Long Poker faced Poems
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I was young
But old enough to know better
We were rounded up
Determined to weed out the culprit
I sat quietly and poker faced
Holding my breath and dying inside
I wanted this inquisition
To be over but it dragged on forever
If I could hold on long enough
It would end at a standstill
And eventually be forgotten
I could never imagine
A scenario where someone
Might be wrongly punished
After all there was no evidence
But before I knew it
It had happened in front of my eyes
Accused and brutally spanked in an instant
Though blatantly innocent
In shock and utter disbelief
Convinced my belated admission of guilt
Would now be pointless
Too young to truly appreciate
The true value of
Clearing a person’s reputation
I ran up to my room and
Gasped for my first breath of stupor
I got away that moment
But have been paying ever since
I never admitted or asked for forgiveness
Seemed pointless through the years
Decades later
My brother
Would have said
It wasn’t important
It’s long forgotten
I know this because in some wimpy blurry recollection
I vaguely remember admitting it to him some fifty years later
Knowing full well it was too little too late
And his response was exactly as expected
Confirming my high opinion of his virtuous generosity
But fifty years later
My pointless admission seemed surreal
As though to amplify rather than to lighten that old regret
I didn’t deserve or want to ever forget
My very first true act of cowardice
AP: 1st place 2020
I'm squirming in a chair of oak,
with narrow arms. My buttocks numb,
and all the while the clock ticks on.
While folks are grim, with furrowed brows,
'We're all lined up in two long rows
of growing thirst, and restless legs
and hunger for a breath of air
Like sardines in a can of worms,
we are strange, unlikely shipmates, torn
between one lawyer's limped plea --
the other shark who disagrees
Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt.
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuades a few with his hot air
The penguin in the cheap black suit
has spewed a lengthy declaration,
(a quite contrary explanation)).
Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope!
We're hanging by thin rope for days
and word has spread, the judge has spoken
He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls. We are excused!
Declares a mistrial........what a joke!
The accused is sitting, poker faced
I think I saw a guilty trace?
(Or innocence,....a tell-tale trace?)
We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
The task was more than I could gnaw
A stale-mate! Since the case was flawed!
As we file out, our task is done
I spy the guy...., Should I be blunt?
The one accused, lights up a smoke.
Am I a nut, to simply ask ?
I'll just be frank, my last hurrah.....
"Pardon me, did you break the law????"
______________________________________________________________________
Contest: "Pardon me, but did you just.....??"
Way back before this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes
(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
or some place thereabouts) within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records (those times b'fore cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,
though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot
nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum
relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks,
she frowned on giving out sweets
particularly to three children she begat,
and iced hill easily recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot
puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings
fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic
worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,
whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them on a direct route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah wont mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.
Feeling grown up
On the edge
Older cousins
Invite me
Nonchalantly
To follow them
Into their world
That magical world
They call normal
Hold my breath
Surprised, hesitant, poker faced
I head down the stairs
The basement is dim
Coloured lights in corners
Comfy chairs here and there
Forty-fives spinning
Floating hazy rings of smoke
A scene surreal
I was let in, invited
A notch above a wall flower observer
Taking it all in
Letting it soak in
My future before me
A glimpse of what I’d become
In just a few years
I remember it all somewhat
As a milestone initiation
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
The signs of passion are poker faced.
I spend my nights in deathly ardor
Digging deep into the muffled dreams
That cry for forgiveness..
I take a puff of the cigar,
And pant quietly, with tears in my eyes
The sullen kisses and the fake good-byes…
The roses dried with my breath,
I fancied love, but God forbade:
The smiles that played hide-and-seek,
Bore my frowns away..
From every stranger who touched my hand,
Promised the plight to neverland;
I mocked my pain and lived to die
In the arms of pity..
The sounds of passion were tricked to silence.
I spend my hours in muted rhythms
Searching more for the truth that lied..
And warned to conquer forgiveness
I take a sip from the liquor’s trench
And let myself go astray
Wished I had died that day..
The violins cry with my voice
I seek to change the devil’s choice
The tears that stoked my conscience
Have found its place in mystery dens
They wander to deliver the day’s omens
I mocked my pain and lived to die
In the arms of serenity
~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
I Roundly Square Prayer...
Despite imprecations
yielding "FAKE" impact
upon the head of this atheist,
especially when thy
(untamable) shrewish wife
takes umbrage against this beast
tee boy up hoar excuse for a
husband precariously
bass (sic) lee perched
on a figurative
tightrope in creased
when withering tension (such as
chronic money woes
raises an ugly head
imploring a sudden cosmic deist
convert to pluck me
out this marriage well greased
with decades of vitriolic
verbal eminent amber gris,
where envisioning being swallowed
by Moby Dick haint half as bad
as incessant thrashing from spouse,
who expatiates, then gets cross
at this near expired dad,
when aye experience her
off fish shell reel
(hook, line and
sinker), where (when),
she looses (and loses) wrath
of Queen Kong sprinkling
unladylike cringeworthy
four lettered laced profanity largesse
(Sargasso Sea sunned)
favorite foul mouthed fad,
which "sailor blushing" gasp
finds me swallowing
hard syllabic retort (consonant
effe f**k hay shuss
m*th*r - f*ck*r) "EEE GAD"
bringing to ma mind, how parents
used to bad mouth me
(their only son),
when he hapt tubby
a passively aggressive lad
where booth me
late mum, and papa
got red red hot
poker (faced) mad
cuz, aye got born this way
at those accursed moments
futilely half heartedly praying
aware oye vey
knowing full well beseeching
divine alien abduction
all for naught!
I surmise yours truly i.e. me
a slacker boomer - ye,
whereby repose finds me
face buried in pillow free
and clear of Earthly worry
mainly, namely, particularly...
lack of legal tender re: money
woeful bane, yes unarguably
legitimate casus belli key
ping mental state agonizingly
able, eager, and ready to re
sign livingsocial or alone thee,
major source of acrimony
sea ying boatloads sunk
gone (courtesy maintenance
costs 2009 Hyundai Sonata), one she
tee chitty chitty bang bang bee
cause original parts conking out - see
maddeningly, practically, simultaneously
within weeks and months invariably
major component, a doggone conspiracy,
methinks maybe climate change, or possibly
Jewish ancestor condemned during
to death (think, yea even say) auto de fe,
where subsequent generations automatically
branded convicted heretics sentenced
and executed, plus any accouterments wheely
rendering twenty first century western
civilization and concomitant car rears je
ne sais quoi necessary not simply cree
chore comfortant, which upkeeping de
creed red hot poker faced anger - be
getting sudden impulse where
tightly balling fists punch thighs
vocalizing with primal screaming - ye
probably heard - hmm maybe
being stone cold dead to the world
not such a worse fate after all - si?
Part I: Ice
He shines like silver midnight moon -
cool marble statue, this tycoon.
And though he makes the ladies swoon,
of ice he’s hewn; of ice he’s hewn.
He’s poker-faced and can deceive
competitors and can achieve
most anything, but can’t conceive
of Genevieve, of Genevieve.
Like Neptune, distant from the sun -
relationships he chose to shun.
He thought the search for love was done.
He has no one; he has no one.
Now love’s allure has come his way.
What will he do? What will he say?
Will he grab hold, beg love to stay,
or let it stray? Or let it stray?
Part II: Fire
This dragoness disguised in lace -
passion’s flower with angel’s face,
precisely picks the time and place
each dream to chase, each dream to chase.
Like ink the color red, she stains
the hearts of those whose love she drains,
and then she leaves when naught remains
No lust she feigns; no lust she feigns.
And now there’s one who would suffice.
For him alone, she’d sacrifice
her everything, so he of ice
she must entice, she must entice.
So Genevieve now strikes the flame.
Will man of ice his love proclaim?
Beneath her fire and his cold frame,
they’re both the same. They’re both the same.
(alternatively titled eldest daughter despises us)
Eden (beloved eldest daughter) icy
flat tone of voice spoke volumes,
when she talked with the missus and me
courtesy cellular telecommunications key
December twenty seventh
two thousand nineteen
unwavering listless dull verbalization see
I subsequently told spouse, she
thy super smart self reliant progeny
fending for herself approximately
last half dozen years exhibits je
ne sais quois profound loathing
predicated growing up dirt poor free
quint lee lamenting deprivations re:
guarding legal tender adequate specie
i.e. money - at least compared to every
MainLine millionaire flush with dee -
suppose able income, and oft times
lovingly, pleasantly, unexpectedly...
receiving largasse gift horse courtesy
zayda (my father), who art not yet
in heaven sprung monetary help, ye
this second born and only son did
profusely think him (papa) lee
ving voice messages on his landline,
and tracfone, plus wrote heartfelt poem,
similar acknowledgement modus operandi,
when said offspring
became twenty three
years old - five days ago, nonetheless thee
admirable, dependable, honorable... née
holds Matthew Scott (namely he),
who helped beget
darling feels angry,
and doth plainly exhibits contempt
(you) dear reader guessed correctly
towards sorrowful dada,
where inescapable thralldom
doth invisibly chain
(think ghost of Marley)
apologetic sir, whose
precious kinder, I
will unwaveringly cherish
forever love and Revere
despite up Paul ling
destitution, grinding linkedin penury,
and red hot poker faced
anger, yes... dismay
prevails how unforgiving
once (Benny sent) baby,
inside joke, I attest neigh
scent "star student,"
now grown young woman,
no longer - figuratively
wrapped around yours
truly her finger
father who fell short, natively cree
hated abhorrent within re
cent mammary, bosom (hers)
harboring scathing unmasked vee
hum mint, blistering, rancorous,
seething, volcanic withering...,
no matter disgusting revulsion
toward aging mommy
and repentant daddy,
I LOVE YE EDEN + SHANA!
Somber Force
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So dull
blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe austere
Blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe Austere
So dull
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights such an enlightenment such a… Somber Force
11/13/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©