Long Turn around Poems
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I walk into an old brick building on a campus.
It seems so familiar. . . as if I should know it,
and yet my memory is blurred.
Climbing steps, I’m sure of where I need to go.
I glimpse a door on an upper floor.
Opening it, I look inside. It’s not the room I believed I sought.
A feeling of foreboding now crawls over me.
Somehow I know. . . that somewhere in this building
some students wait for me.
Panic grips me as I think of the minutes I am losing.
That room. . . That room. . . Where is it?
I move down corridors, up stairs, down stairs,
Opening door after door after door after door
to rooms from which strangers’ faces stare blankly back at mine.
Now I’m racing down many flights of stairs, then up,
running to opposite sides of the building and back,
Steps turn into escalators! How strange. . . .Old blends into new.
The building, once so common, has now become gigantic.
I’m swallowed up by it, by its limitless labyrinth hallways
leading me to nothing. I must get back to where I started from!
Running, running. . . I awaken with a jolt!
Having drifted back to sleep, I find myself this time
on a bustling and modern city street.
It seems so familiar. . . . as if I should know it.
Those rising skyscrapers. A place I once lived or maybe visited?
Starting to walk, I seem to know (how do I know?). .
that a narrow street of tiny shops and outdoor vendors
waits around the corner, a cobbled street where new turns into old.
Again. . . That same hideous foreboding begins to creep upon me. . .
And as I turn around, the street I’d walked along looks not the same.
Should I try to backtrack? Something tells me. . . .
I have tried and failed at that before. . . in other dreams.
Panic is resurfacing again, for I just know. . .
I’m never going to find my way
back to where I started.
This is the time wait no longer
come bring all of you heart and all
show true evidence that you’re serious
fast weep and mourn obey your call
For the Lord’s day is so very great
who can stand before Him that day
only those that show true repentance
humbly confessing their sin as they pray
Give unto the Lord all your heart
rend to Him everything you’ve got
for He’s merciful and so very gracious
so return to the Lord God refuse not
This God is full of steadfast love
angry only at sin but not the sinner
wishing for them to turn around
for if they do they are on a winner
So be wise and do this now
return to the Lord without delay
while His mercy is still on offer
don’t be foolish go the Lord’s way
(‘Therefore also now, saith the Lord, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning. And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of evil’)
Joel 2: 12,13 (KJV)
There was a heavy-weight prizefighter who was knocked down more than any other fighter in history. He became
a champion of renown because he also got up more than any other fighter. His name was Floyd and he reminds me
of my friend Frank because he always refused to stay down, and like Frank, he turns a deaf ear to countdowns and quitting.
Frank knows by experience the meaning of pain. Sometimes, he's frustrated when it remains,
but he will not turn around nor turn aside and will arise each morning and abide.
Like all of us, Frank will sometime ask why. He wants not only to survive but to thrive.
Frank seeks solace in the storm and will often find agony, but he will not abandon ship because he knows his destiny.
In our lives, there are questions and many lies that are often told. But Frank will not fold or sink because he has an anchor for his soul.
He knows that at the end of the rainbow, there is no gold. But Frank is certain that his name is written on heaven's roll.
I gain courage just thinking about Frank.
He a warrior of the highest rank.
835AM03202019PoSoup
We fear falling into the silent dark,
And desperately want to leave a mark,
A monument of flesh and bone,
Upon some metaphorical throne.
For isn’t it our greatest dread,
To be completely, wonderfully... dead?
By “dead,” I mean the tragic state
Of being lost to time and fate,
Where no one gasps when you walk in,
And no one cares where you’ve just been.
We paint our names on every wall,
And shout our status at the ball.
“Remember me!” the actor begs,
Upon the stage, breaking a leg.
“Remember me!” the writer pleads,
Ignoring all the books no one reads.
“Remember me!” the politician screams,
While peddling all his hollow dreams.
But let us pause and be quite frank,
About this monument, we rank.
How much of what we call “renown”
Is it just a self-made paper crown?
We demand the world remember us,
Without a single moment’s fuss,
While we, ourselves, with perfect ease,
Forget the people on their knees!
We beg for endless, deep devotion,
An ocean of supreme emotion,
Yet we can barely call our mother,
Or name the sister of our brother.
We swipe left on a billion faces,
Erasing them from modern graces,
Then turn around and claim our mind
Will leave a sacred trace behind.
We are a flock of hypocrites,
Who loves our own dramatic bits.
Yet history, that weary sage,
Turns over every yellowed page,
And chuckles at our grand designs,
Our “remember me” is in dotted lines.
For Alexander, Caesar, and the Greeks,
Whose glorious praises we still speak—
Do we remember what they ate,
Or simply their imperial weight?
We remember the conqueror, not the man,
The blueprint, never the working plan.
So let us laugh at our own conceit,
Our desperate, tragic-comic feat!
To think that dust and scattered bone
Could build an everlasting stone.
We are a blip, a passing spark,
A whistle in the cosmic dark.
We roar, we weep, we sing our song,
And pray the echoes linger long.
No legacy to maintain or guard,
No memory to keep unmarred,
No need to be the gentle breeze,
Or appease the crowds and their decrees.
So shout it out, or whisper low,
It doesn’t matter where we go.
The world spins on, devoid of care,
Whether we’re standing over there,
Or safely tucked away from view,
Where nobody remembers you!
Sometimes, the night is very long-
the mind caught up in endless throng;
a bottomless depth holding fears
the old, the new, tween whirling gears.
A sleepless night- a living hell
of swirling thoughts inside the spell
of things done wrong or left undone-
a bottomless depth of visions spun.
Tossing, turning, begging for sleep
yet, deeper, darker, down we sweep
to solve a problem- answers find,
then turn around and go back blind.
Our thoughts so deeply spin around
but never is the bottom found;
a promise made to lighten loads
as praying for some sleep explodes.
So patient, at our sleep-time gate,
this bottomless depth lies in wait
to shove us into that vast place
and rob us of deep slumber's grace.
There are times when I look back and wonder.
Did I ever do anything right
Seems a never ending problem
Born to party not to fight
Eloquent but never elegant
Brash and bold
Looking for warmth in the night
Too often found only cold
Couldn’t see reason
Couldn’t be told
Some places wish I had never gone
There were some I wish I had stayed
In the agony I cursed the world
Then dropped to my knees and prayed
Travelled a lot where the sun never rose
Always on the wrong side of the track
No matter what seems, I always was blessed
Did an angel have my back.
A never ending battle
Between what was wrong and what was right
Decisions made
By the devil swayed
Can’t win the war if you lose the fight
Do you change the things the did so well
Or change directions in mid stream
On a course headed straight for hell
Turn around and follow the beam
Trying to do a one eighty turn
But the helm is so rusty now
Look at the stars and ask for help
You know where but you don’t know how
You need to go up against the current
It is slowing down your pace
It will be well worth the effort
To dock your boat in a better place.
I stared at the wall
Bricks on bricks
A bench in an empty corner
Built to last
That cathedral
I had arrived by train
Under overcast weather
No rush to get on the tram
Going to the hospital - knew to much
Brick on brick - there too
Eating a sandwich
Sad that too
People moving around me
Empty eyes in the shadow
Sitting alone by the wall
You can’t go back
Awake the dead
Reset fractures
Make something become
Become undone
You can turn around, look back
Remember smiles, anger, tears and laughter
You better look ahead
There and then - facing the wall
Ready to cry
Heard a chopper flying low
Blue lights waiting
You can’t go back
Always
When you face the wall
If the Mediterranean waves could carry me to your arms
I'd wake up to your whispers enchanted by your charms
If the wafting wind could breeze me to your bed
our longing lips would kiss in hungry emotions wed
If this love I feel could linger in your heart
If we could live our dulcet dreams and never be apart
If I could be with you and you could be with me
We'd watch the stars at night twinkling tranquility
sparkling in secret splendor,shining our blissful destiny
If we could be together till the day Forever
I'd hold on to your hand,be your sufficient other,a lover and bestfriend
I'd be your daily listener,your passion,your romance
I'd love you to infinity,to universal ends
If we could lie together on gossamer vast sands
on threaded silken sheets,made by the mermaid's hands.
If we could hear the sweetest sounds of shells and corals play
If I could whisper out your name,an hear your voice in answer,everyday
If I just turn around to find you looking my way
If I could be with you to live the promise of today
Tomorrow I'd still be there,a lavender in your grey.
Charma
You have such a rare uniqueness
Filling you up with such sweetness
There's not one bad or mean bone
In your body that you own
Your patience is off the charts
You show more restraint and heart
Than anyone on this earth
You were a special baby birth
That this world so badly needed
You accomplished and succeeded
To bring out the and show
How to have an inner glow
Helping those who need it most
Your heart light shines coast to coast
Spreading into souls and hearts
Your doing the biggest part
To make the world a better place
And bring smiles to the face
Of those who need a turn around
In your caring, this they found
Never let it slip away
This rare sweetness you display
ASK THIS QUESTION DOES IT RAIN IN HELL---
The truth of the matter is?
What is the question?
And when the thermal temp is rising;
How is it different?
And the partial space;
What’s the aftermath?
The repented soul in the center of the earth;
My soul is hot in here, my spirit is burning!!!
Ask this question does, it rain in hell?
What climate is this?
And can one climb over the obis;
And where those are fools who farter;
Rebellious in their affirmations:
Caressing those thoughts of grandeur;
What is the reasons, are they real;
What are the purposes how do they feel?
The repented soul in the center of the earth;
My soul is hot in here, my spirit is burning!!!
Ask this question does, it rain in hell?
The mission statement for the sinner is to get saved
----------------to be spiritually healed;
The mission for the believer is to receive;
The mission statement for mankind is to change his mind;
Stop; turn around repent before the sunset;
Do so before the last breath;
This isn’t a physical test, look on the onset;
Repent and be blessed, so there’ll be no questioning of…
The repented soul in the center of the earth;
My soul is hot in here, my spirit is burning!!!
Ask this question does, it rain in hell?
-------if I could just dip my finger in the water?
08/24/18
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©