Long Tarnishing Poems
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You are the echo at the bottom of my Spotify playlist,
The song I forgot to delete but skip immediately,
Because it hurts too much to listen to.
You are the echo of a story not told by me,
Twisting each time it is retold,
Less true each time, less you.
You exist as an echo in my fading memories,
Vanishing, tarnishing, and shifting the more I try to hold onto them.
You are the echo of pain I feel in my gut when I hear “Eleanor Rigby”
You are a story I tell at parties.
You will always be my first everything.
You were everything.
I don’t know who I am without you,
I don’t know who you are.
I have no business feeling this pain,
But I have nothing to hold onto anymore.
Grabbing at smoke, clinging to your echo.
You are the echo on your best friend’s Instagram page,
Because I can’t look at yours and I need to still see you.
You are what I hold onto late at night when I can’t fall asleep.
You are the echo of summer days, and parking lots, and hidden corners.
You are nothing but the shadow I cling to because I can’t leave the past behind.
You are gone.
You are nothing but an echo.
A family member often criticized me
Initially I felt I was bad and cried
I lost my confidence, contemplated suicide
Then, I realized criticizing others was her habit
I never spoke badly to others
I was way better than her
One day when she shouted at me I answered back
You have no right to talk to me like that
Every time you speak badly you are tarnishing your own image
You also have imperfections, I too can point out
But you will not be able to take it
Think before you talk
She stopped for some days only to start again
Then I adopted another strategy I ignored her
She would say I am talking to you
I would still keep quite
She would stop
At other times I would just go out of the house
She would ask where are you going
I would reply I don't like listening to my criticism.
Will come back when you stop
I would tell my husband about her bad behaviour and her talks
Later I realized I was doing what she is doing
There is no difference between us
I stopped that too
Now she doesn't stay with us
There's peace at home
If someone criticizes you, remember that person is not God
You are created by God
Everything created by God is perfect
Those who are critical are negative people who cannot see positive trait's in others
They are not your well-wishers and what they say is best ignored
Never bother about others opinion
Never criticize them or defend yourself
Don't do what they are doing
Don't stoop low like them.
Follow your conscience
Be good, do good always
Be confident and positive
Our haters deserve our sympathy more than our reaction
Such people are miserable from inside
Their hate killing them every moment
10.07.2021
Ironed Shadows
by Odin Roark
Her hands lay smooth
the coveralls worn thin
now wrinkled
once charged with earth
Mended armor from
courageous prices paid
embossed with crosshatched mending
stands raised in triumph
A home plate remembered
by innocence long abandoned
players made humble from
a boy's first slide for life
Vapors rise
from sprinkled droplets of water
beneath handled hot steel
making ready once more
the crusted wafer-thin reason
for kneeling to a non-questioned answers
Facing coerced submission to other games
a purple-robed relentless hand
feeds rewards from gilded plate
accompanied by whispering silver tongue
Such are the scoring points of yet another kind
Youth's pure white
once starched crisp
ever ready for combat
now labors thread bare
atop shoulders and arms
riding the reach for caramel-lathered memories
chased down with silver chaliced promises from still wider mouths
Where goes the love-smooth ironing hand now?
Costumes of rumpled thread
made anew by hot-pressed caresses
now like the ether of memory
drift up past the seeing eyes into untethered emptiness
Tread carefully
lest you become wrinkle-free expediency
sliding voraciously into digital home plates
forever kneeling faithfully before promised obsolescent rewards
delivered smilingly from reflective platters
tarnishing quickly
Where moonlight fears fall
a whisper of graveyard rust
in breeze’s thin cold as rain.
A pearl of frozen light
still pond beyond the edge
shadows in the night bleed dark light
Raven's pluck razor wire.
Quills scratch glass, cracks
a story of months
a tarnishing of years
silk, waves in cold winds
lost, souls hollow of angels' eyes.
The willow's long branches
stagnant mire, sighs, & funeral pyre
the rose drift, stains of twilight.
Teeth cut flesh
pale, blue, the orbit of sky
hourglass, shattering
echoes of mortal man.
The clockwork turns
gears grind & burn
a secret slumber dark seep
twisted trees, eyes watch.
Portals to the finite horizons
steeple’s haunt distant sands
skeletons dance in the moonlight.
Raven's pluck razor wire.
quills scratch glass, crack
teeth, cut flesh.
Where moonlight falls
of graveyard dust
cold as winter’s rain.
Abort me not
What's the thought was I was brought
Electrified turbulent sequences
Triggers action imaginative
Visionary dreams of scheme
Abort me not
A way of things I am bothered electrified a promise
Attilating spark a due process
Created by spiritual goodness or enraged by sin
I am co-created by God man and woman
Alas a human-baby
A manly seed penetrates an egg influence
Created today spiritual first then encased in a physical realm
An egg rolling inside my mother's womb
Not realizing that through sin I
I will be processed placed in the tomb in a metal or wooden box
Abort me not
To ride away my former frame my body sways
My bones shall disintegrate My flesh shall rot
I will be gone back to dirt to dust where I came
Lo! before that in the process comes alive
I am a seed an egg in my mother's pride
In her womb, my first room
I will grow mankind dictates whether I'm alive
Whether I'm a boy or a girl yet alive
God made me an embryo
Abort me not
A human being the spirit before I was flesh and now
I am a witness I crave life that I may have my chance
As my ancestors dance
For if you abort me you sin against God
Be not a defeatist
Do not destroy this fetus
You cut down His tree for I shall stand I shall grow
I shall inflame I will impale I will restrict you from tarnishing my name
I will grow out
I will not fear doubt
Abort me not
I was to surface not sink
I will swim I will drown
I will climb not fall
I will succeed and not fail
Nor will any one buy nor shall bought me
As I am for sale no I am not because I am more than just an embryo
For every Angels plan by choice in the physical realm
Is to be either walking on land to later die through sin
To be forgiven and Resurrection in heaven or to continue,
in sin unforgiven and to live eternity in hell
Abort me not
8/21/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
dwelling in the state of consciousness is a gift and a curse
oblivion is no longer near me
fear that it could only get worse
wanting to escape every possible way
this reality this dimension trapped me
tarnishing my soul all I feel is rage
when love is the only answer
I can't see only feel
fighting old versions of myself
I can't move I cant deal
deep inside I cry and want to take flight
but deep down I know I can't keep running from my potential and light
over analyzing every action and move
you must be crazy if you think I don't know who sent you...
trials and tribulations stuck in this infinite loop
breaking myself down just to rebuild myself over again
to break out of this cycle and dimension is the win my soul craves within
Distance separates our closeness.
Disconnectedness, disparity,
niggling annoyances creep
stealthily into the unity that was.
Drip, drip, drip of destruction.
Tarnishing tenaciously......
tick tick tock the calamitous clock
concocting poisonous concoction.
Angry words thrown like venomous arrows
piercing a once beguiled heart.
Plans of permanence placed in temporary
abeyance ........romance gone.
You captivated and entranced me.
You wooed and lured me into false security.
You rocked and stroked my eager enthusiasm,
then cast it mercilessly aside.
Drip, drip, drip of destruction
tarnishing tenaciously -
pools of passion dispersed in disparity.
Save water. Save us. Turn off the tap.
I found this little book
inside my heart, much
to my surprise – in a place
secure, for faithful, searching
eyes...apparently having long
been there – a safe-space of refuge,
free from sighs – an inner garden:
no perennial blooms, that perk and
rest, as sunlight and moons lift our
spirits like April Blooms, till
the winter's chills, though a
tolerable season of icy glooms –
some, of our specie
more inclined to adjust and
make best – put on skis, and
flip with fond zest...not willing
to succumb to our earth's seeming
recurring duress –
A place one finds nurture
and spiritual delight – free from
daily cares replete with despairs;
where the book came from –
God alone knows, and perhaps
none of my affairs; yet, filling me
with a sense, it was mine
to someday find – and then,
read to others, a blessed mission
to truthfully boast and share; I opened
it up...and low and behold,
sealed on the first page, was a
heart of gleaming gold. Solid gold,
seeming shiny and new.
Of course, I already knew, that
gold never tarnishes, just
the metals with which it is
mixed – and who would have
thought, on a book's first page
one would find, such a precious
thing affixed – a book of hope –
a book for all life? I pondered
thus refining even more – how
tarnishing mixtures gold needed
if to strengthen into shapes,
precious forms that endure – I thought of
my world, and my metals of strife –
thought of all my blemishes...those
I've spent seeming an eternity
from myself and others trying to hide...
and thought, maybe, I should have, all along,
not cursed them but blessed them – perhaps,
treasuring my obvious imperfections, as well
as my golden side.
The sorrow I feel for the way things ended remains deep and real.
I would not have chosen the path we took or its final destination;
but, to know you for just a moment was worth the pain.
The pain that after so very long yet aches inside of me.
Though your image has begun to fade from my mind,
the color of your bright green eyes growing dimmer as time passes,
the luster of your smile tarnishing behind your soft lips,
my heart still feels the warmth of you in each anguished memory.
I can't but think of the gentle caress of your finger tips
as you held me tightly in your nestled embrace;
how, you seemed to never want to let me go;
how, I never wanted to let you go.
To die in your arms would have been a simpler fate, but you chose a long,
lingering death for me. Each day, each hour, each moment I think of you
the clouds gather and the darkness draws ever closer,
but through the storm a ray of light shines like the love that exudes
from your beautiful heart, and I smile as your laughter fills me.
I would give a life time just to hear that laughter once again.
Today, a special day for you, leaves me wondering,
dazed and confused, as to why you remain strong in my thoughts.
You pushed me away so long ago,
never to see your beauty again, never to hear your melodic voice.
Perhaps, one day, you will find somewhere deep inside of you,
the strength to explain why, and truly set me free.
Until then you will always haunt me.
Twenty eight times have you passed through the seasons of life,
and in each one your wonder has grown, as have you,
the beauty of the flowers of Spring and the blossoming of love,
the warm rays of the Summer sun,
the melancholy wonder of the falling leaves in Autumn,
the desolation and loneliness of cold Winter nights
and the sorrow and grief caused by those who have hurt you.
You shared these things with me.
I tried to be your Spring
but unknowingly led you into Winter,
a sorrow in me for which I will be eternally damned.
You are a shadow to me, a vision I see in my dreams,
a manes, always haunting me.
You will always be with me.
I will always be here for you if you but ask.
05-09-17
Autumn shears my weary garden
Yet industrious summer doth pardon
Summer's residual, dusts with frothy mist
My annual saplings fruitful labors desist
Late season gratuities doth slight
Yet graciously freezes rancid blight
My well-manicured plot
Frozen mounds do clot
Branching tendrils secede
Anon, bracketing weeds recede
Each ballasting furrow
Into the ground doth burrow
All the burgeoning blooms
With callous frost entombs
Leaves that did with fertile juices flow
Now lie on shriveled vines sallow
The green, neon afterglow
With a tarnishing brown doth bestow
My ripening fruit once pungent and mellow
With a rotting stench doth bellow