Long Tattooing Poems
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Terrorism
I want to know
The definition of Terrorism
The Eagle shadow which makes fear to the time
Points his finger at the weak
And says – a terrorist
When they don't get slept with their own evils
They remember- the blamed face
And breaks once
Says - ‘Damn terrorist!’
In a slept city
When the ruler is kissing the lips of the fourth
Or same numbered girlfriend
At that time
There must have been an explosion
Yes, his awakening become terrible
Fire suddenly rises in the lustful eyes
And rumbles –
Who has the opposite face color?
He is the number one terrorist
'Terrorism'
-Became a trade of readymade spectacles
Where is the answer?
Why does Bin Laden awaken so often?
Why is Saddam tattooing 'an America' on his genitals?
I want to understand terrorism
Is it right?
One needs head in the revenge of cut finger
Became a pacifist
And next denied it
Became terrorist
This time
I am not able to know
'The terrorism'
I want to know
The definition of 'Terrorism'
Sacred Gratitude
Rockin and Rollin inside my soul
Beckoning musical notes float within me
My heart surrenders and opens
Expanding
When the world outside dances in tension
Feeling bleak and unforgiving
I am grateful to receive
Simple nuances of pure magic
Breathing into my being
Allowing a journey to the place
Between here and now
Standing in dense forest
I approach one of the gentle giants
Her redwood bark burned and blackened
Fires and history tattooing her skin
Fury red growth emerging
Her new coat of velvet delight
Limey baby branches
Make their way to the air
Thirsty for light
A deep hollow near her base
Where I can walk inside
Blackness..soft spongy bark
Touches my fingertips
A dreamy pause
Almost silent
An internal space
Quiet gratitude as I look up.. up..up
Hundreds of feet to a circle of light
Glimmering above
Sunlight trickles in
Kissing my eyelids
Diamond dust reveals
Her burnt underbelly
I stretch my arms up high above me
Sliding them into the sleeves
Of her gigantic branches
As I become her
Arms...limbs full...stretch.. radiating
Rising up ...my head tall
Viewing nature’s mesmerizing tapestry
Woven yellows and greens
Meadows, springs, water lapping nearby
Echoes of bird calls
A white snowy owl lands on my limb
Quiet gratitude as I see her blink
Her wise old eyes
Rotating her white feathered head
Counterclockwise so she may see
The entire circumference
Of her surroundings
Oh dear owl
Sister of the universe
I hear your silent whispers
Feed my soul with your insight and wisdom
I am grateful for your guidance
As I journey through subtleties
Of acceptance, challenge, and bliss
Arriving at compassion
For life and for others
Tattooing scars gives them flare,
stylish make up is what others see;
Sometimes disguised completely
proper angles let old marks shimmer;
Stylish make up is what others see,
perfection glitters at first glance;
Proper angles let old marks shimmer,
past sour notes glow on canvas;
Perfection glitters at first glance,
there is beauty in your mistakes;
Past sour notes glow on canvas,
thus the beauty of well worn skin;
There is beauty in your mistakes;
Soft lines read like hieroglyphics,
thus the beauty of well worn skin;
The best designs the hardest times;
Soft lines read like hieroglyphics,
sometimes disguised completely;
The best designs the hardest times,
tattooing scars gives them flare .
I have rules for my writing, believe it or not and as a med-student, for instance, I try to avoid a lot of concrete medical lexis.
I’m learning things, medical things, like how our bodies are chock-full of “gooey gopher guts,” and the last thing I want is some poor reader upchucking in their morning joe.
tweakments is a term for those thousands of tiny surgical enhancements that people with a little disposable cash are using to keep age in abeyance or Instagram impress.
Fixing those tweakments, over-done or overdue, has created
something we call the ‘beauty repair’ economy.
Which involves reversing earlier treatments, like un-botoxing,
de-fillering and un-tattooing - the side-effects of old beauty booms.
Let’s wax poetic...
The wrinkled corners, botox injected
the boobies that gravity hath wrecked
the pump which kept the thing erect
they’re not just mending work inept
or longterm add-ons that become defective
they're aesthetic treatments that age like damage.
Trends can gradually become troublesome
needing rehabilitating and reconstruction
reclamation, restoration or body remodeling
these procedures have few deductibles
but they fuel the beauty repair economy.
Correcting or managing the stacking side-effects
of Ozempic (hair and face) or leaky butt implants
cost way more money than you might expect
to fix the Instagram fads that no longer impress
Beauty ‘ideals’ have always been moving targets,
and now they’ve morphed into the beauty repair market.
.
.
songs for this:
Revolution by MonaLisa Twins
Beautiful by Triangle Sun
Dr. Wanna Do by Caro Emerald
.
.
upchuck = experience emesis
tweakments = small surgical beauty treatments that tend to spiral out of control.
Their spirits sift through the ages
Soaring swiftly in song
Kings queens prophets poets
Martyr and messiah
Tattooing tongues teaching teal truths
For ages they are anxiously awaiting
YOU
The one who will pick up that torch
Glowing with orange golden fire
Blazing bequest that
Still burns bright despite
Time tearing at tissues
Souls setting sails persevere
Even in death and
Rather because of death
Launched like missals persona projected
Into castles of our consciousness
Where the dearly departed laugh and live
Shed tears of wet windy wishes
Wishes to not have died in vain
Hopes that we keep up with progress
That we work for peace not to deplete
The earth of its resources not
Our own souls societies sacred’s
Not deceased by blasphemy and ignorance
Every good thing contributed by them
Laid foundation for greatness
For they are our heroes in heaven
Let them look down to see you rise
Bring your talents gifts to them as prize
They deserve this for they died
To show you no weapon formed against
Us all shall ever prosper least it be
That peaceful intellectual weapon of words
Wisdom that wars on a man’s conscious
Inspiring soul to seek light
To find unique grain of your salt
Worth wearing an ideal
And being a gold needle
In a haystack of heathens
Decide to be that ONE
They died to inspire to move, give, live
Be one that gives them reason to
Rest easy believing it will be settled
Finally there is one who will do it
See to it the world is inspired
To love and seek peace
Coexist with Mother Nature
In harmony and heavenly hope
For all the heroes, heroines
And the MOST HOLY HIGH
For all the freedom fighters
And the oppressed souls never born
Make them aware you hear and persevere
For the benefit of the world
In their names
Because of their brave blood
PROUDLY TATTOOED
Proudly tattooed I am for you,
I saw you going to have one too,
My ink is stained,
For I never feigned,
To have one alone, we are a crew!
Only your eyes will bear on it,
And mine on yours, so it is fit,
Will we become addicted?
O what the heck, it’s predicted,
We’ll never see fit to quit!
Tattooing is now an adventure,
No longer a risky venture,
Seek out a tattoo artist,
Go have one on your wrist,
No longer need a censor.
I love the tattoo that I had done,
It has been such tremendous fun,
Did it hurt, yes it did,
So much, I flipped my lid,
My darling, love it on your bum!
Choose wisely, it is there to stay,
The next day, cannot wish it away,
The thrill of having this fling,
Beats almost anything,
No longer an area grey!
Everyone has a dark side but this silhouette stranger,
this one sided love haunts me, forever tattooing me on its heart
Forever hiding in the dark corners of my mind.
Close to me like the sticky sweetness of cotton candy
It wraps me around in its arms, and tells me that it is the only one who could stand the cramp corners of my mind
The mist of dew drops crowd in the corners of my eyes,
this stranger sends thoughts that makes the dew fall like the Niagara.
This silhouette stranger dips me in the dim light of the pantry kitchen,
reminding me that my insomnia is a walking time bomb on my physical mentality.
If I tell you that, my emotions are the many-casketed bodies that are now forgotten bones of loved ones.
Would you run?
When my anchor begins to break would you catch my fall.
Or watch as this stranger locks me in the solitary confines of my bed of emotions
that scream how
Worthless
Pathetic
Naïve
Disgusting
Unloved
Hopeless
Immature
Ungrateful
I have asked this silhouette stranger to abandon the hollow auditorium of my body
To give back what was once mine.
I have what I like to call an unrequited love relationship with my lover depression, this ever-changing silhouette stranger.
Depression holds me hostage inside its cage
but a ransom note will not be required here.
My depression tells me it’s the only one who can stand the cramp corners of my mind
This unwanted lover sticks close to me like the sticky sweetness of honey
This stranger loves me, in an unrelenting way
But...
At least I’m Loved.
As a breath
of butterflies wings,
your touch
lights my soul to fire,
Aching,
for a quivered delight,
just a reach away
,
The heady brush
of tongue and skin,
draws to cold sliver’s
of shivered moans,
Heating to boil
over passions end,
and into ecstasy’s hold
Envelop me in ruby layers
of gossamer heat,
tattooing your name
bone deep,
branding my soul,
to an eternal embrace
of melded spirits
Spooned heat
finding unity,
the burning tracks
of lust
blaze my spirit,
lighting all heavens,
touching the profound,
in gentle whispers
of gasping screams
And in graced pieces
I return to earths fold,
enlightened
being of love,
in a devils hold
It’s bleak and wet, the wind tangos the rain,
And I sit here cosy and warm,
All rugged up alone, only my memories to ponder,
During this wonderful thunderstorm.
My mind wonders to a day, I fondly recall,
A crazy rock concert in a zoo,
Where people moshed and fought, and danced the trance,
A spiritual kind of voodoo.
The music was loud, Spiderbait and Grinspoon,
Two severe, no kid stuff, sort of bands,
Tattooing music and songs that hundreds of thousands
Of stoned up people understands.
Then my mind wonders, with just one or two sentences,
No rhyming scales or anything required,
Could you describe a happy day in your life, a memorable day,
When you got exactly what you desired?
Ole to yon poet writer of words
Yet engaging tarring rhythmically graphics
As all four corners images edging
I have dreamed of these those sketches
I heard an endearing, developing edging
That moment my soul grew Polaroid™
Much I marveled this irresistible press release
Extra-extra read all about it
I remember I was benefiting, computer buffering
By the grave I saw the waded balled up papers
I awoke and flung the printing ink everywhere
Deep into that darkness tattooing covering my skin
When I thought of the art
I remember I was drawing
But in the fact that it was growling
I discovered the sections
The cartographic cartoon classing
Back into my memories enticing
Disciplining and disciplining with my article
And the images never titillating
I crave the pleasurable, palatable poster
Deep into that darkness paragraphing
The deleted drawing diagraming
That moment my soul grew 7th
Much I marveled the exciting blurb text unreadable
While I crave the surprising, scrumptious spelling
For my editorial essay entrancing picture that
Fingering writing on this old Royal™ typewriter, tap-tap-tap-tapping
1/27/22
Written words by James Edward Lee ©2022