Long Fiber optic Poems
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Simply divine as such matters
communication and understanding
Depth of understanding beyond belief
Authentic thoughts spoken loud
Complexity of language encrypted paragraphs
Clarity of intention simply simple matters
Heartfelt communication not trivial chatter
Seek authentic expression.
Value heartfelt communication.
Embrace simplicity in
Sorely words, a tapestry, woven with care,
Conveying depths, beyond surface air,
Simply matters, from heart to heart,
Communication's beauty, a work of art.
SIMPLY MATTERS
Understanding those things
that are not understood yet to understand
Beyond belief to retrieved
Those thoughts spoken loud
Bursting erupt from the thoughts
Spewed regurgitated letters form to words
Verse fiber optic encrypted paragraphs
Concerned formed validated cryptic scripted jargon Confiscated communication calling understood to be Understand it's not just trivial chatter...
... it's simply simple matters
11/25/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024
nspiring scriptures:
1 Corinthians 2:10-13: "Spiritual discernment"
Proverbs 18:21: "Power of life and death in words"
Matthew 12:34: "Heart's words"
Past every known horizon, held inside the stolen light,
A flicker of promise rises, wet with Aegean’s salt.
The echo of Mount Parnassus, where the Muses walk at night,
A spectrum of reflections—the first Promethean signal, sharp and high.
The flames are finally free from the chill of the earth.
It pulses through sapphire-blue data cables, beneath the sea.
A swift code humming on an electric tongue, a wire thin as glass,
Where silicon and soul now challenge mortal walls.
The warmth upon my palm, a fragile circuit’s heat,
A digital dawn breaks now, on seas of light where ancient stone dissolves.
A frequency rings through the gulf of years,
The world's true voice, unsynchronized, is fiercely held and heard;
Through every force of nature, this bright pulse speeds on fiber-optic lines.
We seize the future's turning, watching the past unwind,
This hard-won wisdom guides the human quest for freedom.
Against the dark tyranny that starves the seeking mind,
The truth we need is held deep inside the spirit of mankind.
Unsolicited, revered, and praised
potential literary fete,
(yes a bit hyperbolic),
sans mine posted poems that perambulate
such feedback, whither donning trumped
("FAKE") facade, Oriel sincere
twittering, nonetheless tis great
for an ego striving to maintain
hum bull modesty, yet I hate
to be misperceived as
arrogant, boastful, pretentious,...wait
et cetera, cuz honestly,
these conglomerations create,
themselves, via some inexplicable
literary process which generate
prestidigitation soon after
affixing wired thinking cap,
whereby positioned electrodes exfoliate
on scalp yup thence, off miniature oblate
spheroid (suddenly barren) of golden locks
most soup Priam wantonly depilate
(envision candidate
undergoing biofeedback,
or...captured as bait)
by...yea (of course) alien invaders curious
to experiment, and subject a random pate
with out of this world tests that agitate
most precious anatomical accouterment
'bout size of average poe tate
toe (actually...almost same consistency)
okay...sorry, this chap doth relate
such comparison to
his own cerebral aggregate,
where he starkly realizes
neurological concentrate
takes a permanent vacation
to distant Palatinate
essentially leaving a void, ah...just
perfect for cosmic outliers to allocate
(no...no...no noninvasive, i.e.)
their laser like gizmos scrutinize how
(albeit unwittingly) to ameliorate
writer's block, thus
glad tubby ("Guinea Pig"),
and let abductors amputate
my killed expense trumped ("FAKE")
noggin pulp struggling to articulate,
(hence quite a relief,
you cannot imagine), dear mate
when fiber optic threads of light
essentially painlessly
(rather ticklishly aspirate)
clump of useless gray matter,
yours truly does implicate
as complicit to cause unnecessary
difficulty to associate
with *****sapiens, an extremely
strenuous task, thence joyful to dedicate
(without being headstrong),
an organ minimally missed at any rate
long last free to babble poppycock
oblivious as ambitious readers berate!
Used to be a decorating diva, spent days making my house Christmas.
Twenty years back I realized what a bad place un-decorating landed me.
Putting away spirit was a three day job, and put me in the worst mood.
I gave away almost all of my Christmas decorations -reindeer, elves.
I breathed a sigh of joy as they left my house, realizing I was “free” at last!
I continued decorating a giant Christmas tree for about five years.
Then one of my daughters asked for it, and I was glad to see it go.
I gave her tree decorations too; it felt like an ape had leapt from my back.
A twinkling fiber optic Christmas tree has been in my house three years.
My husband usually asks “can we put it down now?” in June or July.
I am never taking it down. It puts me in Christmas mode year round.
Reminding me that every day should be “Merry Christmas, good will to men, and thank you Lord Jesus.”
I would have to pause in trying to remember certain things that I would have experienced or events that happened 20 years ago. On the other hand, there is one major world situation that gradually unfolded 19 years ago with which I have no trouble. For 1999, I do not remember wars, quakes, hurricanes, etc. But I do remember Y2K.
It was as if we thought the sky would fall, or something near that. It was as if someone walked out of the big house, leaving the gas on and realizing that anyone with the slightest spark would cause a blast that would cause a chain reaction setting everything in sight on fire and create the greatest worldwide catastrophy that mankind had ever known.
Why, it was as if every airplane throughout the earth would cease to fly and drop from the sky, and the late model cars and vehicles with onboard computers would not start or would refuse to run any longer leaving us all stranded in our tracks.
I tell you, the internet was a child without Facebook or Google at the time, and we now seem to be so far removed from there that I wonder if anyone even knows what I am talking about. Why, I can't remember if I even owned a computer back then or if one was in my 1992 Honda Accord. It was as if everyone had a world of questions and no one but had any answers. I suppose in this fiber optic age, that would be like the dark ages, or like having a switch and wondering what would happen when we turned on the light.
At the time, if Walter Cronkite had still been anchoring the evening news, we would have heard him say, "That's the way it is on December 31, 1999". I tell you, as I remember it, there was a bit of uncertainty and mystery about what was going to happen just past midnight as we anticipated the year 2000. That's just the way it was back then in 1999. It was as if................
12262018PoSoup.
We mint our saints in neon now,
Their cheekbones cut from screens and static,
Golden calves with fiber-optic veins,
Hoofed in convenience and applause.
They learn to glow before they live,
Learn to bleed without a wound.
Once, holiness arrived on fire—
A thorned voice cracking the ceiling of the skull.
Now it trickles through notifications,
Thin as milk diluted with promotion.
Even martyrs have brand managers.
Even wounds wear makeup.
I kneel before the altar of updates,
My thumbs in constant prayer,
Scrolling for a sign that still has teeth.
Every miracle is sponsored.
Every resurrection comes with terms,
Small print stitched into the shroud.
The dead are louder than the living.
We canonize in real time—
A tragedy, a candle, a trending hymn,
Then on to the next immaculate disaster.
Grief has learned to multitask.
Ash is archived.
Our saints no longer starve in deserts—
They starve in crowded rooms,
Feed on echoes, likes, the clean white crack
Of being witnessed without being known.
Their halos flicker in algorithmic weather,
Shorted by irrelevance.
I want the old ferocity back—
The kind that sears a name into bone,
That does not vanish after thirty days
Like an unrenewed subscription to sorrow.
I want a holiness that indicts me,
Not the soft-focus mercy of forgetting.
We write our sacred lives in disappearing ink,
Hagiographies that refresh and vanish—
Lives reduced to captions under flame.
We are all relics in plastic cases,
Handled without touch,
Venerated without trembling.
And God—if you are still here—
You must be exhausted by our mirrors,
By this choir of self-lit saints
Singing through glass.
Even you, I think, would crave
One unrecorded miracle.
West-Coast Vibes x 2030 Swag – 32-Bar Chill Flow
ABC?ABC?ABC?… (each six-line block shares the same A-B-C end-rhymes)
[1-6]
A – Ride the low-slope, chrome-laced, feel the night vibe (A)
B – I’m sippin’ on that ozone-juice, thoughts fly like a drone high (B)
C – “Use your heart, not your eyes,” that’s the code we apply (C)
A – Baby, just relax, let the bass glide through the c-side (A)
B – If you got time, I’m clocked-in, sync our rhythm, stay tied (B)
C – G-funk on the loop, old school, but my future is wide (C)
[7-12]
A – We inter-twine like fiber-optic cables, no lie (A)
B – My mind’s a crypt, you’re the key, unlock the soul-sci (B)
C – Real love purified, no filter, just pure-AI (C)
A – Let the low-end roll, feel the sunset on the fly-by (A)
B – Free thoughts, watch ’em blaze, neon-lit sky-high (B)
C – No fake glitz, just the pulse of a real-try (C)
[13-18]
A – I’m vibin’ with you, chrome-shade shades, we sway (A)
B – Your heartbeat’s a bassline, I’m the drum-tape that play (B)
C – “Use your heart, not your eyes,” that’s the code we slay (C)
A – Chill, babe, the synth rides smooth, we drift on the bay (A)
B – Got time? I’m a chrononaut, we’ll loop this day (B)
C – G-funk echoes, vintage loops, but the future feels clay (C)
[19-24]
A – My thoughts float like NFTs, rare art, no lie (A)
B – You sleep, I’m wide-awake, dreaming meta-high (B)
C – I’m glad we share, love purified, the sky (C)
A – Use that heart, not the stare, let the drip just fly (A)
B – Relax, ride the wave, we bounce on a high-rise (B)
C – If time’s a token, we both mint it, no good-byes (C)
[25-30]
A – Yesterday’s pain, ghost-mode shadows, now clear (A)
B – She crossed me, cut deep, left a scar that spear (B)
C – But I rise, reward cry-coins, love engineered (C)
A – I glance at the dial, seconds glint, I cheer (A)
B – You pamper me, childlike trust, that tier (B)
C – We close our eyes, smile wide, love pure-engineered (C)
[31-32] (closing A-B to finish 32 bars)
A – Baby, just relax, let the future ride (A)
B – If you got time, I got time, let the thoughts fly (B)
Feel the West-Coast breeze with a 2030 glow—heart over eyes, ride the vibe, and let those thoughts take flight.
A FUTURISTIC CHRISTMAS
Christmas under the dome
Home of smart cities of crystalline towers
Her lights lit golden, emerald green, red, blue flaunting
Fiber optic trees shining with whisper purrs of Christmas music
Billions of stars lay a path for Santa in time warp shooting stars
Mercedes – Benz red ride, to the future and back
To be taken to a concert of the past playing guitars, drums, and loud rock music
"Promise I’ll be back home in time for Christmas dinner"
Nostalgic warm holiday cheer singing Christmas carols, and presents to open
I want most under the tree is an electric hover board and an electronic kitty that purrs
Time warp Shooting stars Mercedes-Benz red ride, to the future and back
Santa’s cheerful hologram appears to keep the Christmas Spirit alive
12/4/2015
the fiber optic cables are swollen with grief
blood clots the airwaves
faces beyond despair stare from half a world away
newsprint is smudged with the tears it’s reporting
the world’s absurdity
nature’s cruelty
man’s depravity
all in high-resolution overdoses of reality
there are too many claims on my sympathy
too much need for the morphine of apathy
to preserve my faith in humanity
I have to ration my pity
stop my ears
turn away from the carnage
lest my heart grow cold faster than the bodies
so I exchange the funereal for the farcical
take sabbaticals from the news
and seek refuge in the world of Pixar
Actually I am not a her, I am a Thee, The Pink tree told the Evergreens.
But you are a Christmas tree, right?
I have not figured it out yet.
The ever-boys did not know what to say
To that. They had been in and out
Of Macy’s display closet longer than she had been alive.
What do you mean?
See my light up fiber optic capability? Pink tree asked.
They nodded, mouths dropped open. Both surprised.
I may decide to be an Easter Tree or a Grocery Tree or a
Pharmaceutical Tree. Thee is not limited any more.
The old-fashioned evergreens stared in amazement at her confidence
and her ready answers.
Amazing! They said, “ A Thee Tree!” They were truly in awe with Thee,
which is what Christmas is all about, right?
Written 12-04-2018 Entered Contest: The Christmas Tree
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton