Long Justice Poems
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So many voices, justice yelling a me;
Cussing me out, men still shooting man
They just keep on, shooting at me;
Yet spiting in my face, men still shooting man
I said halt, the brother says what's UP
Bang I got shot, Cussing me out, men still shooting man
Maybe I didn't hear ya!
He says louder, what it is man
Yet urinating at my feet,
that's not the way to greet me
men still shooting man
HappenN to be no enemy.
My judgement have none
Got no hell for them
Veins in contact bleeding on my glasses
Bloody eyes can't see
They just keep on, shooting at me;
Yet spiting in my face, men still shooting man
I said halt, the brother says what's UP
Bang I got shot, Cussing me out, men still shooting man
Finally a bullet takes me out
I stop breathing I am dean
Eyes closed open them
I'm now in the presents of Jesus
He say's your vacations over son you're going back home
Maybe I didn't hear ya!
He says louder, what it is man
Yet crying at my feet,
Wiping my tears off with their hair
that's not the way to greet me
At the golden gates I am celebrate
As the Father and Angels greet me
Welcome back home Son
Hallelujah
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022
The world is cruel, harsh, and merciless all at once
Taking what it chooses and giving nothing in return
Frozen my young heart had to mature into
To survive all alone with no one else to guide
I'll be the anti-hero in your story
The one who seems to not even care
I'll get what is needed by whatever means necessary
Because justice does not come to those who wait
So hate me or love me, it matters not
When things need to be done, it's me they call
The privileged in society could never understand
What a life for someone like me is truly like
There's good underneath this porcelain skin
But on the surface, I'm everything to that you hate
Fierceness rivaled by none lies below an icy stare
The anti hero you need to save the day
Epilogue: The Voice of Rome
CHORUS:
The years roll on, and men ascend and fall,
As waves that break upon time’s stony shore.
Yet virtue, like the sun, doth never set,
Though clouds may veil her face from mortal eyes.
We saw the tyrant crowned in purple pride,
And saw him cast to exile’s bitter wind.
We heard the sage rebuke with tempered flame,
And watched his seed take root in youthful hearts.
Now one who sat beneath his olive shade
Doth wear the robe once stained by Varro’s hand.
Temptation knocks, as ever it hath done,
Yet wisdom speaks, and he doth not betray.
O Rome, thy soul is not in marble bound,
Nor in the clang of arms or Senate’s cry.
It lives in minds that hold the law as sacred,
And hearts that scorn the lure of fleeting gold.
Let every age remember Lucilius,
Who taught that power is but a trust bestowed,
And that the highest rank is servitude
To truth, to justice, and the common man.
So ends our tale, but not its living flame.
For though the actors vanish from the world,
Their deeds endure, inscribed in memory’s stone.
And Rome shall rise, if Romans still be wise.
This is all I am to you;
A girl child in need,
Sad and lonely seeking for comfort,
Bored and depressed waiting for company;
Poor and helpless searching for help,
Heart broken looking out for love,
Sick and weak trying to find a cure,
Soft and fragile and can be used at any time;
Quick to forgive and can be hurt as many times as possible
Kind and patient enough to tolerate all your nonsense;
Guilty over my innocence beseeching justice.
That is all I am to you,
But am I not more than that?
Is that all you see in me?
When you reassess me,
In and out,now and then,
Find more value in me,
That makes you say,
You love me.
Deer in a wooded thick.
They flicker flames; some sweet carefree melody.
Watching you dance through milky eyes.
A smile not shrouded in haze.
Two eyes look back as one heart reminds
me of you
you of me.
A fleeting moment.
A distant memory.
A beautiful dance.
I yearn for that song to return.
To hear those sounds, that melody.
The words the radio speaks now have done me no wrong, but to go back?
Back to that moment.
It's all just a memory.
I'd ask for one last dance.
It was beautiful, the life, the spark, the sound.
A beauty pure of heart, not forgotten by our nature.
You live in our memories now; while I can only dream.
You've walked the path of magnolias without me;
you would never ask me to come with you.
I wish you could see me in this moment.
To give me one last memory.
To dance with me once more.
The memories we had were beautiful.
I wish I could have captured our dance in that sunflower field.
But to capture it, would never do it justice:
a moment isn't beautiful because it lasts.
Blue jeans, “Blue” of a hard-working Father.
Blue suits, which exudes ownership and leadership.
Biblical Blue, in a verse, note “that at around God’s throne,"
has some sapphire Blue.
The first heaven seen above, notably is sky Blue.
The “Medal of honor;” color Blue, represents:
Vigilance, Perseverance and Justice.
All of which a very good Father should have or acquire.
True Blue, should be known of all true loving Fathers.
There were exiguous Fathers explores and some as a sailor.
A nautical traverse done over the deep Blue seas.
Men then and men now fulfilling their family's needs.
A notable Father's commissioned service sacrifice deeds.
Lapis, Sapphire, Turquoise has stone colors of Blue.
Some Emblems on flags, forever, flying, free.
Also, to be wearing proudly on a navy Blue arm-sleeve.
In his arms holding baby child for their first bottle milk feed.
A new Father's life, that is now much more real.
"True Blue," a Father with the most zealous of zeals.
Once a nation
Supremely white as driven snow,
Singularly Christian, white and male,
Purely untarnished, and aglow,
Grandeur unparalleled in fairytale.
Hence a grievance
Punitively bold as bloody hellfire,
Potently prosecuted in seats of power,
Oppressively waged against objects of ire,
Prisms of nonwhites seeking justice in the hour.
Now a leader
Colossally void as sterilized weaponry,
Glibly sanctions white phobia and rage,
Lethally enflames this proto-fascist fancy,
As corporations provide aid to the rampage.
Thus a faction
Devoutly for leader, they stand down,
Steadfastly ready for the order to kill,
All woke-ish elitists, and enemies black and brown,
That white men reclaim their rightful place at the till.
Violence of mind
Shocks no one in America,
Where thugs are part of romantic lore.
With our ascendant authoritarian replica,
Are we ready for what washes ashore?
Published in Dissident Voice: 01/09/22
(Re tiny box-like homes lining the west side of
South Bundy Drive, north of Nebraska Street, in West LA)
The soiled feeling comes not
From the indignant paradise
Scurrying past their frontal lobes
It arrived in silence
Borne of being first to the party
And the ensuing, deafening wars
With the partycrashers
With their cranes
Their progress
Their eclectic sense of
Civilized degradation
Squeezing the life from
The Boxes Before Nebraska
That modest set of
Stoic pre-war cookie-cutter domiciles
Perfectly groomed
Impeccably aligned
For Ozzie and Harriet, and
Their silent parade of nasty
The Boxes, they struggle
To remain relevant in the haze of
Modernity's hammer and
Banality's autoimmune disease
To avoid temptation as
The developer's succulent lips and larceny
Get wider and wetter
To simply let be amidst the swollen busy
Not to mention a new cast of characters to contend with:
- The brackish bendejo careening in stride, unaffected by the Boxes' sidewalk's ill-timed permanence and oblique conundrums, left from quakes and lashings of yore
- The livid madman embracing his next lethal dose of humanity as he marches, barks and feuds with phantom nemeses camped out at the Boxes' doorstep
- The ragged cougar across the street, squeamish exterior gone bad, pounded into Angelino submission by the tricks and spells she conjures and endures
- The dual threat of LA Fitness night trolls, basking in cardio vampire glow, while the next morning's brew of rainbow children percolates into G-d's bitter latte, sipped cupless on fresh asphalt.
And yet...they stand
Together as one
By accident
By stupor of justice
By de jure
By no better place to go
Testament to legacies
Begging to remain
Living proof that
Bounty, modesty and sanctity
Can be achieved
When you stop thinking outside of the box.
(4/11/15)
where does love go
when it leaves the even flow
of having and not having
the romance and the unknown
when the one that sleeps beside you
no longer seems beside you
and arguments leave you all alone
with your misdeeds. mistakes and groans
and hideous memories take hold
cruelties and vicious words are thrown
the point of no return has been past
the final argument surely the last
when last pleas have been wept
and final blows have been dealt
truly there is no hope for
the one with whom for years i slept
and in my loneliest hours i wept
are my feelings something inept
to the laws of God
where is justice now
it's vengeance must compensate
somehow
but silent are the wheels of justice
and unfair the time is to repair
the injustice i have done
sleep. rest while my fight is down
for surely if you were awake i would clown
but moments have past when i wish
the old you was around
that part of you that my love could arouse
sleep and dream of someplace better
where my bitterness is from you sheltered
safe from words that criticize
opinions that epitomize
and hide behind the disguise
of hatred and despise
against love our realities compromised
without success visualized
have come unfortunately to realize
our doom and demise
farewell, not so distant past
hello despair at last
with hearty destain we crash
with the ever remembered
love of the past
Yesterday
I heard someone say
To cure police
and military violence,
we need a NonTrumpian change of culture.
Sometimes revolutionary changes
include conserving feminist elements
of ancient healing cultures;
Intent to reward multicultural inclusion
rather than hanging on to patriarchal
and capitalistic monocultural supremacy--
a culture of exclusion,
excommunication,
and extraction from Earth's communal nature
and spirit.
Sometimes we need to restore justice
and peace to our own soil
and souls
before we are ready to grow
healthy seeds of primal relationship,
healthcare,
compassion,
into wealthy win/win Paradise.
I have also heard it said,
If you show mercy
to a sociopath,
And if you merely shun
an imperialistic narcissist,
you will only fuel future selfish outrage.
But, I have lived with oppositional defiance
neurologically hard-wired
for adolescent megalomania
and know that punishment,
revenge,
violence,
anger,
fear,
and hatred fuel sociopathology,
Not healing warmth
of transparent and vulnerable attachment,
healthy curiosity,
abundant care,
nonviolent communication,
compassion,
gratitude for opportunities
to explore win/win polycultural outcomes
ecologically healthy
and communally wealthy
erupting into global healing
theological experience of grace.
My daughter
with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome
listens by the hour
to a kids song,
"Sharing is caring.
Be kind to everyone."
But, we train our police,
and our soldiers
and our political party
and economic investors
the opposite
retributive
competitive
hostile
paternalistic
capitalistic
win/lose
zero-sum
monoculturing shadow
of ecofeminist multicultural truth
and beauty,
nature
and spirit.
The false peace of tolerating mutual win/lose hostility
is a sin of freedom's omission
to reconnect with Earth's greater gracious half.