Long My father Poems
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When I am asleep, am I grateful
When I'm awaken, I am grateful
As I start my new day 'm grateful
when I open mine eyes so grateful
I am grateful
Ever so grateful
Abundantly glad rejoiceful
I am grateful
Honestly-thankfully grateful
Grateful
When I am dreamin, am I grateful
When I'm in dazed, I am grateful
As I start my new day 'm grateful
when I open mine eyes, ever so, so grateful
I am grateful
Ever so grateful
Abundantly glad rejoiceful
I am grateful
Honestly-thankfully grateful
Grateful
Overjoyed
Wonderful
Glorious
Life in my Father, is fabulous
Thank-full
Glorious
Overjoyed abundantly grateful
9/03/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
for SHASTA JAZZ DEDICATED VERSE FOR SHASTA SIMMS ANTHOLOGY #1
The quiet rain dispelled any thoughts of a rain out.
It was Fenway, it was Father's Day,
And within the sacred realm of wooden bats,
Unswung and dumbly waiting,
There is the halcyon hope of impact
This on our first day of summer
Like the first day with our father
When he slapped us on our day-old baby chests
To keep us alive, keep the beeps beeping,
Forcing life's tiny engine to re-fire,
Making love's literal labor rumble back into place
Like the slamming of the hood of the car or
The smacking of the hanging breaking ball or
The blowing up of balloons, in school, for winter's child
Who needs to see the swelling of life into vivid colors
So that he'll be tempted to speak through the tumors
And show me how even more not-so-small, slow miracles take form,
Like the oldest man on the team,
On the mound, leading the league in wins,
Like my father putting a lunch together,
A salad, asparagus, and sausage in three
Giant containers I could never fit in my work bag
So in a flash he grabs this nifty-sized paper bag out of nowhere,
(the nowhere where the cabinet and the refrigerator is),
That dark and unspeakable vertical slit
Where all things crawl to be forgotten
Except by my dad who hears nothing and attends to everything
Scrambling even now to get a lunch together for his
29-year-old son who slogs eye-blinkingly around the kitchen
As morning-dumb as the day of his arrival
With the first pitch, the first slap, the first symbol of love.
Father's guide us through the passing fog
Like a lighthouse with a hearing problem, on wheels,
Barreling into the future, keeping the ball moving,
Keeping the world working.
The father is our Sun, Summer's Eternal Boy,
Guiding truth (or his version of it) where it need go:
Another Red Sox win,
Another sandwich made,
Another reason to smoke a cigar.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
As long as you promise to keep swinging
I'll promise to speak up. (And answer my phone.)
Patradoot or The Messenger14 /Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
Deserted villages of poor and suffering villagers,
Would fascinate you to stop and look at them,
Somewhere you would find farmers sitting in groups,
Talking or listening the stories and consoling each others.
The beauty of green forests, would charm you dear letter,
Ahead you would find gardens, decorated with flowers and creepers,
And you would be enchanted to see Krishna* like village kids,
Amid the herds of their grassing cows and sheep’s.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 30th May 2010 to continue in 15
* Krishna. Lord Krishna is a deity worshipped across many traditions in Hinduism in a
variety of perspectives. In His childhood he used to move around playing his flute amid
the herds of cows.
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Patradoot in Hindi written by my father late
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932, when he was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Remembering Dad’s animated Cowboy tales
Along lyrics, bearing words, “My pony and me”
I would imagine his youth's toilsome farm travails
while making the best of life midst struggles and glee.
In our place where Cowboy lifestyle means “hard, yet free”
we’re trained to be tough when difficulty assails
overcoming shyness against arrogance spree
staying honest upon what truthfulness entails.
Such is Cowboy perspective that my father hails
leaving us his legacy, trusting God* we should be
celebrating past triumphs though memory fails
sharing down-to-earth experiences, with learning as key.
*Psalm 112:7 He shall not be afraid of evil tidings: his heart is fixed, trusting in the LORD.
January 30, 2021
4th place, "Cowboy Poetry" Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier; judged on 2/3/2021.
Every day I wake up,
And every day I remember
The way you left me with no warning
Fleeing like a dog off its leash
It was my 13th birthday
I suppose that’s when fear settled in,
abandonment followed
Filling every pore of my body
Though this wasn’t the first time,
Definitely wouldn’t be the last
I only wish I knew,
What made you leave?
Was it me?
Was it because you thought I was better off without you?
Because I wasn’t
I wanted my father to love me, to see me, to hold me
But all I got was your absence
So, I let my imagination fill your role, because what else was I supposed to do?
It worked for a while, until I grew tired
I guess you did too
Now, I know why you didn’t look back
Or try to say goodbye
Gone in a flash
I try to drive, but I know I’m not fit.
The road is bumpy, who’ll take me through?
I try to move forward, but I end up in a ditch.
The weather is foggy, who else will lead me but you?
I need you forever in my life,
Who else guides me all the way, till I’m through?
You are always there for me because of your love.
Forever I desire nothing else, but only you.
Just as the driver controls the wheels of his car,
Take my life as such and guide me on the path which Thou has chosen for me.
And just as the pigeon feed her babies with food from her mouth,
Feed me with the word of Thy mouth for in Thy Word is life.
A co-pilot? No! I don’t need a co-pilot,
I need You to come and live in my heart,
I do not want my ways to be of just a lot,
Just direct my path to the place where Thou art.
Just as I am, I come to Thee,
I accept that I have sinned,
Please cleanse and set me free,
So that to the ground, I’ll not be pinned.
I never wanna leave Your presence,
Keep me in your light,
Free me from ill conscience,
Guide me to follow Your path.
Just as the followers of a shepherd are the sheep,
So are the followers of Jesus Christ Christians.
If I call myself a Christian indeed,
Let Jesus Christ be the only One I need.
Arise o my soul,
Be strong and march forward.
Or else life would be a woe,
So always remember the direction to move, ‘forward’.
What kind of God is this?
That what ‘ere that I do is filthy in His eyes?
Being destined to destruction like a fish,
All I need is Your mercy to make me cold new as Ice.
Upon all my crimes You still came to die for me,
And has made me as valuable as Yourself,
You’ve made me know that You even love me more than I do love myself,
I now pray that to Your sanctuary, You bring me.
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Jesus being my provider,
I need not to be in sorrow,
He’ll take care of me forever.
Born in white, I am asked to journey in mud,
How am I supposed to walk in mud without soiling myself?
I saw a Man, who said He’ll make me even better than just a lad,
He said “all you’ve got to do is to repent and ask for it yourself”.
There’s power in His voice!
He commandeth the storm to be quiet,
It is not with mere noise,
But with grace from where He abideth.
Magical muggle, one of my dreams, delight me with your fanciness.
Magical muggle, come closer, and give me a taste of your pranciness.
“What are you doing in there?” My father roars at me.
Nothing, I lie.
“It better be nothing!” my mother says.
They have nothing to do with Muggles, lumping them together as worthless
beings, who generalize witches and wizards, and pick on us,
tormenting us because we are magical and have precognition.
But my gift of foresight has shown that the love of my life
is going to be an enthusiastic, un-biased, faithful magical muggle, and I am
much more powerful than my parents anyway. Grandma taught me that.
Hiding it well, biding my time. My true wizard love should be here in six
years and three days. That is how exact my gift of precognition is.
I smile, roll over and go to sleep, imagining our three
gorgeous half-breed children who will call me Mommy.
I remember nights on the south side porch
After a full dinner & nothing on TV
We gather to sit talk and listen to cicadas cry
High
Into the spring night
Or deep into the fall gloom
Or even long into the summers eve
We watch lightning playing across a dark sky
Anticipating the wrath of summer storms
Or fall rains, spring showers
I’ve remember my father weaving
Tales of another time
Another place stringing memories
Into entertaining far away worlds
He would strike a match
A light will flare and highlight
His deep creviced face
I would watch enchanted as the amber
Light of his cigarette tip trace lines in the night
Weaving tapestries of other times
Seasons long gone in memory
Orange the color of his history
The pumpkin light dance deep into the night
As he wove stories of another past
memories of his childhood
With each deep inhalation of breath
A Spark would flare an outline of his heavy creased
& well warn face
Sparks would twinkle in highlights of
deep aged UMBER eyes
Like reflections form long ago summer suns
Or deep harvest fall moons
I am a child of God
I no longer drink from the bottle
I eat meat now that I’ve grown more in Him
Pass the plate gimme some more of them greens and beans please
I am a child of the King
My Father allows me too drink of His wine
Though I won’t indulge to drunk
I’m just drinking from His Holy cup
I am a child of thee Spirit
Of a Holy, Holy winds
Floating, enduring, flying
I am embraced in the wind
Holy Spirit come right on in
I am a child of Lamb
Wooly Wholly Lamb
No need to cut the fleece
I am complete being a HOLY Lamb of God
I no longer drink from the bottle
I eat vegetable now that I’ve grown more in Him
Pass the plate gimme some more of them greens and beans please
3/18/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2022©
They've tossed their souls away
again
harlots for a vote
they've fingered the race card
the rapist card
the Russian card
the Ukraine card
now they're playing mahjong
with a virus.
Muzzling our freedoms and rights
placing plastic tiles in our minds
when this latest fallacy fails
they'll boomerang (black)
to the race card again.
They're locking {we the people away}
giving early release to protect rapist
and assorted other derelicts... from the flu!
Do they think a tsunami of convicts
will keep six feet away from our
daughters
mothers
grandmothers.
My father used to sweat the flu out
I remember him saying
"get me another blanket"
we'd stack them three or four high,
The fever would break
he'd be back to work the next day.
only to inhale benzene rings
to keep us in meat and greens...
They don't make them like that anymore
This will be a baton head splitting summer
oppression will detonate
spill freedoms' soul onto the avenues
fringe factions will clash..
Come November
just remember who locked you up
released the filth of society onto our streets
remember who pointed fingers-fell asleep
while withholding your money
to gain political traction
trashing the economy
running helter skelter over livelihoods
come November-shout out people!
remember how your local gvt. couldn't find
illegal alien felons to deport them
but suddenly found them long enough
to give them your Wuhan money -your bread and honey
come November vote their globalist behinds out of office
and into their
plush-slush funded gated community