Long Singeing Poems
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Beneath the trees, a tale of a Tamil revolutionary,
As in history of tamils, the people viewed him as a legendary luminary.
'Thalaivar' the title he was given,
As his reputation was on a different level, when he was living.
Through fields of war, he engraved his name,
In a country torn by sorrow and pain.
As a sense of anger boiled in his heart,
He promised to never to be ripped apart.
Through endless killings and bloody battles,
He hunts the enemy like a tiger hunting cattle.
The roar of the tigers, the singeing flames of war,
As the tigers are ready to slice the enemy's jaw.
A dream of Tamil land to rise,
But at what cost, beneath the skies?
A price of peace, hope of salvation,
As soldiers have to sacrifice for his country's liberation?
A man of vision, of war, of pride,
Yet history judges all who stride.
A leader to some, a foe to others,
A paradox bound in the land of mothers.
As time moves on, the country's wounds and scars still abide,
His name reaches through the skies, far and wide.
Velupillai, the true Tamil warrior,
As his name rises through the ranks, of a true hero.
How did the sea become a crime?
How did its blue become a bruise on the face of history?
How did the verdure turn into red wrath,
breathing fire into burned hearts,
leaving behind it a black, frosty funeral?
How did the tree become a Fury?
Her strands of fire
strewn above the dew and tranquil mounts
Furious fire and melted iron
Lava and blood-red ink
Pumping out of the wounded bosom of the earth
Bubbling up like the foam of death
To carve an unprecedented story;
A story of a dying profound pain, reborn
In the same womb, at the same moment
Growing as rapidly as the pulsating heart of a child in terror
Lost in the land of infinite wars.
***
My land, a flickering ember
Once giving light and warmth;
The other, singeing our hearts;
Do you choose to be a beacon in the dark,
or to blow up in our faces like a blind flame of wrath?
Are you destined to turn into ash
disarrayed by the wind?
***
People might claim that the earth is not for all
But the heavens are inevitably for all
The living, the dead, the imprisoned
Happy, grieving, immersed in prayer,
For the heavens are in the hands of God the just
Never to be touched by human slaves
I’m in the position of a responsible orphan
I’m left with no plan…abandoned
I turn aside from being caught up in denial, though I’m stumbling
upon affliction and bafflement, entangling me in its web
These unkempt, cemented words—they are strapping
The griminess searing through my skin and bone
I’m left in the chambers of my words
How can I talk myself out of this position?
They are cemented to my soul,
decaying in debris…chained to envy and fear
I write down my experiences with cemented ink
My fear-binding words weigh me down,
cemented with bewilderment
My toes trickle with grime…my life is but a frown
My body becomes weak… leaving me with a print
My depression dunks my head down
I write down my feelings with layered ink
Decaying in filth…chained to fury and terror
Chipping my soul…peeling away everything I adore
I am demolishing along with
my last lick of luck
How can I get out of here?
I’m left to find my own way out
The draftiness singeing through me…goose bumps
leaving scars of tousled emotions—they are strapping
These portraying words crawl in my cranium…
Perturbing my every thought
Abandoning all the doubtless hopes…entangled with uncertainty
My worries are shot
With ink…
blotching my heart
I’m unprepared on my flight
I’m in the position of a bewildered orphan…
lost in the ink-cemented night
The Choctaw
never taught me what the
Choctaw would’ve taught me.
The Australopithecine never taught me what
the Australopithecine would’ve taught me of.
The Memories, these Memories,
our Memories are fading songs in
an echoeless cave.
The listeners have tired,
moved on.
The choir sang, regardless...
...for a time.
And, in time, the silence overcame
the joys of recalling and the calling out
was no longer met with the
Response.
The ochre greened-over,
the iron dust fell from frost and
puddled dryly on the floor.
Summer winds, hot and desiccating,
soon scoured the walls and ushered out
the swirling cinnamon sand.
The drums beat to mineral-rich cave-dew,
on occasion. A sometime rain that formed cones.
They stretched with weatherings; sometimes taut,
sometimes loose. Their stories lost, nothing taught.
In time, their skins followed their long-lost bones into
the buried burned and carved, now-broken empty bones
Home. The silent tumulting earth. The cold overlay of the
Singeing Beneath. The singing stalled. The echoes bounced for a time from
voice to ear to wall to child to child to wall to stone to dust.
The stars never taught me what
the stars might then have taught me.
The dreams and dancings, the tremulous and then-credulous
tremolos, the inspirations of ululations, the song-stories of
peoples, of healings, of wilds, of ways...now silent.
This silence, in this echoless cave,
is the most wanting, most missing,
Sound.
Sound I’ve ever heard.
The cave never taught me.
The music never taught me.
The drum never taught me.
The dance never taught me.
The cave never taught me.
The fire is out, the embers lost.
The handprint remains on a wet wall in a dim corner in an out-of-the-way
scree-field crevasse just past the Cree field impasse.
The teachers are gone.
The ancestors quiet.
The cave never taught me.
The silence may
yet.
I press the silver pin between my thumbs,
and drive it through the edges of my own torn meat.
To mend oneself, a sanguine torture comes;
how could one mistake this act for sweet?
The needle takes a cold, surgical bite,
and forces through the weeping, open skin.
Dragging coarse thread to pull the borders tight;
I cinch the knot to trap the rot within.
I bind decay and call the prison mine,
forcing a dying creature to endure.
While every screaming nerve rejects the twine,
I sew the ruin secure.
The stitches tear away time after time;
this isn't healing - it’s a corpse's veil,
A slow and agonizing bloody crime,
where every seam is doomed to fail.
And so I strike the match to catch the flare,
for burning is the only mercy left.
I seek the blinding fever in the glare,
to cleanse the flesh of which I am bereft.
I watch the orange lick along the tear,
singeing the thread and drinking up the red.
Consuming ragged shell and deep despair,
to burn away the stitched-up, living dead.
The flame demands no hope, no time, no grace;
just takes the knotted pulse and jagged bone.
It unmakes every scar without a trace,
and leaves a weightless peace I’ve never known.
The fever cleanses every infected rash,
undoing all the harm the needle wrought.
The heavy pulse dissolves to ash,
yielding the silent stillness I have always sought.
A mother stands with a trembling hand,
Lighting a lamp for her vanished land.
Her eyes reflect the years that gone by,
Of battles fought of children's cry.
Before her, pink petals softly fall,
Each one a name - she knows them well.
The years have passed, but she still sees,
Her child beneath those crimson trees.
No flag, no song can ease her pain,
Yet pride and sorrow can weave the same.
For in her heart, she knows too well,
The story that no words can tell.
Around her now, scorching torches rise,
Their golden smoke ascends the skies.
People scarred, yet unbroken still,
Their memory stronger than a brick wall.
And as the glistening moon starts to gleam,
She whispers softly like a soothing dream.
"MY child, your path paved in flame,
But freedom bears your sacred name."
On November 27, the singeing candles glow,
A silent vow the hearts we all know.
The fallen rest, Yet never fade,
For their courage, nations are made.
Lost in Applause
I let the book fall from my hands,
relishing the tumbling words
…I fell
I let the air fall….. so I could breathe
below the surface
I retrieved the pages I read on
the way down, calling out the turning
chapters as baby elephants ran through
my coffee shop, unable to prevent
the poster announcing the circus in town
starring their tortured parents
suddenly the poster burst into flames,
burning all the lies hidden between the
lines, singeing the white-face-clown,
the self-proclaimed “ruler of the wild”
for centuries, speeches carved in ivory
beneath monuments to truth,
lay buried in silence,
and no one to talk to
...no one
to talk to
08/03/10
6:26pm
If I reach too high in the
drifting, dusky sky,
I'd cry a river...raindrops collide
rapidly from bitter clouds and
miserable, blue sky
If I reach too high in the
drifting, dusky sky,
I'd call and He'll answer my
supplications in no time...
My heart is entangled with lies
and distress
I'm still waiting...x2 for God's
answer...and I keep doubting...
That I'll never be made
complete
In His image...
But ill in my carnal-minded
nature
If I reach too high in the
drifting, dusky sky,
I'd give in to pilgrimage...and
sheer wreckage
I'm forever...Waiting...
Forever... Wailing...
Forever...sailing...
In the wild, endless, triumphant sea...
whirling and spinning
And I'm drowning and my opposing team is winning
With escalating, exquisite ecstasy...
Forever brewing powerful waves
Of odd, gracious obscurity...
Forever... Weeping...
Forever... Singing...
FOREVER... SINGEING
BURNING
Dreading for my future
Dreading my end...everything's a
B L U R R RR RRR RRRR
Forever... Peeling...
Forever... reaping...
Forever... Failing...
Forever... Dreaming...
Forever ... debating...
Forever
F a d i n g . . .
And He takes
FOREVER
Fixing...
My heart
my heart
Rips apart...
My heart
Is riding on
The death cart...
Take heart!
Take heart!
Fear thee not, dear beloved
You'll never be forgotten or
dead
In my memory...
My heart
has shattered into
valueless
shards
And I'm shipped away
To a new world...
Like a pilgrim...
Arriving in America...but I
wasn't like him
But I still have brought on a
whim
To be like him...
But my lights
Are starting to
slowly, but surely...
Dim. . .
The ship rocks
In the middle of the sea
And I lose balance...that sucks
Now that would look funny
If someone flashed a photo of it
Take a picture of me tripping
It would last longer
Or forever!
As Ring of Fire departs day's fray
Daylight lingers in bridled rays
Eclipsed rays through filtered haze
Filter through cloud's liquid maze
A cloudy fondue with sparks doth blaze
Blazing chemicals tinged with fluorescent glaze
A tinge of yellow into glowing orange, deeper red doth
braise
Singeing the horizon with colorful light displays
Singed elements melt descending from vaunted dais
Leaving a melted merengue of tan welts and lactic grays
Gray columns swirl into tidal wave submerging all gilded
pathways
Silver waves fold into miry abyss leaving charcoal malaise
Stephen Parker
contest: Wreath on the Flavor of Dusk
Date of poem: August 9, 2012
'Starfish!' said I, 'thing of a moray eel.'
Be it black ocean space;
Or in the breathing coral seas;
Back into my memories squiding;
To warn me about the sea turtle;
The cetacean coral reef crabbing;
Sharks and piranhas kidnapping;
I heard a tentacled, seagoing inking;
I wrote a story with the octopus pen;
I was a harbour porpoise and you a tuna sandwich;
The brokered bottlenose whale blossoming;
The sphinx moth singeing;
Only this and a sturgeon;
In there stepped a shovel nose 'whale shark';
In there stepped a 'lake trout.';
Dolphins lookout;
To warn me about the bluefin;
The foul flatfish forging;
All my soul within me gorging;
In there stepped a coral sea cucumber;
I have dreamed of the spadefish;
An echo murmured back the word, 'channel catfish!';
The brook trout smiled;
I felt compelled to sniff the squid;
Smells like fish;
It was squish;
Take thy bluegill from out my heart;
Embrace the wish;
Starfish
6/20/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©