Long Entombing Poems
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Grave Site
By the grave I saw the rest
There was no life left
Dead in the flesh no pulse left
God took back His breath
Ah, distinctly I was entombing
It threw its ghost against the remnants
The explosive earth ending
Instilled and stilled no life left
Crave I the smelly, sepulchral shoring
Alas, tho! how is it that I may smell the stank
For I am dead you know nothing left smells rank
Grave site - tormentor of my dreams
Just what does it mean?
Deep into that darkness lying
Deep into that darkness crying
Take thy landfill from out my heart
I felt compelled to sniff the cremains
I awoke and flung the spill
What about dead remains
I heard a happy, filling burrowing
Much I marveled the bad hearse
Next to me a fresh bod clawing
Dead is the also the night nurse
4/15/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
I spend each wakeful night in search of evasive sleep.
An unwelcomed vigil denies me peaceful rest.
I've need to bury his haunting specter somewhere deep;
entombing forever my perpetual uninvited guest.
Close my weary eyes, appears the vision of his face.
His smile plays over me in sweet unbridled song.
If I could rip out my eyes as easily as tattering lace,
Would insomnolence not taunt me all night long?
How long must I remain my heart's shackled possession?
Will this nocturnal torment never reach an end?
No response have I heard to either of these questions.
My heart is not content to simply call him, "friend."
I've foolishly assigned myself a Herculean task,
To believe from its grasp, my heart will set me free.
I'm paying the steepest price that love alone can ask.
Why, treacherous heart, why have you betrayed me?
I remember the city
when it had to be plugged
into black handsets for distant listening.
Conical coral peaks rose up
from sky-blue shallows once -
right here under the entombing concrete.
Nothing grew in that place except heaps and hills.
This city is a garden we have made
out of fabricated conversations;
talk does that, it creates chaos then
it’s expressed the way a concrete reality needs to be poured
into a pre-determined shape to be defined.
Now cellular-phones are growing cellular reefs,
the city recycles these small abiotic words
into mulch and various pressed materials
that form roof gardens:
places where parrots have time to chatter
while evolving into dinosaurs.
Merlin was born by sorcery.
A demon father, incubus.
Virginal mother, royalty.
Great wizard of King Arthur's court.
Of legends, deeds and chivalry.
That fabled castle Camelot.
He prophesied, waved magic spells.
Bade Viviane of Avalon,
Enchantress Lady of the Lake,
To forge a royal magic sword.
Excalibur she set in stone.
Merlin besotted and beguiled
Reveals; his secrets for her love,
Black magic art, dark sorcery.
Which wantonly would seal his fate.
Arthur's crowned King, he drew the sword.
Excalibur it blinds the foe.
King Arthur's scars in victory,
By magic scabbard, they don't bleed.
Merlin rewards his Viviane
To cross the sea to Avalon.
A magic castle on her lake,
Whoever passed, they could not see
He built for her by sorcery.
She spurned his love, insanity.
Merlin's a Druid going mad.
Hallucination, lunacy.
Now wild man of the apple woods
In Avalon, misunderstood.
Craving his freedom, prophesied,
Three times how would a young boy die.
He saw him falling from a rock.
Then secondly, hung from a tree.
And finally he would be drowned.
His captors laughed, how could this be,
A prophecy turned into three.
One day the boy walked by a stream.
He tripped and fell from off a rock
His leg entrapped by roots of tree,
Hanging, he drowned in waters deep.
Merlin's predictions, set him free.
But Viviane now cast a spell.
Entombing Merlin in a stone.
That temptress Lady of the Lake.
Written: September 24, 2023
_____________________________________________________________
In the dawn-like haze—a shriek was heard,
An echo so shrewd, yet birdless, oddly slurred
It was ordained by—a stratum unseen,
A throbbing coerce, a numen so keen.
A canticle flower—a bellow coarsely flung,
Through bosky drifts, those shadows clung.
The broken clavicle, brittle skull,
Doused in lacquer—a tale to annul.
Cried creative bone, from annals of time,
In a secluded hut—where lamina chime.
With guttural utterance—the gowk did sing,
Fluted notes on brinks of obsidian string.
Cloaked in the dimly lit mist, a canon of clamor,
Shaping the world with a mystic glamour.
In the glum of worship, a rite did splay,
As voices uttered—in a solemn display.
A corpse lay still, in the midst of the scene,
Dazzled by the entombing, a nebulous flesh serene.
Funerary hums—in syllabic verse,
Resonated through time, as a solemn curse.
In an urn—fugally adorned
With fugal melodies, the ashes were borne,
A symphony of sorrow, a requiem grand,
For the soul departed, to a distant land.
The misty air whispered—in mournful tones,
As the funerary procession made its way,
A solemn journey, through the mist, embrace.
To the final resting place, where shadows trace.
And so, the hum continued, a haunting refrain,
As the earth embraced the remains.
Silent and still—in eternal rest,
In the hallowed ground, the corpse was blessed.
Gone was the body, but the spirit remained,
A specter in the mist, forever ingrained.
A memory of life—a tale to be told,
In the echoes of time, where stories unfold.
In the depths of the mist, a legacy grew,
Of a life once lived, and the love that it knew.
The funerary hum—a reminder of grace,
As it carried the spirit to a heavenly place.
Entombing me this blinding flare,
Inside my head, volcanic hell.
My senses reeling with despair,
Both eyes, by now a vacant stare.
When shock waves stopped my body fell,
Entombing me this blinding flare.
No sound, as silence filled the air.
Did time stand still, how could i tell?
My senses reeling with despair.
I could not move as i lay there.
My finest hour descends the well.
Entombing me this blinding flare,
Into my eyes it shines, from where?
Inside of me this carousel,
My senses reeling with despair.
How do i show i am aware?
Entrapped within my silent cell.
Entombing me this blinding flare,
My senses reeling with despair.
When gray waters of June moan…one last time
Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore--
How so many stars tremble quite sublime
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour.
Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore
I summon the fighter in me… Wake wake!
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour-
To ignite kiln of hope ‘s flame , and not quake.
I summon the fighter in me … Wake wake!
As courage prevails nudging my bruised soul…
To ignite kiln of hope’s flame , and not quake,
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll.
As courage prevails, nudging my bruised soul,
The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll,
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away.
The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day...
How so many stars tremble quite sublime
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away--
When gray waters of June moan…one last time.
notification of fire evacuation
slated to occur
April 12th, 2018 (between the hours
of 9:00 am and 12 pm) did spur
me to validate Google asper,
that direct object heave ving,
pro noun sub bull, verb bose,
ingenious American historical figure
attired in tailored clothes
careful sans his just keen
liberal mien pro
claiming necessity to doze
when body politik
didst need restorative source
analogous to drained battery expose
zing lack of electricity
mechanisms need did tubby supplied
(in one direction) flows
accorded stealing thunder and lightening
from Zeus where prominence glows
vis a vis via leaving
his tell tale fingerprints
upon flame inextinguishable hose
imprimatur of renown Founding Father,
a one man gifted born
improved quality of life
during Colonial American stage
buttressing forlorn
during his deux score and four years
fledgling United States heed add horn
bequeathing blueprints
(functional contraptions,
posthumous patents procured
after populace did mourn
gadgets kickstarting leveraging more novel
Ongepatshket prescience,
quietly revolutionary,
strikingly timesaving),
utilitarian value shorn
tattered stitched timeless totemic tenets torn
unimagined visionary watershed worn,
where underworld webbed wide world burned
with thermal coupling that churned
ferocious infernos
describing how Hades learned
tubby managed
to maximize efficiency
zealousness zeroed Zyder Zee
in said Netherlands
and hellish hot house turned
into a near utopia (More
or less nsync) with Doubting Thomas's,
where many mortals yearned
to escape corrupt fat cats, sans
those condemned to mortality
found minimally a mew
zing, and doggedly trudged 10,000 leagues
under the sea, entombing
jewels for vernacular speaking Josephine shew
wing scars from fire
that threatened Philadelphians thorough
lee hence, forcing many civilians
to dive vining Davy Jones's locker pre view
in 1736 after swallowing embalming fluid
ha I did "FAKE" you
tubal heave poetic pablum from human zoo!
Paternal grandmother's headstone - Beth David, Elmont, Long Island
Shaindel (Sadie), variant of Shana Harris
died May 13th, 1959 exquisitely chiseled
alphanumeric characters legibly engraved
sepulchral casket entombing lovely bones
deoxyribonucleic acid repurposed into me
Matthew Scott Harris patronymic protector,
when I die taking family surname to netherland
who unwittingly named his youngest daughter
after his recently deceased father's mother.
Mortality encompasses subsequent cremation
never mind death of yours truly unbeknownst
mine soul will migrate towards deceased kith
kindred folks only known courtesy genealogy
descendents called Eastern Europe homeland
upon landing at Ellis Island émigrés hugged
immigration officials and illegibly scribbled
unpronounceable/ unreadable birth names
subsequently adopting common shorthand.
Chromosomes reconstituted genetic material
gifted from forebears ecstatic immigrants apt
to be regaled by relatives hustling newcomers
into fast paced frenzy, the latter gesticulating
at cityscape marveling over hubbub jabbering
babble synchronized in tandem with hawkers
and vendors selling, peddling comestibles,
gewgaws, papers, et cetera predating buyer
beware analogous to innocents abroad say
by George an American in Paris humming
Rhapsody in Blue.
Agog regarding novel sights never seen within
father/mother land, viz supposed New World
blitzkrieg eventually quieted, relegated, shelved...
analogous by Dickens perusing tchotchkes
commonly found within olde curiosity shop,
yet no matter acclimatization arose espying
eye opening merchandise, the dirt poor status
regarding bloodlines a couple generations ago
immediate deterrent experienced by Aaron
Harris (papa's father) as a boy, who provided
for his family, their hardscrabble existence
only somewhat alleviated thru hook and crook.
Please pardon poetic license usurped,
especially slight exaggeration of penury
promulgated concerning up by bootstraps
scenario evinced by paternal grandfather
after he attained and emerged out boyhood,
though destitution imprinted thru his infancy
until growing up hardened qua hard school
of knocks limiting him to eighth grade education.
Closing my eyes shut in a pleasant doze
Within the warm arms of mother Anne
Safe from the unsteady and trembling world
Within her arms of stability
Loved and smothered by all, cherished as gold
In a garden of perfect order
Filled with joy, without authentic glory
She always whispered into my ear
Assurances of earthly achievement
Promises of mortal and worldly love
Dreams of a near land of milk and honey
For whenever I shall leave her care
While in her arms, I heard a distant call
A call from outside this cosmos, a Gnostic call
I believed in that call, and set to seek it
After I will inevitably leave her arms
The destined day came; she loosened her hands
Telling me that ahead was a bridge
And assured me of milk and honey lands
So, Anne let me go, and off I went
I kept hearing the call outside this cosmic sea
Far away, a sweet fragrance of life for me
Instead of a bridge, it was a summit
I was casted down to climb back up
And quickly saw the promised land of “joy”
The gleeful land of milk and honey
Was instead a land of smog and pitfalls
Lost and confused, with no guide or map
I trudged along, with no way to go back
Near the very end, my soul gave up
But my body kept going and searching
Blindly I fell into an abyss
Down to Sheol, where I took a short rest
I recollected the arms of Anne
And remembered her arms’ stability
I kept hearing the call outside this cosmic sea
Far away, a sweet fragrance of life for me
Taking a solemn rest, breathing a sigh
The path ahead became much darker
I entered the dark valley of the soul
Where an old phantom waited for me
That slept dormant since my entombing birth
Was now awakened and tortured me
With only me sleeping keeping him back
My soul was blown and tossed for six months
By his unseen, all-consuming presence
Every second of every hour
Trying to deafen the call with wailing
I recollected the arms of Anne
And remembered her enveloping warmth
I kept hearing the call outside this cosmic sea
Far away, a sweet fragrance of life for me