Long Perching Poems
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MOTHER SPARROW CONSTRUCTS A BIRDS NEST
under the eaves of
the roof mighty mother bird
sparrow building a
new nest eggs laid still
soil/twigs/rain/trash together
tightly woven mesh
barns and stables, on
structures mud nests tuck under
fields under bridges
~
can find Barn Swallows
across North America
sparrow building nest
under the eaves of
the roof mighty mother bird
sparrow building a
new nest eggs laid still
soil/twigs/rain/trash together
tightly woven mesh
~
fluttering perching
bobbing up an down and out
constructs a bird nest
alas, mother bird
feeds her young chick mouth open
wide receives a worm
4/15/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Fortuitous, my errant self arose
upon yon glen, my mellow eyes favor
tawny giants teeming with varied life,
nesting, crawling, climbing, perched or flying
gracefully aloft, same endless dreamers.
Shrubs near wandering stream flourish, touching
grassy meadows and flowery hued fields,
where lurks mass of bugs, neath earth, or above,
albeit, they must stay hidden because
they are near the bottom of the food chain.
Chance arrived as held memories motions
around, naught tinkering but flashing by
with the familiar faces that worn some,
same as structures around this grand quaint town
but aged me, always a young boy will be.
A young September and I started work
half a century ago, deadlines
for glens, piled papers are tawny, scrambled
shoe naught crawl, perching on breaks and often
daydreamers are caught, monitored always.
This be the way it was a lifetime pass,
retired September whence I had begun,
lost I, many September, since, begs the
question, so much ground to be recovered,
is there justified sand in my hourglass?
2019 October 31
Counting perching hawks
trying to watch what they watch
while a speeding car
beneath tense feet
races to overtake whatever blocks
each sideways glance.
Fifty percent of all bird songs go unrecorded.
Multiplexed avian modulations leave us
questioning our own questions.
Pylons loop their feelers,
thread fragments of electric birdcalls
into sun-slashed glass.
Eyes wide
trying to stay alert to the dangers
a highway offers as it dares all to slip
and slide
into a higher gear of insanity.
Taking in all possible flickering’s,
peripheral snap shots ticking off images
as they disappear into the gone.
Hawks don’t sing or warble,
their voice is hidden between
screeches
of triumph and fear.
Maybe there is a soft voice
for hawk chicks, and their mates
ritornelli sub-sonically cooed through
a razor tongue,
songs never heard
above the roar of our own ears.
The flashes of sound and sight
are blocked by tall trucks
the idling utterances of
stalled traffic
as we wait for the call of the wild
to filter through
a sparking matrix of thought,
but the wild does not call
it only looks at us.
Monotonous keyboards clicking
Redundant clocks ticking
Phones ringing, elevator doors swinging
Coffee pots brewing, vending machines spewing
Insouciant workers, carefree shirkers loitering
Clerks, secretaries previewing, managers reviewing
Visitors on stairs, in lobby chairs, lines queuing
Fate's dissonant chords o'er content hordes teeming
From Crescent's waning moon, spell of doom flinging
Across availing sky, a wailing strain is stringing
A portentous raven o'er torrentous swells winging
To his charted course, a venal force with guile clinging
Feral beast an imminent peril to prey quickly bringing
On the ethereal cusp perching, for crown jewel searching
Swooping down with force, beams from foundation divorce
Death's shadow in dust o'er screaming remnants streaming
Night's, palling darkness Day's ordained glint stalling
charcoal grey horizon~
on the rusty cast iron bench
my old self sits in pensive mood
beside the lake beneath December sky
the wayward wind as it teases my hair
whispers melodies from long ago~
that breath echo in the air
the echo reverberates ~
weaving fragments into vivid voices
and symphonies of yesteryears
my grandma's lullaby
our high-school graduation song
then tender laughters
of children at play fill the air
then comes the echo
of my father's sobbing voice
as he handed me to my groom
on that Saturday afternoon
whilst the organist played
the Wedding March by Mendelssohn
as the echo fades
and turns tenebrous twilight
into enchanting ebony evening
I look around ~
the coffee shop behind me
inviting for another cup
whilst the coffee on my lap
gets colder and colder
yet not as cold as the winter chill
perching inside of me
Like a murmuration,
they suddenly appear,
swirl, swoop and storm the
ancient, familiar compound,
perching on the strongest bough
of the school’s pine tree,
a brawny Methuselah,
chattering loosely about long-departed
waves of creamy city gossip, and asking one another,
“How do you do?”
When the clock ticks a little further down
the aisle of a wailing theatre,
“And how have you been?”
At the time of the greedy feasting —
hollow, glass-tinkling buffet,
“And where are you now?”
Just like in a romance —
Your ex-lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her present life.
Your present lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her past life.
So it is with school reunions.
Garden Roots
Drawn by the feeder, seeds like a silo, the colorful and small birds, landing and perching, not too close, skittish and scared. The tree of life with a plethora of branches. A tiny bonsai forest designed for fairies and microscopic wildlife. Butterflies trapped inside a house-size net, landing so gently the hairs on my flesh cannot feel the sensation. The garden ever changing and I with it,
as I tread upon its sacred ground. Soaked by sun, rain or cold from snow, the garden with outstretched arms.
bellicose bouquet
branded by beauty stirs weeds
— pulled up by their roots
6/7/2018
Mick Talbot’s haibun contest
Old fashioned memories of Christmas eve
wrap up her heart with twinkling fairy-lights
Hot sugar-plum trickles its sweetness from Winters gone
Cold waltzing winds invite wild fire to warm the hallway
till the last ember from maple logs fades soft and slowly within her soul.
A cup of joy from season's song fills up each thought with yester's vision
when silver tinsel sparkled the night and voices hummed in graceful cheer.
When melting icicles glistened in his eyes as virgin snowflakes veiled her brown hair.
Incadescent hues in cobbled alleys welcome December
with blue spruce pine cones and wholly wreaths
Comforting scents of cedar wood and vigil lanterns
light up the Grotto and winding streets.
Another year,her eyes sat on a silent star which stands upon the verdant tree
Which knows a wish,which hears each sigh,yet fails to sprinkle serenity.
The perching robin has left its nest,leaving its scarlet upon her chest
Smouldering ash is what remains and lurking frost on window-panes.
Neath the lone mistletoe by candle bliss, Upon her brow His withered kiss.
For Mystic Rose's -The Heart of Christmas Contest.
The dark sky stretches across the heights.
Overcast clouds roam, late at night.
The round moon does not reveal its rays.
The snow on the peaks may melt away.
In the morning, the sparrows fly joyfully,
Plucking flowers and perching in the trees.
A pair of wild doves appears sad and silent,
While blackbirds search for worms with talent.
Spring flowers bloom along the front fence,
Like a group of teenagers practicing a dance,
Watching the rain play in the new season.
The small leaves will take turns next month.
The spring blends both sad and happy
It is a rule that governs human society
There is a desire for couples to despise
Thus, we all change from time to time
I found myself wanting to be angry and vile,
seeking black, looking hard for him
in all the dark places, lingering a while.
Black has his own ways, unknown to mortals-
slinking out and in mysterious portals.
time be traveling, perching on a gloomy rim.
He is illusive and not easy to find.
Hidden from me in recesses I cannot follow
Black outshone me, reading my unsophisticated mind.
He was the victor, reaping the spoils of war.
Knowing my truth he understood I could soar.
His elusiveness made me wither and wallow.
Written 12-28-2018 Contest: Rhyme Time 7 - Deep and Dark
Sponsor: Lu Loo