Long Out of step Poems
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Actions speak louder than words, it's true.
Folks may doubt what you say but they'll always believe what you do.
Don't let the best you have done in the past be the standard for the rest of your life. Keep on truckin' . Practice makes perfect.
The greatest of all faults is to think you have none.
Jesus Said: "Cast your bread upon the waters and you will find that after many days it will return unto you."
But many people on remembering this will cast out a stale crust and expect cake in return.
The world's most disappointed people are those who get what's coming to them.
The trouble with some folks who give till it hurts is that they are so sensitive to pain.
We are prepared for great deeds by great trials.
Nature makes it impossible to learn the ropes without falling over them a few times.
Well timed silence is more eloquent than words.
If you keep your mouth shut you won't be misquoted.
A housewarming is to give a second chance to those who didn't send a wedding gift.
Fifty-one percent of being smart is knowing what you're dumb at.
Love is the only thing that power cannot command and money cannot buy.
He who gives when he is asked waits too long.
Glass, china and reputation are easily cracked and never well mended.
Many people have a good aim in life but fail to pull the trigger.
What shouldn't be heard by little ears shouldn't be said by big mouths.
Be content with your lot and don't try to be what you're not.
To be in step with the world is to be out of step with Christ.
It's not your Will that keeps you out of Heaven, it's your Won't.
"Virus" is a Latin word used by doctors to mean:
Your guess is as good as mine.
God's people are not without trial,
Nor without their God amid the trial.
The Child and the Dancer
See the dancing of the child,
I think he's angry out of step and wild.
He finds it hard to see the snail,
The intense wails overshadowed rails.
Winds that are flocking near the lorry?
I think she'd like to eat in the observatory.
He is but a delightful dancer,
He admired as he sits upon a tropic of cancer.
He's exciting a tap dancer is just like a kitten,
He needs no ground, and it runs on whitten.
He's not alone he brings a cheetah,
a pet deer, and lots of rosita.
The deer likes to chase a pebble,
Especially one that's in the gable.
The audience shudders at the active stage box.
He wants to leave, but they want the block.
6/24/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Rhyming Couplet
Neon lights outlined stalls
in braids of red and green
in the dim cavernous hall
of the railway station.
Muted drum taps of passing feet
and crisscross talk were pierced
by stabbing announcements
of departing trains.
A stairway tunneled upwards
to the street
where a wall of daylight
met squinting eyes.
Stonework still wore the soot
of steam trains long silenced
from impatient panting,
their age had passed.
My age was diesel with its fumes
pumping out incessantly
without pausing for a breath.
Guttural piston beats
pulsed the air with shudder.
Some of us still left home
riding dreams on train tracks
or else sailed them to England on P&O.
Most stayed at home
and waited for the ballot.
Out of step with the sixties
the railway station languished
in its nostalgic façade.
Newspaper banners headlined protests
and the Vietnam war.
Through its ageing concourse
young men moved in haste or haze
towards uncertain destinations
Peer into the heart of any woman:
and tell me, what do you see?
Is it a woman shackled to pain,
crying in despair, at the weight of her chains?
She breathes, she breeds, and she dies;
like a lesser being, in servitude to a man.
A child of Eve, reduced to chattel by the church,
mothers and sisters, sexually,
physically, and mentally
abused and exploited by their fathers and brothers.
It's time for women to break their chains
of conformity and assert their rights.
Men too often act like arrogant apes;
out of step with time and truth.
And yet, they rule the world
of their creation.
Men have always coveted being kings:
and still do.
With few exceptions, most macho men
feel the only right a woman has,
is the right to pleasure them.
So, step up, ladies,
and inform them; they're wrong!
Look out on the music these days,
there ain’t a whole lot to say,
techno makes me feel dead inside,
dub-step, just get out of my way.
Hip-hop just rubs me all wrong,
that stuff is barely a song,
maybe there are some gems in there,
most of it’s just here and gone.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
putting the fans all on lock;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Don’t get a thing from pop stars,
autotune gets them that far,
hot young thing on a casting couch,
that’s what makes them what they are.
Most of them really can’t sing,
their live shows a recording,
voices like karaoke bars,
I’d say it’s embarrassing.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
Making all the panties drop;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Some might say I’m out of step,
don’t you known that rock is dead?
Won’t hear it on the radio,
but something needs to be said:
masterpieces never age,
they carve a place out to stay,
sounds just as fresh as when written,
Beethoven rocks to this day!
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
pushing it over the top;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
Can’t stop rocking,
the six-string talking,
the base-line walking,
the kick-drum knocking,
can’t stop rocking,
the pit is moshing,
the heads are bopping,
the tight shirts hopping;
giving them all that we got,
I’ll die before I dare stop;
cool licks dropping,
I can’t stop rocking,
I can’t stop rocking it hot.
My Song, it could not sing itself
And neither, friend, could I –
The notes they were – preoccupied
The lyrics lies, lies, lies
It struggled with a forlorn tune
With rhythms cadence-less –
Its chords were carried on the wind
Remote and powerless
From steeple tops it sought my ear
It strove for major scales,
Yet failed to lift this Chorister
– It sang to no avail
My voice was mute in silence
It was no song, no song
That I could ever sing along
– The song was wrong, all wrong
And so, I sought a newer verse
A Tune to fit myself
Without a tonal dissonance
Or timing out of step –
For harmony – I scored a Breeze
For words I fitted Truth –
The Tune a composition
An Opus could reboot
The cantos trebled at the strings
The lyrics crooned of Spring
Instinctively my voice arose
To meet this newer thing –
It rose, a Canta Libre
Familiar in refrain,
I felt a certain resonance
At recess in my brain
Advance in bright arrangements
And deftly play the strains
Of Anthems that I once had known
In glorious refrain
From sleeves of albums days gone by
Away on dusty shelves
And stirring now, My Song restored
As if it never left –
I believe I continue to write
Because my life is an unfinished poem
A fumbling attempt to measure
Meter and cadence against time
Fit iambs into moments of rhyme
Fighting the barbed wire sting of form
Shivering in the shadow of the “bard”
Marching out of step to rhythms thud
As words cascade o’er broken lines
Defying all the yield and red stop signs
Thus, do I write of crumpled papers blown
Of seeds I never planted taking bloom
Of darker regions of a human soul
That runs alone refusing to pay toll
Weeping upon the pages as they fold
Concealed my words in sad lament
Rejoice, celebrate the time we’ve spent
In pondering the art of life and pen
Channeling forever’s point of self
Refusing to be left upon life’s shelf
TOUR DE FORCE
so enjoyable
flourish
in a cosmopolitan
complex
spanning
the compulsive so
sombre in a deft
narrative
untangled
in panoramic moments
of sustained intimacy i
tonally out of step
&
on repeat
a formulaic empathy
assertions
of the preemptory
surrealistic
praise
the irresistible
close to complete
MOODS
dedicated& displayed
so athentic
a cultural cachet
designed to exist
predominately
in
new visions
visual coterie
du jour
awashed
a mania
synonymous
shoe horned
then
forgotten
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
What if daffodils
pushed up through winter's cold snows—
amber voices rose
Spring songs sprung out of season
breaking calendar's design.
What if the leaves fell
early in stolen colors—
rust-tinged innocence
summer mimicking autumn
seasons swapping disguises.
Warm nights dripping ice—
moonlit icicles glitter
on midsummer boughs
weather waltzing out of step
dancing the two-step reverse.
Time becomes unspooled—
hours stretch thin, others snap tight
order comes undone
as wedding bells of warnings
fall on bliss deafened ears.
Earth spins fevered-fast—
a disco globe turning wild
night's pulse racing hard
Gaia bids us change our tune
dance wiser or lose time's rhythm.
We stare awed afraid—
strangeness glowing in the sky
beauty laced with dread
wonder quivers into fear
at what our hands have unmade.
Earth cares not for change
for climate has changed before
many times ago
but this time we lit the fuse—
and we are trapped in the fire.
Nothing stirs the languid souls of folks like a hometown parade.
Friends and neighbors uniting to form a colorful cavalcade.
Any special occasion will do such as Veterans or Independence Day,
To uproariously celebrate and put on a spectacular display!
The parade is led off by aging vets proudly carrying Old Glory,
Stepping lively despite expanded girths and looking rather hoary.
The mayor is next in a flashy convertible exuding all of his charms,
Grinning inanely and greeting folks with his out-stretched arms!
The local high school band marches slightly out of step,
And playing a bit off-key but tooting with mighty pep!
The equestrian saddle club prances by in well-formed troops,
Followed closely by a couple of clowns wielding clean-up scoops!
Anxious moms herd a troop of Brownies so small and so cute.
Here comes the Hometown Queen - isn't she a charming beaut!
Vintage cars and John Deere tractors put on quite a show,
But a Model T Ford stalls causing its owner misery and woe!
The Rose Bowl and Macy parades are planned with great ostentation,
Designed to entertain TV audiences across this great nation,
But small town parade committees are just as proud as they can be,
To plan and sponsor a pageant to please local friends and family!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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