Long Skittering Poems
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Moon concealed by shadow of Grim Reaper
Under guise of the gloomy clouds of storm –
Reason enough to stay at home and not
Dread the deadly, wary walk at midnight.
Eerie noises from the rumbling thunder,
Rats scuttling and skittering to find shelter.
Intense and impassioned fear crept in as she
Neared the steps leading to the tunnel.
The tunnel! She disregarded, or had forgotten,
How dark and dangerous to walk alone,
Envisaging the glint of that murderous knife.
The tunnel! She knew she shouldn’t go
Until daylight and remembered her final trip.
Nearer and nearer she silently crept
Not heeding her internal warnings to flee.
Evermore replaying, she will wander at midnight
Leaving ruby blood tears among crystal raindrops.
about
thought
very huge
very huge
very huge
thought
about
guess
thought
ever so streamline
noble, good, caring
esoteric, sound, vast
esoteric, noble, vast
esoteric, big, violet
esoteric, noble, royal
esoteric, good, august
esoteric, royal, sorry
esoteric, noble, humane
yoga rather grand yoga
could rather grand yoga
though rather grand guess
though extremely deep deep!
though extremely deep guess
a young decidedly strong could
quite grand decidedly strong deep! the
streamline force cutting, joyfully quite grand
ever so streamline strong point skittering, joyfully
yoga ever so streamline specialize hopping, joyfully
its streamline forte skittering, joyfully
its streamline force hopping, joyfully
esoteric, noble, sorry, tenacious
esoteric, noble, perennial
6/20/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
I've been experimenting with Poetry Soup's "Shape Poem Generator." This is my first attempt
Someone
left a blue teacup on the porch rail— silver around
the rim, a little chipped on one side like it’s lived
a life. The night leans over it, not gracefully, more
like a tired guest trying to pour stars without
spilling too many. A few miss the cup entirely,
skittering across the wood like bright
crumbs. The moon watches, not
offering advice, just hanging there with
its usual half-smile. By the time the cup
is full, the sky looks lighter— as if
giving away a handful of its
brightness wasn’t such a big deal. You
could lift the cup, if you wanted, and sip
whatever the night tastes like today.
Probably something quiet. Probably
something true.
shuttering fright housed inside
in one poof annihilating prejudice
(white privilege included) and pride
reducing to ashes trumpeting
self importance, where snide
persona grata becomes irrelevant
as does living social
or vacationing in Telluride.
Interestingly enough,
I do not entertain notions
inflicting self harm nor suicide,
but expect longevity (to ride
one after another orbitz around the sun)
minimum total (represented courtesy
value units and tens place)
equaling the largest double digit
in plain Olde English aged
to perfection groom and bride
attains at least ninety nine years.
Despite skittering within hair's breadth or blink
looming over the edge no time to think,
cuz no matter being knight in shining armor
I can scrunch and squint thru visored chink,
and espy and the title
of a storied book by Tom Wolfe I think
Old Rotten Gotham sliding into behavioral sink,
amidst so much flotsam and jetsam
while singing Skidamarink
surrender unavoidable fate
cuz destiny dis rapper doth not shrink
and recognizes that whatever does not kill
will only make me stronger
(money back guarantee)
I attain a spry five score birthdays
and while away hours
playing solitary game of tiddlywink.
Beware friends
bearing strange fruits
the shadow cloaked in whispers
promises of delights
bloody sights
A Crescent glows nigh
ravens black
Hue of night
only craves Dantes flames
ravens black
in the razor light
Blind, I scream
with delight spires
gleam on the horizons
Murders of crows
gather on seams of midnight
A cry of thrills,
reach deep into the night
Full of fright
Beware friends
bearing stange fruit
Black, crimson, jade, frays, tangled and bleeds
Rot, clots and skittering things
Crows cry,
crazy laughs in oblique
and obsolete oblong
halls if ruined hues,
gleam bright on
horizons razor edge
Bloody black suns
Eclipse halos of fire
Blind, I scream into fractured rooms
Towering houses silhouetted, dire.
All my fears my dreams
my infinities bleed
Beware of friends in dark halls
Absent and absolute
Ravens dream
I scream
As shadows seep
Things burn
Into the deep black hued oblivion
I whisper a prayer to nothing..
And stare.
4/21/21
JET
Up and down the tree I go.....pointy toes scattering snow
as I try to reach the top ...... one by one my acorns drop
skittering across dry leaves...that twirl about in the breeze.
No one knows how hard I toil.....Derricks pumping oil.
Do you have a little time to spare...rabbit dear
to carry acorns to my babies... whose cries I hear.
I am in a spin......tail twitching in the wind
eyes darting left and right....can't see much in the night
struggling still.. a fireman's drill
tail in a spin....head to the wind
acorns on the spill....what a mess I'm in
Somebody help me please..before my babies freeze
up there in the trees
Poor little squirrel me .. huff ....puff... wheeze.
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
A torn, tender leaf
In a majestic tree,
I shield myself.
I fear winds!
My glossy green
Has an autumnal layer.
I try to stay still;
But,
Once in a while,
Those dew drops
Skitter over me,
Kiss me,
Glisten me.
And as I am touched,
I flutter,
I dance,
I go glorious!
Then follows fall,
And I, in my throes and ache,
Turn ravishing red,
Charming orange.
Though the tree is bare,
I stay there.
I try to stay still;
But,
Once in a while,
A drift of breeze
Sweeps over me,
Shakes me,
Rakes me.
And as I am touched,
I flutter,
I dance,
I go glorious!
Spring is the season,
The tree is lush again.
I still shield myself;
I fear winds!
I shield
My glossy green,
Ravishing red,
Charming orange,
All under the autumnal layer.
But,
Once in a while,
Someone, somewhere,
Reaches beneath;
Like dew drops,
Or drift of breeze,
Skittering, Sweeping
Over and Over.
And as I am touched,
I flutter,
I dance,
I go glorious!
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.