Grocers Market.
WHERE'S THE BEEF?
So to Omaha Beef, I decided to go,
In search of the meats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But somehow, I felt that the day I could be saved.
There were stalls selling meats,
everywhere were cut Chuck Roast, Ribs steaks in many shades.
Chop them up veggies and meats
Time for stew and pot roast
7/9/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Not sure when all of this started
Maybe the day sanity departed
But now I find that I like to chew
On anything the color of blue
The transition was rather simple
Erasures from colored pencils
Of course you know the color I choose
Do I need to keep reminding you
And who in their right mind would not pack lunch
Without the world of Crayola in a colorful box
They even give the crayons fancy names
Although all the shades of blue taste the same
And for a chew with a bite without the bark
I always do blue from the Play-Doh jar
To be fair other colors I've tried
But haven't I told you it's the blue that I like
Don't dare get me wrong there is normal I find
Why I'm a softy for good a blueberry pie
Then there's blue Pixie sticks
And blue Kool-Aid mix
Blue frozen pops
Blue chewy gum drops
Blue Gatorade
Blue frosted cupcakes
Who ever knew
There was so much color blue
And I know what you think
Call it a hunch
But the Permanent Marker
I needed only try once
Like I said
I'm not sure when all of this started
Maybe the day sanity departed...
Here it comes
For i to feel.
Though it matters
But i seem to count it less.
Here it comes again
Just as a reminder,
For me to weigh its departure.
Same i did to push away.
I thought it would leave with time
But here it comes again.
Never knew it was for a cause.
That i may keep reverencing its departed presence.
Though she means a lot,
More than you could think of.
Six-feets below she lies.
Her presence i strongly feel,
Just as it were you reading me.
Here it comes again
Not to disturb me.
She loves to make me happy and focused
That i might not derail.
Here it comes again
Coz, she loves to see me again.
To nurture and care
Just as she did do then.
A place in my heart
You definitely would find her.
For she lives as though
Dead she is.
I love to meet with her again
Not so quick in a bargain
For life's purpose i sustain
To obtain before i seize to reign
Do i pray to attain.
Mystery Of Pine Barrens
Pine Barrens hide the cabin by mirrored lake
Years pass as green grass grows slower under trees
Something is missing that no one knows
Rolled hills keep mysteries up there
No visitors or neighbors seen near or far
Only vegetation drinks water from beneath
Grounded shore lines about the lake tell nothing more
About desertions, something taking creatures in a blink
There, creeping in Pine Barrens hold, lost souls and branches
Animals disappeared, all life forms departed in a whisper
Dismissed from ages page of time
Fish, birds and even insects became removed
Extinct in that sudden instance and eased
Permanently gone, forever undefined, forgotten
No note. Departed without notice or trace of any kind
Reports came back, strange things are happening
Just under rocks and dark of night about the woods
Wind ceased to blow two months ago
A single leaf did not recognize the clues
They could not move or change or make a noise
No ripple on the water surface could be seen or heard
Stone silence stood along the cabin scenery
Observed close up it gave up nothing
No life in lake, or sky or ground
Trees froze and had no where to go
Nature stopped dead in her tracks
Looked back for explanations along the lake and woods
Don’t be surprised if you should visit there
You may find that you too have not arrived
Have disappeared for no good reason in the pines
Diego Rivera’s Flower Carrier
My load to carry is backbreaking,
But this I must do to feed my family.
Down on all fours on the ground, I pray
For fairness in barter and my safe return home
From this capitalist enterprise I am engaging in.
My basket is laden to overflowing the brim
With the most beautiful flowers in all the land.
My woman helps me to my feet to begin
The journey to the mercado to sell our flores.
She, too, is strong like me, with strong hands.
Together, for survival and comfort in this life,
We labour, leaning on each other as a pillar
Through the impending toils of daily grind.
In quiet rectitude, we are satisfied knowing
That our Lord and Saviour Jesucristo will provide.
We pick the flowers at their peak
When the colours are their brightest
And their scents are the most invigorating.
One by one, we gently lay them
In the cesta de mimbre.
With every step and breath I take,
Their fragrances fill my nostrils,
And the unbearable becomes bearable,
Bringing relief to my aching back
And sandal-shodden feet.
How can I ask for more?
When I return, the joy on my family’s faces
For the money received from the sale
Provides the strength I require
To do this task over and over again
Until I am departed.
***
Notes:
“Diego Rivera’s Flower Carrier” is an ekphrastic poem based on the painting "The Flower Carrier" (1935) by Diego Rivera (1886–1957).
mercado: market
flores: flowers
Jesucristo: Jesus Christ
cesta de mimbre: wicker basket.
And the cemetery was the final rest place for the souls
That departed from Earth with unsolved matters
Leaving their tombs at midnight, wandering without
A determined route in the valley of the forgotten
Sad histories had been told about the invisible inhabitants
Of the land where rest the hopes, dreams and illusions that
Died with the dreamer. Unborn babies are watched by angels
Teens that perished in their youth years by temerary behavior
Ladies that took their own lives by romantic disillusions, young men
Killed by illegal substances or guns traffic, family massacred by
A disturbed relative, lovers that murder and committed suicide
After an affair breakup, unknown for their partners until the fatal news
Reflex while in this existence if are living life in a manner when
Arrives the time to leave this world, no remorses or guilts
Are left behind, tormenting the soul as unfinished business
Good deeds and memories should be the legacy
For And The Cemetery Was Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Fourth Place
5-21-2016
Redding Poem 4
“Flying Down Interstate 5”
We departed Redding at 3:45,
In the dead of an October night.
Those tumultuous streets were morgues then,
As we raced to the deserted Interstate 5,
Zooming across the snoozing Sacramento River,
Going at a constant speed of 85,
Passing the snoring cities of Red Bluff, Chico and Yuba City,
Slicing through the darkness of early morning,
With the tule fog scratching over the countryside,
Shrouding the distant lights like blinders on a roan.
One city after another, my speeding treads arriving
In dark sleepy Sacramento in two hours.
With the sun not waking yet, but stirring,
The internal beast passed Stockton as a blur in time,
With other speeding drivers merging onboard,
As insistent captains of their own landlocked ships.
Then looming before us, the San Joaquin canvass;
A devouring flatness five hundred miles long,
Of faraway farmlands sleeping overtime,
The majestic surreal banality of Central California,
Magnetizing us, hypnotizing us to the hastening flow,
Of southern currents and windy traipsings;
This caravan of one, this golden fueled protrusion,
Of the nomadic heartbeat; the inertly-moving soul search;
This final journey to the rapids of my youth,
Where undead ghost boys still climb the rebar rungs,
Atop the old tower on the water’s edge,
Still spit into the blue, slow-paced river below.