Long Noticeably Poems
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The Menacing Stranger At ShopCo-'Tar-zhay' - A Narrative Poem
One day at a dress shop,
I met a man selling shoes,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some hushes.
A fence, also known as a receiver,
A mover, this an individual who knowingly buys stolen goods.
Now secretly selling now to later resell them for profit
So dishonest?
"Got any shoes?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No hughes here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely dresses,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some guesses."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally beautiful,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call dutiful,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit tall.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty cool.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the dress shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearten,
"I can help you I believe."
"Shoes, hughes, you shall find.
Lulus JACQUELINE CHAMPAGNE FLORA dresses,
guesses, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to ShopCo 'Tar-zhay' .
So to ShopCo Tar-zhay I decided to go,
In search of the hughes I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling rings,
Barbies doll in many shades.
There were even stalls selling wings
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather tall
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all cool.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some hughes!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some dresses and shoes.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the hughes she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Lulus JACQUELINE CHAMPAGNE FLORA dresses,
guesses, you can't get at ShopCo-'Tar-zhay'
Ha! Ha! Ha! the man laughs
4/5/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Dusk dawns noticeably earlier each night in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania - yup
Which trend will continue some days before
winter solstice 2021 in Northern Hemisphere,
Tuesday, December 21 10:58 AM.
Yes, interestingly enough earliest sunset date(s)
along eastern United States
will occur December 7 and 8, 2021 at 4:28 pm EST.
Similar respective phenomena
takes place across globe.
Winter solstice constitutes
shortest day of the year in terms of daylight,
but does not have latest sunrise
nor earliest sunset of the year.
This prevails because discrepancy exists
between modern-day timekeeping methods
and how time is measured
using the Sun known as the equation of time.
The equation of time comprises
east or west component of the analemma,
a curve representing angular offset of the Sun
from its mean position on celestial sphere
as viewed from Earth.
I thoroughly enjoy onset of early darkness
unperturbed courtesy
seasonal affective disorder (SAD).
Alas and alack
matter of fact yours truly
optimally thrives when pitch black
skies immerse bookworm as impetus to crack
open a novel and/or read
one of my favorite (MAD) magazines
versus basking in sunshine which doth distract,
thus I while away hours appeasing
sixty plus shades of gray (cerebral) matter
processing criteria at greased lightning speed
considerably faster than once
venerably touted supreme ENIAC,
whereby mine figurative pistons
incalculably subvert additional
superfluous irrelevant flack
spurring me to burrow
deep inside invisible gunnysack
cause ordinary stress I could not hack
conveniently latched onto
ninety sixties counterculture mantra
"turn on, tune in, drop out"
popularized by Timothy Leary in 1966
essentially only in body not spirit
throughout academic foray,
I occupied space and time
paid dear price, cuz
submissive behavior heavily did impact
writer of these words a jejune Jack,
who during formative years
never dated, nor got jilted
cuz he possessed
unquestioned unhealthy uncanny
fealty and deadly eating disorder
body dysmorphia knack
positive image of self I lack,
an existence punctuated
by one after another panic attack.
Tying the little letter with the softest green ribbon,
I tucked it safely inside a large tree, the one she often leaned against in the park.
A few days passed, I eagerly awaited her return. Often I visited in her quaint little home.
She was alone in more ways than one, in the dark her heart was heavy, her mind
plagued with demons of adversity.
I stood at her door longingly as she cried into her cushions.
A week had gone, she ate very little. She just couldn’t bring herself to leave that dark room.
The rain came down hard that day, gushing down the rooftop, streaming down her window in a rage.
Worn and exhausted she opened the curtains to gaze out at the little park.
She could see not one tree through the streaming waters, and I thought she would break down in sobs again.
Instead I saw a soft gleam in her eyes as she quickly slipped on her coat and made her way out the door.
At last (I smiled) she had found the strength to return to her favorite spot,
even with the weights of melancholy clamping onto her every being.
She walked calmly though noticeably distraught. It's as if she were entering the Gates of End;
Her hands reaching for the tree till at last she clutched it and weeped in agony.
This was my last chance, I knew. She was saying goodbye to her beautiful park.
Those beautiful trees— her only haven amidst the glare of the world!
She was begging for relief, for the end, so with my hand, I wafted the wind one last time, vigorously.
Out of the hollow of the tree popped the note, dry and unscathed.
She stared at it curiously for a while, then sheltered it gently in her heavy coat.
I could only watch and wait and hope.
She looked around as if expecting this note to be for merely another
but I knew deep inside her soul that she understood. It was always meant for her.
-words by Laura B
Anferny was convinced that all
his problems were due to his skin,
he’d been told by teachers, and his mom,
that there was just no way to win.
He grew up believing he was part
of an awful, bigoted nation,
that he could never survive without
hand-outs and reparations.
He never tried to keep a job,
wouldn’t be caught ‘acting white,’
believed that he was a victim,
an thus had extra moral ‘rights.’
Spent all his days scraping by
on a meager monthly check,
turned to drugs to hide the fact
that his whole life was a wreck.
On welfare until he was forty,
when an overdose his heart rent,
Anferny relied on the government,
Anfery died on the government.
Savannah, she was quite a beauty,
and knew that fact all too well,
she battled her lashes and the boys
ran up as if she’d rung a bell.
But she believed she ‘needed no man,’
and always flitted from guy to guy,
content to ride on the carousel,
seeking nothing but a good time.
Until one day she was thirty-six
and decided to find a husband,
but her looks had faded noticeably,
she could no longer hook a man.
With no real skills to fall back on,
she turned desperately to the state,
she later died, alone and poor,
found with her cats eating her face.
Her final decades spent miserably,
living on other folk’s dollars and cents,
Savannah relied on the government,
Savannah died on the government.
Paul fought for his county overseas,
he did all his country could ask,
never a foe did he let escape,
he took our enemies to task.
He came home and live his life,
made good money as an auctioneer,
until three years later when he went
to a veteran’s doctor in fear.
He’d found a lump, and the biopsy
showed it to be a malignant growth,
a cancer that was aggressive,
it was a hard and heartbreaking blow.
They began chemotherapy,
but they started it too late,
because of bureaucratic fools
who'd made a paperwork mistake.
By the time they got it right
his last remaining strength was spent,
Paul had trusted in his government,
Paul died on his government.
The Cunning Stranger at Dragon's Lair - A Narrative Poem
One day at a comic shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.
"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money (wow)."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
This ain’t no zoo or pet store!
"We've got some interesting comics,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some ergonomics."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The store owner said I got Batman # 7;
The man said I’d rather have rabies.
The man seemed exceptionally energetic,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call acetic,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit cunning.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty stunning.
In his hand was Spider-man # 5.
In mint condition worth $1.000.00, what a fine;
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the comic shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."
"Cats, bats, you shall not find.
Comics, ergonomics, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Dragon's Lair Comics.
So to Dragon's Lair Comics, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling comics,
Role-playing cards many heroes shades.
There were even stalls selling home economics
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather cunning
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all stunning.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some comics and cats.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Next door to the comic shop Acme Pet Store?
For you see a pet bat, not a cat or a comic was I looking for
6/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
The Hyperactive Stranger At Bristle Grocers WHERE'S THE BEEF - A Narrative Poem
One day at a grocery shop,
I met a man selling meats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I wanted some wheat.
"Got any wheats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No ears of wheat here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you an excellent price."
"I'd rather have some steaks."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit hyperactive.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty reactive.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the grocery shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."
"Veggies, kinds of wheat, you shall find.
Cakes, hakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Bristle Grocers Market.
WHERE'S THE BEEF?
So to Omaha Beef, I decided to go,
In search of the meats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But somehow, I felt that the day I could be saved.
There were stalls selling meats,
everywhere were cut Chuck Roast, Ribs steaks in many shades.
Chop them up veggies and meats
Time for stew and pot roast
7/9/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Heart
by Odin Roark
Can an enigma be weighed?
Many would hold the heavy heart
Is indeed noticeably of greater weight
And yet…
What can the heart do
When all its wishes is respect
As real
As both tangible
And insoluble?
The heart has few friends
Its bodyguards
Lung left
Lung right
Hold 24/7 vigils
Knowing without aeration
Man’s lifeline is severed
Storms
Good times
Makes no difference
Pumping continues
The gasp of birth
Forever faithful
Still
Comes hurt
Comes denial
Come battles lost
Our hearts panic
Asking lungs
To take the bullet
Like mothers
Fathers
Secret Service
Internal instincts
Obviate thinking
Risk death at any cost
So goes the miraculous nature
Safeguarding the one institutional identity
One can really trust
Life’s experience
Most likely has no measurement
But we know heavy
Don’t we?
(stock up on photons while they last)!
Reduction asper daylight hours to worship
will immediately arise after
2018 North American orbital trip,
viz zits summer solstice (human primal
solar deification) riding astride spaceship
Earth, albeit 6:07 Ante Meridiem
Thursday June 21st noticeably slip
ping thru space beginning to harvest
incremental darkness as Gaia rip
pulls across wrinkle in time
daylight will undermine a loss,
and over the next month approximately jip
ping United States kinsfolk, who revere El Sol
quotidian solar rays, by one hour
and eight minutes (i.e. 4080 seconds),
thence trumpeting seriously
moonlighting re:
getting down to brass tacks business - grip
ping a markedly steadfast advancement,
whence August arrives (watch out),
cuz cutthroat prime rate (zero APR) doth clip,
and clock about two minutes per diem,
quite a substantial blip.
I have learned
to say more with less:
not that my works are noticeably
shorter—though, Lord knows
I try! But when creative juices
are flowing, my pen lifted by
currents, swept away, leaving
no rivers their banks unmarked, nor seas
their coasts without edit, writing is
a trans-formative force….
I think all artistic expression has
this in common: a torrent of sky;
a funnel of air elevating each new work
in defiance of gravity—redefining
our long held beliefs of structure
and stability; and for a blissful moment
seeming to mend that ancient rift
between God and His earthen man….
Great art should be like this...unforgettable
as one’s first love, or one’s first epiphany
of Christ….