Long Sister Poems
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It's been forty years that had passed.
That cool crisp crunch of golden fall,
leaves had turned loose of their hold and spiraled down
leaving no coat to be seen on the bare limbs.
The endless breadth of blue sky had been clearer.
The red crown woodpecker that perched
on the bark of a birch tree was much louder then,
the robins sang with a heart of passion.
Once in a while, you'd see a deer
walk up on the front yard with confidence,
and fed on clover amid the green spears of grass.
It surely wasn't a happy time.
They say things happen in threes.
This fall had its lasting imprint.
A friend had lost control of his steering wheel
while he drove home from work.
The car went into a spin and threw him out.
He left behind two children.
My aunt and uncle were on their way home
when a teenage boy had been eluding the police
T-bone them in their Volkswagen beetle.
They died in the impact.
Two weeks later at twenty-one my little sister
without warning was gone of a cerebral hemorrhage.
Kissed by the passing breeze of awakening.
I had just heard a song,
"Wake Me Up When September Ends,"
Come one swallow then its mate, then they all followed.
They gathered in sorrow with a great deal of chatter.
Was it a holiday, with food, drink, and alcohol
They call it, A Day of Celebration of Life.
I just wanted to go back to bed and hide from all the chatter.
Now those days have faded,
But still others have come to take their place.
8/2/2023
written few years ago
preceding breakup of first born offspring
and her Puerto Rican born beau,
when existence of averred progeny did flow
smooth and minimally disrupted
she exhibited countenance with radiant glow.
recalling family feast of yore
before
COVID-19 wreaked havoc and tore
fabric of civilization
global impact great as third world war.
this own lee brother of yours
dashed analogously graced
on par how a marathon runner raced
to Macbook Pro laptop computer post haste
soon as he got back
to his domicile nestled and encased
in the bucolic, democratic,
and fantastic spit (tune) of land marginally defaced
woodland partially hydrogenated oils baste
surrounding Highland Manor Apartment our aced
in the hole, whence he i.e. mice elf
(Matty Mouse) with threads of gratitude laced
within a feeble attempt
to burble, cobble, fiddle, easy as gravy,
an inscrutable letter placed
in the output queue
soon as all
the typo O graphical errors erased
and, though struggle to convey love
for such an endearing older sister,
which digitally squawking,
aye did not cut and paste
boot doth admit to allowing,
a saucy bit of small potatoes sayest
in ma trademark (truemark)
stuffing of fluffernutter (that taste)
G---R---R---E---E---A---A---T
(courtesy of flaky Tony the corny tiger),
which gibberish aims to waste
Missing children, the mentally ill, and the homeless persons on the street
When we are returning back to our own homes sewn up just so very neat
They were once us their lives fulfilled where by force something hits them
The righteous are not righteous when many turnabout face and condemn
What if it was your child, I hear so many ask, but even family on you reject
The government have institutions; and it is not us, that does really neglect
We give our lives to the system, but of the forgotten, enough is never said
As long as we are fed, as long as we are warm as we retire to our own bed
Sleeping soundly never give thanks and praises for what we have received
The thought of sleeping homeless, thoughts we could not hope to conceive
Yet are they not the ones who suffer, just so we can live our gracious lives
Was that a tear I saw when on the TV you heard of another child that dies
As the most you do is put a few pennies in a charity box your sins repelled
Go about your business knowing your God righteousness has been upheld
Well; you just might be in for a shocker when you get to the heavens gates
There’s no space for those who thought life was handed to them on a plate
Where down the stairs of hell you go till it’s you who are out on the street
Then you understand the look in their eyes, when on the streets you meet
It’s a look, I have been here before, and now it my turn to repent, help me
Because by helping you are in fact setting yourselves free from the misery
God helps those who got off their butt, as gave their time and put effort in
Not those who thought they are righteous, throwing a few cents into a bin
I don’t wear designer clothes, nor wear gold to act as merits of my own life
When those clothes or gold could give a person some food or a bed tonight
So many people who claim righteousness when eating really too much food
I hope all those righteous ones rush out now and feed some homeless dude
He or she may well have been one of your brothers, a sister in a former life
Please show compassion in your heart, and go lessen someone else’s strife
"Is this the gate of Heaven?" asked Mary.
"Silly," said Ann. "It's only the gate of the park."
As they walked down a glade, Mary asked,
"Who lives in those trees over there?
Look, they're waving at us."
"It's nobody," said Ann. "Just the shades
dancing over the grass under the trees.”
"Let's climb that mound," said Mary.
"Yes, let's," said Ann.
"Does this hill lead to the sky?" asked Mary.
"Of course it doesn't," snapped Ann.
"If you were big like me, you'd see.
the thorns and thistles with purple flowers
on the brow of the hill, you would."
"Are hilly brows like eyebrows?" asked Mary.
"Sort of, only different," said Ann,
looking very deliberate, like Mum sometimes.
Mary ran ahead. "Look," she cried.
"You can see a piece of the sky
where there's a hole in the ground."
"Silly," said Ann, "That's the refegshun of the sky
in the lake. Let's go down to the swans.
Once at the lake-side they saw a swans
swimming towards them.
"Is it an angel," asked Mary.
Her elder sister was speechless
for a moment. "It's just lovely," said Ann,
who had dropped her omniscient guard.
Here I am, reminiscing every junction
when poetry and literature peeled my very education
and verbiage and grammatical function
revealed my sense of moody stagnant indications.
Sister Laura questioned every thought that stirred
changing lines and defining the correct poetic form
each cut left a mark from her razor sharpened sword
and in the years that slipped from my teenaged storms
I found clarity out of desperation in the written word.
Stubbornness agonized at any change she made
and every poem I write today reveals
her hidden corrections engraved on every page
that formed my poems, thoughts, ideals to be unsealed.
for Chantelle Anne Cooke's Favorite Teacher contest
He admitted he was sorry and that he had transgressed
The look of guilt upon his face just couldn’t be suppressed
The evidence was undisputed - there for all to see
And I was really quite annoyed when he confessed to me
I’d made the cake for his sister whose birthday would be soon
But he couldn’t wait for the party to be held that afternoon
The sight of cream and strawberries was more than he could bear
And so he scoffed the bloomin’ lot, so greedy and unfair!
I looked at him quite sternly; what was I going to say
To make him fully realise the error of his ways?
With folded arms and furrowed brow I took a threatening stance
In order to rebuke him for this most serious offence
‘So, what are we to do with you? You’ve eaten all the cake
Your sister won’t be happy and I’m sure that she will make
A fuss and carry on, oh, what am I to do?
I’ll never hear the end of this and it’s all thanks to you’
With trembling lip and teary eye he looked up at me and said
‘But, mom, it looked so yummy; please don’t send me to bed’
And then I realised how much I love my son, my pride and joy
Oh, how could I be mad at him, my darling little boy!
"Fragments and crumbs of life,
all the little pieces"
John Ruskin 1853
Having lived with our Mom in Sydney for six months
Federal Police returned us to live with our father
He had begun working as the art teacher
at a small Christian school in Tasmania
He and other staff members lived at the school.
I was 8, my sister 6. Geneva was experimental then.
Elementary students were taught together in one hall.
Desks divided from next, talk was completely disallowed.
An American curriculum called ACE was adhered to.
As the art teacher's daughter, naturally I washed all the brushes.
Three utterances compiled in class per day earned detention.
Despite it being 1991, rulers whapped knuckles on occasion.
Cherished butterfly catching buddy, best friend, Penny
Fed apples from ample pile to fence wire necked horses
Dawn saluting dairy sold milk for locals, chapel on site
Peers lived a wall away, an idyllic community lifestyle
Generally, three afternoons per week, my father took
My sister on playground, shopping outings.
I stayed home. Instructed not to go outside.
Staff's children grassy antics gazed at through glass.
I ate vitamin c tablets by the dozen, and scrapings of butter.
A staff member bought all our groceries from a limited list.
I sang for company. There was no radio or TV.
My Dad and sister returned at nightfall. Chewing on sweets.
Alone in the house, I imaged it was a cruising ocean vessel
I sailed down the dim driveway, swamped by giant pines
I took apples, a cow, a Bible, pencils for sketching horses
Sailing on jaunty sun hugged foliage, I was captain
'Geneva Has Evolved'
Constance La France
All The Little Pieces Contest
25th August 2020
I do not fear the Jesus of my childhood
I loved sitting in Sunday School reveling in his songs.
“Jesus Loves Me Yes I Know
For the Bible tells me so.”
My sister and I both tried to out sing the church.
Sometimes they won.
Sometimes we did.
We loved the hymns we knew!
Fear Jesus? No way. He is in my heart.
A big part of my soul, always on standby.
I can call on Him, knowing He will be there.
He has saved me in two car wrecks, hasn’t he?
Two car wrecks where I expected to die.
Actually put out my arms and said
“Bring me home, God. I have had the best life.
I love you!” I was disappointed to still be here both times.
Revere God, certainly.
Be in awe of Him, respect him, and seek his guidance….
Always. But fear him? Are you out of your soul?
He is as much as me as my cells, my heart, my mind.
“Yes, Jesus Loves me.
Yes Jesus Loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me so!”
"I can't embrace you cuz demon sister Covid can't have us together
Can't praise the God can't praise God nor sing in the choir cuz Covid can't have us together
I can't even go to a loved one's funeral because Covid can't have us together
because if I sneeze on you if I breathe on you if I send it to you if I come within 6 ft perimeter of you?
Don't breathe the air of God Did says Lucifer Satan
Lucifer quietly whispers kiss her you may contract my sister Covid
She will leave you aching cold frozen stiff and solid
God has given us breath and God's breath is life Satan's gift Lucifer's job is to make us decisive give us choice this is tempting us maybe we make the wrong ones
Sniff sniff ahh choo share your germs and saliva
Covid say I'll come to you
Ah! Choo
I just wanna kiss you
Come as I shall take your breath away
Covid is a demon sister of Lucifer to take away the breath and God has given us after the breath is gone from us our body is dead
Just like Lucifer, she called Covid is beautiful
Beware of Covid she's a beautiful demon who will take your breath away"
10/6/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
She vowed to be with him for the rest of her life.
He beat her constantly and she was a battered wife.
He beat his wife over and over again.
He didn't care that it was a terrible sin.
But one day he killed her when he hit her too hard.
He broke her neck and he buried her in his backyard.
Ten years passed and he thought he'd gotten away with his crime.
But some people found her body and now he is doing hard time.
When he left on a trip, his sister was going to surprise him with a swimming pool.
When the diggers dug up the body, his sister learned that he's both evil and cruel.
He tried to keep the truth hidden but he was bound to fail.
She was a battered wife and her husband is rotting in jail.
(This poem is fictional but many women are victims of domestic violence)