Long Justifiably Poems
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Women of the early 1900’s should have been justifiably outraged
Owned like chattel by their men
Elections were held willy nilly
And if you did not have a willy, you were eliminated
The rare woman who thought she should be
a voter, was not even a contender for a listening ear.
Treated rather like a hog, pig, or a cow.
Ostracized by both men and other women.
Women who were given a glimpse of what
could be, by stand-up liberated women like
Susan B. Anthony did not automatically jump on the bandwagon of liberation. These loud obnoxious free-thinking women were no doubt annoying to socialized women whose February was filled with valentine chocolates and love notes rather than protests and marches. Why did the uppity women insist on equal rights and the right to vote?
Many of the well-behaved women were irritated and outraged
by the uppity attitude of these liberated women, encouraging their men
to throw these loud vulgar rabble rousers into jails.
They strongly encouraged the punitive efforts enforced on these troublemakers. Glaringly on board and fearful of change, many women were not yet ready to admit they were equal in wisdom or feelings of their men.
Sadly they did not recognize their worth or take a stand against oppression and did not insist on the right to vote for many years. Adding to the confusion of our masochistic society which even today has not allowed a woman to be President.
...Poe brought us detectives on the page,
and creepy tales that defy age,
Melville’s whale, in fine fashion,
taught us the danger of obsession.
Twain brought humor and jumping frogs,
dialect, humor, and raft logs,
while Hawthorne peered into the soul
and saw the contradictions unfold.
Can’t forget the Romans and Greeks,
creators of drama, philosophy,
who warned us of defying fate,
and showed the depths of a man’s rage,
taught us how to study our lives,
and ask how best a man survives,
wrote the histories of their time,
giving us an unbroken line.
Dealing with the very same flaws
that to this day cause flapping jaws.
And all of this is just the prose,
not the folks who made poetry flow,
like Frost, Longfellow, Tennyson,
Virgil, Coleridge, and Milton.
The war in heaven, by Milton made,
Tennyson’s immortal light brigade,
Virgil’s tale of Aeneas’ lost,
striving on a sea wind-tossed,
Albatrosses hung by the neck,
Evangeline dying heart-sick,
even the road less traveled by
came from a man pale to the eye,
In truth, it seems our very words
were first forged by these men in turn,
to ignore twenty-five hundred years
of stories, studies, joys, and fears,
because the writers had light skin…
I don’t even know where to begin!
You’d be better off just growing up,
Listen to those who’ve seen enough
to know that wisdom has no shade,
that it’s by truth and trial made,
that it’s justifiably insane,
to reject it based on the claim
that if they do not share your hide,
they cannot speak to you inside.
Such nonsense you cannot afford,
not when it closes useful doors,
better to start cracking books again,
and get to reading those old ‘white’ men.
Gradually it internalized.
Taking over it mesmerized.
Initially it demonized.
Intense pressure loomed.
A feeling I was doomed.
Festered a previous wound.
Forgiveness given in confession.
I continue to feel recession,
Wavering on deep depression
.
Harder for me to pardon my part,
Lord I will regain a contrite heart.
I seek conscious correction to start.
Turned its back on fidelity.
Guilt enveloped me.
A dark room developed me.
Creating an orb, so negative.
Becoming photosensitive.
Now totally insensitive.
No light to bear to appease.
No way to encourage ease.
Foreboding thoughts in degrees.
All hope was in the past.
To conceptualize at last.
Options now were vast.
No doubt I handled it wrong.
For conscious correction I long.
Demanding that I remain strong.
Resulting in Sadness and Anxiety,
No chance of achieving piety.
Committed to sheer impropriety.
Remorse brings sadness as I regress.
Learning to look back less.
Experiencing an emptiness.
Spiritually watching the future unfold,
Yields a finer perspective to hold.
A stronger conception of bold.
Conscious correction eradicates sorrow.
Seeking a perception of tomorrow.
From a deep engulfing hollow.
Once sadness is finally alleviated.
It should instigate Anxiety to be fated.
Eventually to become abated.
Clear intellection to lead the way.
Knowing it’s not possible to fix yesterday.
The fortitude to hold anxiety at bay.
A past that should not be foretold.
Anxiety, an emotion that should be controlled.
A nervousness I can furtively withhold.
With the reassurance of calm, I can bask.
Positively conscious correction asserts this task.
In addition, nothing else can I justifiably ask.
There’s an aborted child at the gate in heaven;
WHO AM I
He’s just been murdered because the woman and government has the RIGHT
Now…
Just
WHO AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Fifty child molester, murderer;
Whom am I to judge?
The final judgement, the final call was
Did he repent did God forgive him
Though his victim was young
One thing for certain he’s gone..
The child has been recited by the master
He’s standing beside Jesus and the Master
WHOSE AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Wife abuser, striker;
Hit her once to often;
Now she’s in a coma;
You said you loved her;
But love, true love doesn’t hurt;
She finally died;
You’re a murder, wife abuser unrighteous man;
An adulterer, your new woman you’ve burned;
So the authorities after you;
You too need repentance and forgiveness too;
He you stand on death roll
On your dying breath you were told
You heard a still small voice in the air;
As you cried and ask God for, forgiveness….
It’s not up to me to judge?
Maybe, just maybe. Like the thief on the cross
Next to Jesus his last dying words we’re lost
In paradise he too shall be
He repented gracefully
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus you and me in. . .
Heaven
6/19/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Juneteenth… Justifiably they say ignorance is bliss.
No, it’s nothing to be proud of.
Ultimately unaware and unfamiliar, living in Canada
I had no clue about racism.
Naïve with never more than a glimpse of references seen
on bits of night time television.
Epitomizing the slavery era, aired the much acclaimed
tv series ROOTS much to my chagrin.
Truthfully it was the last coup de grace,
the last nail in the coffin of my innocence.
Evil had a face and victims the likes of my idol
Sammy Davis Jr who sang The Candy Man.
Embittered? Supposedly not with his debonair charm,
yet what of all my Motown idols?
No further than in my lifetime, discrimination and bigotry,
the need for a Juneteenth.
Traditional celebrations commemorating the thirst
for freedom of emancipated ancestors.
Heads of parades waiving a Juneteenth Flag of Freedom
while sipping a Strawberry soda pop.
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 15, 2018 for contest JUNETEENTH POETRY sponsored by EDWARD IBEH - RANKED 3RD
Robert Frost...A Reflection
No matter corporeal essence
of Robert Frost bid adieu
from temporal plain approximately
five and fifty plus years ague,
his rediscovered spiritual
omnipresence suffuses anew
mine gnarly feeble exegesis
denounce-able, deplorable,
and despicable hue
Morris legacy of Robert Frost, who
nonetheless (auld choke king aside)
doth rank as irreproachable amidst
pantheon of deceased
great poets, you
would agree, unless familiarity
already yar aware
how the New England vantage point
(approximately three quarters
of a century) in the past
his (WMGK) magic doth blare
infusing and injecting
a much needed cheer
full dose of dare...
ring ling lee, (I spout
je nais sais quois)
in my attempt
to be poetically debonair
(the only French known to me)
in an effort to endear
homage Robert Frost,
he whose flair
with words defy accolades
and brilliance doth glare
with blinding profundity here
to fore lamentable, impossible, and
feeble attempt to emulate,
a immortal one man brand
amidst pantheon of
August American poets,
the depth of,
his writings doth expand
lovingly justifiably ineluctably
historically gently fanned
this nonpareil poetic king,
whose status grand
which feeble, ignoble,
and laughable attempted hand
(spurred by facilitator
at "All Poetry" website) island
did this impossibly
elusive task, thus admit
admission aye feel duff feet head
to write letting words flit
to and fro, hither and yon,
that bind like true grit
with that esprit
de corps cerebral impact
that doth gently hit
ice suppose said task
would be a breeze to an Innit
where he/she,
would immediately synchronize
unlike myself, who whiz
not up to this task,
as yukon up prize
thy dog gone ruff hewn effort -
no (Chuck Norris) lies
attested as wretched - to by
any gallivanting guys
hence aye desperately axis allies!
I kept you at arm's length don"t know why I thought that you might know me
Just another branch broken in a thunder storm of my life's tree
No one thinks to actually talk, so lost is what it will be
I am used to hitting restart more times than justifiably
At any point, you could have communicated decidedly
I would have listened just as I waited many a time for thee
I forgave more times that most would have given you quite honestly
But running is easier than seeing truth confidingly
I made mistakes to which I would have atone for them completely
May you spend the rest of your life seeking a replacement for me
Justice doesn't come easily on earth,
You have to fight it and stand by its treats-
Cum holiness to gain its true kind worth.
Enforcement of a right does not mind birth,
Either upper or lower class, law cheats!
Justice doesn't come easily on earth.
Only in heaven as believed, unearth;
True justice justly, where no bias competes-
Cum holiness to gain its true kind worth.
There, there is rigid justice before mirth:
For all sort worthy, are paradise feats.
Justice doesn't come easily on earth,
For class manipulates law- preach rebirth,
To learn its way through cool forceful retreats-
Cum holiness to gain its true kind worth.
On earth, an appeal is like a childbirth:
Pushing through emotion suffers defeats.
Justice doesn't come easily on earth-
Cum holiness to gain its true kind worth.
Prior To Commencing Poem, I Dreamt Contretemps Escalating fusillade...
Galvanized hotheaded idealists (jaded
locals - kindled moderates) nursed
oppressive proletarian quavering riot
spearheading triumphant utopian voice...
whether contrived right here and now,
or purportedly fragmented remnant
occuring during REM sleep
beside the point, asper conjuring atypical
bent arising within mindscape,
sans garden variety *****sapien.
he laments instantaneously forgetting
intricate webbed tapestry comprising
unconscious manifestations nearly every time
reluctantly opening eyes,
whereat realistic landscape within noggin
vanishes without any trace
try as I might to induce recall
asper impressive world within
hydroelectric powered illusory windmills,
despite non cacophonous disruption
i.e. natural awakening processes,
yet for the life of me
after effect bruited
within entire body electric,
hence envisions some contrivance
mebbe mental construct
prior to awakening
to captcha essential details.
Ah...mother lode of ore ridge and hill
elusive material could perhaps yield
adequate money order to pay one bill
alleviating penurious state, so I can chill
without succumbing L'chaim going downhill
fast, especially since monthly social security
taken in toto with more'n
one bitter medication prescription pill
(father's little helper) eases panic/anxiety attacks
plaguing yours truly since...reciting
storybook rhyme 'bout Jack and Jill
argh, how an overdose quite tempting
escaping once and for all where little doth fulfill
me, cuz thankfully individual choice of freewill,
not banned by pro life fanatics,
imagining to wrest free millstone
formerly revolutionary war gristmill
sitting idle (billy me) bidding one final goodwill
to deux daring daughters,
ditto same number twisted sisters mentally ill
papa and bro respectively
understandably justifiably, emotionally deserted
detached baby boomer whole existence a standstill
overly cautious livingsocial,
what...repeating mundanity till...
death, a tragi/comic relief.
The Culling
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word,
That soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast
To fluff and cushion the crib of her protecting nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too;
Sneaking around and stealing your children from you;
And though their bodies pile up in streets and on the bloody ground---
Like trees chopped down when no one’s around, justice hears no sound.
The long arch of justice has been bent backwards to times of old;
The streets have replaced the hanging tree and the noose by a bullet hole.
We now understand the strange fruits stories of which the ancestors once told;
One by one, our little sheep are being justifiably culled from the extended family fold.
While we cannot and must not substitute one tyranny for another,
We will and must protect the seeded child of every black mother.