Long Succulents Poems
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I take a garbage bag out to the deck
to gather the plants that have died.
I definitely don't have a green thumb
but at least you know I tried .
End of Summer and the heat has left
dead twigs where flowers once shone.
A few hardy succulents still flourish
but everything else is now gone.
I apologize to each plant as it goes
into the garbage bag at my side.
Preparing the deck for the bareness of Fall
now that Summer's blossoms have died.
Clearing the deck at the end of the Summer
is the " letting go" of the season.
I can say it's because I'm cleaning for Fall
but we know my neglect is the reason.
How many head do you have?
He turns his weathered face toward me. You buy’n?
His hazel eyes are dancing; I am no cowboy.
I'm in the throes of boot stomping country.
Saturday nights are for dancing
And you better be sleeping in church on Sunday.
I take a big whiff of healthy country air.
We're standing next to a pasture full of bluebells.
There are clumps of succulents on either side of this old barn.
She needs paint everywhere except for her brand-new window.
Two antique milk jugs are down here, with yellow and purple petunias.
The missus, he explains noticing my noticing.
A black crow lights on a fence post about twenty feet away.
The most annoying croaking caw sound.
He is not happy you’re here, the old timer tells me. I grin.
There is one lone renegade sunflower to the left of the shed.
I wonder about that, but do not ask.
Want to see the horses or the cows? He asks.
I want to see both, I say.
We’ll start with the horses then.
The cows are mucking around in the mud; you’ll have to put on waders.
I try to look pleased.
In pursuit of imperfect perfection,
she slowly turned every lucky star blind,
drowning in constant chores from obsession,
unable to appease her stormy mind.
Promises ascend against perception,
nothing halts fixed rituals from spinning,
as turmoils of time twirl through aggression,
she sees the devilish mantra winning.
What is left when breathing becomes a pain?
whilst malignant fears urge for reliance,
spiky succulents perish faith in vain
frantically panicking in silence.
day bleeds into repetitive debate—
Emotive wildfires stir despair and hate.
emotive wildfires
appease her stormy mind blind
stir despair and hate
breathing becomes a pain~in the pursuit of imperfect perfection
I can't remember the last time
I kissed her close the eyes looking
I can reminisce last caress
Embracing caressing waste hips
And so am I involved love sick
In love so old cherish sweetness
As it be succulents flower
Sweet taste of her love ever so
Delicious hardened sweetened soul
Spirit flows captive dawning site
I now kiss her feet were walking
Now this closeness ever so sweet
Remember those times in the stars
Those times in the day sun risen
Open my love your eyes now smiles
Remember my love is all yours
I can't remember my love though
9/29/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Whitestone Hoodoos
Near where I live,
just up the hill above the airport,
is a place of mystery and wonder,
a place wizards might once have dwelled,
or young warriors wandered in search of vision.
It’s a thicket of chalky hoodoos, sitting now
like a forest of plump petrified dwarfs made of meringue
sculpted by uncountable drops of rain
and whatever it is you might call a single unit of wind.
It’s enchanting for sure,
but largely ignored by the sensible folk.
It’s a place of unclimbable slippery slabs and
crumbly sliding slopes, of snakes with rattles
and succulents with thorns.
I’m sure to some eyes it’s just a barren hill,
and to others an inspiring view that’s always just out the window,
to some a marvelous result of random tectonic drifts
and to a few at least, a glimpse into the past
when wizards and warriors met
under the shadow of watchful dwarves
and ate the bitter root.
(from my third book, SUN MADE FLESH AND FIBER, 2019)
Oh DEER, You again….
At the crack of dawn
Outside my bedroom window
Unexpected noise? Chewy, crunchy, crumbly
……I’m trying to sleep
Oh dear! deer is staring at me
fearlessly
Uninvited guest crackling my succulent plants
for breakfast
Astonishing red, orange and pink sky at sunset
Oh dear, You again……
And you even brought a friend!
Sipping heavenly rainwater in Bromeliad’s central reservoir
Oh dear, dinner menu upgraded to
cabbage-like
Mauna Loa succulents
large flat leaves frilled at burgundy
edges. But pink showy flowers
wavy, ruffled, bumpy
thick foliage leaves
- absolutely your favorite
Dark in late evening
Two yellow dots shinning in mystic hill
Oh dear, You again……
Charles Green was eight years old, and his father was a great teacher.
Yet, Charlie preferred playing to school; because he was a daydreamer.
The Greens lived in the town of Ivoria, where dahlias nodded greeting;
And Charlie frolicked with Sam and Scarlett, until sun came, bleeding.
Samuel and Scarlett were his siblings. Both got good grades in school;
Like gardens dyed in burgundy, red, orange, and gold, lovely as jewels.
Fantastic, flaming nights were not far, and gusts fitfully tossed flowers;
As good friends flattered the family with visits, like silver glazed hours.
Funny family rode for miles, to laugh jokes, or olden days, out of focus,
When fruitful summer was finally full-grown, and jade frogs visited lotus.
Charlie lived in the house of enlightenment, like a saffron sun, forever;
Where lilac breezes brought on awareness, in emerald days of whatever.
Soaring ravens owned the satin nights, when navy twilight was missed,
On Charlie's street of songbird serenade, and big moon, still sun kissed.
Formality was never necessary with neighbors, when they came calling;
In a pretty nation of nearsighted novelty, where aged time was crawling.
The touch of jazzy 'jade vines,' adored June, and monkey tail cacti leapt;
As 'jungle velvet dottie' posed pretty, and 'little baby dwarf kowha' wept.
'Alien egg succulents' waited an eternity, only for pleasure of being born;
And 'blue shrimp' plants swam sadly, like snows, as weather turns warm.
On his way to school, Charlie began to dawdle. Frogs were so much fun!
Like honey sunshine on the first rose, back when scents were first begun.
Charlie's lateness was fun for a time, as neither of his parents knew of it;
Then his teacher made him realize, that with learning, the sky's the limit!
She finished her talk with the following words, that haunted him forever;
And made him a better pupil and person, like all honest, fruitful endeavor:
'A diller, a dollar,
A ten o'clock scholar,
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o'clock,
And now you come at noon.'
My garden is an art of splendour,
I behold her with all my gaiety,
A garden of flowers and hope blossoming alike,
With all its beauty.
The buds splutter,
The mystic mystery unfolds with its glory,
Giving way to the symphony,
A harmony of colours and sounds so deep.
The soft petals dances to the melodious hues,
Spellbinding the onlookers,
A riot of colours it is!
Pink, purple, red, yellow, green, orange, scarlet and many more.
The butterflies waver through the unending haze,
The bees buzz adding to the tunes of melody,
The chirping birds twitter incessantly,
It's a confluence of colours and melodies so sweet,
The master conductor is the wind,
It directs every soul in the garden,
To break into the euphoria.
The wind chimes tingle with delight,
As if to thank me for their site,
Along the trails I hung them so dearly from the lamp post and trees.
Amidst all the extravaganza,
A happy me!
Hopping and tapping on the stepping stones,
Twisting and turning through the garden coves,
Here and there a nest erupts
among the shrubs and trees,
To signal a new dawn.
What more can I wish for?
As I wander and ponder
Through the poppies, pansies, poinsettia and phloxes,
Salvias, sweet william, succulents and shrubs,
The over powering Gulmohar and magnolia,
Atop the jasmines and the bougainvilleas.
They are all there in my garden,
There is colour, there is sound, there is life, there is hope,
My piece of haven I call it,
A colourful heaven in all its right,
And a peaceful eternity in all its might.
July 29th, 2020
2nd position
Contest: Petal, Buds, Blossoms, Bees, Birds, Butterflies poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
A lovely walk, a promenade leads the way
Burnt orange succulents stand like bushes serene
Crushed tepid deep, whitewash stirs up behind the scenes
Delightful blends of blue sky in-between
Entwined the seaweed branching out for a reach
Finely tuned trumpet sounds of swoosh on the beach
Glassy prisms beam through dark shades
Horizon blended ocean, sky, behind palisades
Intruders running 'round, sand in face
Jelly fish glow and charm with grace
Krutsinger Island, the sign reads
Lover’s bed and breakfast needs
Men and woman frolicking in the water
Naked babies cry out with laughter
Oceanic mammals creep by
Palm trees, flowing, occupy
Quietly recedes then tosses its sea
Rentals, beachcombers welcome
Surfers ride their boards for fun
Tingling with a cooling breeze
Umbrella of waves, high tides come and go
Verdant colors make for radiant seascape
Whales bellowing blow show
Xanadu paradise plan your escape
Yachting, sailing, tagging and more
Zanzibar coastal getaway tours
Shadows of succulents surpass my seeing self
I lie on my back, admiring the seductive symmetry
How does nature manage to secrete similar signs
Is there a mystical, magical, movement in her roots?
I am at a loss to know; feeling like a voyeur,
peeking up into the sun-list sky, secretly wondering.
How does mother nature keep everything in sync?
She has a spiritual dance that sings soul into her succulents.
I am quietly contemplating this, sequestering myself in her shadows.
Spying a scene, I could not imagine from any other perspective.
I am silent, enjoying the shadows, and the symmetry.