Long Unfortunates Poems
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I want to sing a song about Christmas
With a nice haunting melody
but so far i have nothing
no ideas coming to me
so I don't know what to write
or what I'm going to sing
I must find the answer soon
otherwise I will have nothing
what Christmas mean to me
I must find the right words to say
if I don't get something soon
then the idea would just go away
The true meaning of Christmas
Is hardly ever pursue
Some thinks its just to eat and drink
Give a gift and say Marry Christmas to you
I want to find the true answer
Cause I don't want to get it wrong
And for me to share it with you
I have to put the words where it belong
Cause this life's already confusing
So I have to be careful with what's being said
I don't want to say the wrong words
And play mind games with your head
I am just like you
I am just regular man
We can never comprehend god wisdom
Cause his work we can't understand.
All we know is he send his son
To show mankind the right way
And because of him
We celebrate Christmas today
Its the only time of the year
That we does show that we care
Then after that we become blinded
To the unfortunates every where
So as I struggle to find a melody
Of a song or a poem to write
I would not give up
I would still hold on to my pen tonight
And I will have a drink of brandy
And watch my Christmas tree light
And if I get sleepy
Then I will turn in early tonight
The true meaning of Christmas
Is some thing I think we already know
And it is to love one and other
But only For Christmas people will show a little love
Its nice to feel appreciated
Its nice to give a gift or two
But its also sad for the rest of the year
To feel neglected like every one forget you
In today's society
Its so easy to judge wrongfully
Its a dog eat dog world
Slowly taking over humanity
We didn't come from an explosion
We are born from creation
I don't believe in all they dinosaurs hypes
Or that we come from evolution
And the same way we celebrate this Christmas
We will celebrate Ramadan and dewali to
And its not about religion or beliefs
Its about the love that lives in Me and you
So I will keep on trying
To write the perfect song
And if I am successful
Then the world would will join and sing along
phasing through....
I read the words that are perfectly black and structured.
"will it be OK? This is possible to be found in...."
I read them intently and enthusiastically
but i feel myself shutting down very slowly.
My vision blurs as my thoughts trial into white fog...
all I see is fuzz on the paper now, I give up my efforts and stare at the ceiling.
"Am i tired?".. i think to myself...."sleepy?"..perhaps
I just lay on my father's bed enjoying the newly constructed room,
happy that things are looking normal....
actually its getting better...
not only is the interior renewed but so is my family.
And as I stare and wonder at the white space above
I say to myself, "wow when was the last time i was this calm?"
Yes my life has had its sad moments and dealing with some unfortunates gains of enemies
and sadly lost of friends
and yes I do have those random burns in my chest when I think randomly of the past
or for someone...
but i am calm...
i am am rather...happy
...with my self?
And as I keep thinking this
I always have these weird revelations in my father's room,
always have such weird dreams in my father's room,
always feel comfortable and away in my father's room...
Am I in another dimension?
My body hasn't felt this kind of optimistic approval in so long
Is that why my body tires of this long forgotten feeling?
And maybe that why it tries to escape with the feeling, trying to capture it,
and leave the husk that is me on the bed
going away to the portal that is secretly tucked away in my father's room.
Where does my soul go, when I'm not sleeping or awake?
Does it go to my true self, better self?
Does it go to the adventures, or dreams or things I only read about...
I'm not sleeping but I'm not awake.
then for a moment
I feel myself returning, looking at my body disappointed...
staring at myself for awhile...
wondering should i return?
no one will notice
I float
feels good to float
I smile
cause i truly am not anyone but myself
I am a goddess for a few minutes
i am all knowing
but not caring
what a sad and ugly body to keep a goddess in.
hmm...
I melt out from the portal
back to a dismal frame
past and future joining hand in hand..its been a long time.
Form:
I'm sorry...
Love is a thornbush.
Pretty to the sight
yet, in the end;
it's prickly touch
is unimaginable.
With bright red roses -
it's message
seems too fragrant -
vociferous from afar.
Romantics are obsessed with love -
the misanthropes dread it;
it's a kill-joy feeling -
an inner nightmare
of an unconcious
optimistic daydream.
You stutter the word love -
but do you regurgitate beauty?
Like a laughable idea
whose far-sided partner is
an emotional quadroplegic?.
You're clueless and
I'm a jaded wallflower.
Love is a disease -
It's like syphilis -
one never asks for it.
Innocence invades
a loner's muted thoughts
quite quietly.
Love is calculated cancer.
You try to cope with the affliction -
while the misfits around you
watch you hold your head erect
and cackle
in laughable disdain.
The unfortunates are the reality.
Everyone tans in Hell.
No one cannot help what they feel.
We are helpless -
(squirming like worms)
our morals swim like scum;
it gets tossed around
when passion hold you hostage..
Far sided beauty
is one's torture up close;
feeding off one's weakness
like leeches on dormant genocide.
From the inside out -
scars surface.
Emotions are demented -
mongoloid flavored;
unable to heal -
your will is a mutilated carcass.
Rigamortis quietly sets in
unbeknownst to you -
transparent to your and your
befriended corpses.
I'm sorry...
the air is clearer now.
Infatuation gets a second chance -
another shot without a bullet.
Why do we pine for this?
Pining to surrender -
our pride,
our dignity.
When we stand
for our independence
do we will give it all away,
without a price tag?-
Stupidity repeats iitself;
yet we still yearn
for our fictious chimera
to resurface.
In the end;
love isn't so beautiful?
Misquided vagabonds choose to
paint our idyllic pictures -
but it wont stop the torture;
because the suffering we endure
lingers past expiration...
it glides above vowed headstones -
until our consummated
death -
do we part?
It can't -
and for that
I'm sorry once more.
There is no part of life mine alone,
If regarding my whole existence.
What belongs to me is only flesh and bone,
Therefrom this life has subsistence.
Down on the farm I was buying time,
The universe I studied for reason.
Sweetest wine carried me through my prime,
It numbed my pain in every season.
There arrived torturous days galling,
Mainly dispiriting to my mentality.
Yet I operated above whatever was appalling,
I just dared not easily show my fragility.
All this and more, it kept me sane,
Scarcely a day I had without sin.
There was the neglect, and profanity arcane,
Its blasphemous speech was akin.
On a dry creek bed I oft-times laid,
Looking up at the sky in a daze.
Habitually I went there and quietly played,
Literally it was a place I could laze.
Sometimes I caught fresh tadpoles,
Then cooked them in a tin pot.
These larvae's I collected from tiny water holes,
An acquired taste they were hot.
But only to the conversant hillbilly,
I rather was such in an awful rut.
It wasn't something I could flee quite freely,
So in my misery I feasted on smut.
Actually I tried to glance elsewhere,
But I felt like a slave to this stain.
They looked so pretty in their neckwear,
Several were butt naked in the rain.
Across the flat fields cattle grazed,
Completely ignoring the crows.
A vineyard nigh I watched over unfazed,
Lady of plight too would impose.
The grapes of despair I grew there,
Relying on ***** men in chains.
They worked all day till dusk without fanfare,
And none of them had notable names.
It was a harsh country for the folk,
Ye all marked fateful on a tether.
Unfortunates who had no rights to provoke,
Things there were cruel altogether.
The slave tarts I occasionally took,
Most offered no fiery resistance.
But when one did I quickly gave her the hook,
It meant she'd hang in an instance.
Until the grapes of despair expire,
I shall continue my trade of sin.
Down on the farm I expect this life to backfire,
Postulating fears to my hell therein.
THERE'S RUDOLPH, FROSTY, SANTA CLAUS AND GOOD OLD EBENEEZER
THERE'S CAROLS SUNG BY EVERYONE FROM KISS ON THROUGH TO WHEEZER
THERE'S CD'S OUT FROM NAT KING COLE, THE BOSTON POPS HAVE TWO
THERE'S ONE OUT NEIL DIAMOND WHICH IS STRANGE BECAUSE OLD NEIL'S A JEW
THE STORES HAVE TINSEL EVERYWHERE, THEIR TREES TOO,LOOKING NICE
THERE'S WRAPPING PAPER, CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND EVEN PLASTIC ICE
THEY ATTACK YOUR SENSES CONSTANTLY, THEY MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
FOR ALL THIS STUFF IS ON DISPLAY, BEFORE THE KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL
THERE'S A RASTAFARIAN SANTA CLAUS WITH DREADLOCKS KNOWN AS "STONEY"
GENETICALLY ALTERED TURKEY MEAT THAT TASTES JUST LIKE BALONEY
PEOPLE DON'T BUY CHRISTMAS GIFTS THEY SEEM TO JUST GIVE MONEY
SO THEY GO SHOPPING BOXING DAY, AND THIS I FIND QUITE FUNNY
THE CHARITIES ARE ON THE PHONE AND AT YOUR DOOR EACH NIGHT
THEY WORK YOU WITH SOME CHRISTMAS GUILT, AND SAY "IT'S ONLY RIGHT"
TO DONATE TO UNFORTUNATES AND THEIR FOLKS NEED IT MOST"
AS THEY FLASH THEIR SMILES, FAKE I/D'S BEFORE THEIR PHONY BOAST
PEOPLE SHOP AND BUY AND BUY AND THEN THEY ALL RE-GIFT
MOST TIMES YOU'LL GET CHRISTMAS CAKE, THAT'S REALLY HARD TO LIFT
YOU WORK O.T. AND DO YOUR BEST, YOUR CHRISTMAS CASH TO SAVE
AND YOU SMILE WHEN YOU GET YOUR GIFT, AND IT'S THE ONE YOU GAVE
CHRISTMAS IS LESS FESTIVE AND TO ME IT'S GOTTEN RATHER CLINICAL
WITH SCHEDULES MADE AND SALES AND THINGS, IT'S MADE ME RATHER CYNICAL
TO SAY WHAT CHRISTMAS REALLY MEANS, I READ THOMAS ACQUINAS
BUT INSTEAD, I'LL USE A QUOTE FROM SHCULTZ'S PROPHET LINUS
..."AND SUDDENLY THERE WAS WITH THE ANGEL A MULTITUDE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST PRAISING GOD
AND SAYING "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARD MEN.""
AND THAT IS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT....PLAIN AND SIMPLE.
bub-blub tump-tump-tump-tump
I was bitten by my wrong choices;
Invited and enticed by my voices;
The ineptitude seemed happy portraying, beating heart
In there stepped desperate loneliness, bleeding heartbeats
Of unfortunates that are decaying
chess rising WAIT this isn't NO game
My breath is wet; I'm drowning in shame
Lungs full of sin watering
Yet I'm breathing;
Still is neighing, still is neighing
I discovered the storms
blub-blub tump-tump-tump-tump
~
The ineptitude seemed happy portraying, beating heart
In there stepped desperate loneliness, bleeding heartbeats
'It's that grief,' I muttered sorrowed I was born
Death shall bring injustices
There stood a pivotal upstart
And so you came gently jingling (onomatopoeia) my heart.
And the core never minding disgusted
To warn me about the sadness
Somewhat louder than the kick start
The ineptitude seemed happy portraying, beating heart
I discovered the storms
'It's that grief,' I muttered
Death shall bring injustices
There stood a pivotal upstart.
~
And so you came gently jingling (onomatopoeia)
And the core never minding
To warn me about the sadness
Somewhat louder than the kick start
By the grave, I saw the ignominies
And the despair never anguishing
The desperate dissoluteness dismaying
Of unfortunates that are decaying
I have dreamed of the feelings
The sensitive smelling
All my soul within me telling
Much I marvelled this bittersweet heart
The ineptitude seemed happy portraying, beating heart
In there stepped a desperate loneliness, bleeding heartbeats
blub-blub tump-tump-tump-tump
6/22/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
There are some people in this world
who either do not realize or do not care
how badly words wound.
Even slight agitation can cause them
to bellow their bullying obscenities.
Like lead balls from a muzzle-loading gun,
they’ll shoot you down,
maiming innocent souls in the process.
Both their words and deeds
come from a place of narcissism
and the need to control.
They may cleverly plan their onslaughts
or simply go off like bombs
for no real reason at all,
exploding vileness
and scathing their victims’ souls
over and over again.
It matters not if their attacks
are physical or emotional. Often it’s both.
The viciousness of each strike they make
reveals their utter
soullessness.
In many cases, their victims are
the very people they had earlier on
vowed to love and protect.
Sometimes they hide their true nature
from others
as they become increasingly abusive
toward spouses and children.
They become land mines onto which
innocent souls may unwittingly step.
Who can truly ever know
the extent of the damage they inflict?
They leave lacerations on the hearts
of the innocent that they injure.
The victims who live
with these toxic individuals,
will continue bleeding emotionally
from deep inside.
Sadly, the once innocent
who survive each horrible onslaught
may end up becoming
the very monster he or she
was once made to endure.
Unfortunates such as these
will have felt their souls
shatter into fragments so tiny
they can never be put back together
again.
11/28/21
I won't but I know some dummy will
Ya'll think it's funny still
Out in the country hills
F*** all these monthly thrills
People think money kills
But its humans that do, leading to bloody bills
It was difficult to be predicted
Often conflicted
Folks heavily addicted
Areas still restricted
Too many wrongfully convicted
Others getting off scot free
I am not Godly
Rocky
Or a zombie
Do you copy?
I can't waste time or be sloppy
Close and far from fields of poppy
There is secrets out there, some of which on a floppy
The masses flocking
All these people gossiping
And mocking
It's gone beyond shocking
As opportunity continues knocking
Near and far from any Christmas stocking
Endless talk in town
Snowflakes fallin' down
All around
They argue due to having no common ground
Careful on who you call a clown
Badly paid
My all I gladly gave
An influx of candy canes
Others calling one another nasty names
Damn these games
A lady and man betrayed
How can we change?
If there always on a witch hunt and crusade
Why is that the way?
Do something about it or just sit in bed
Winter's ahead
The sky a crimson red
On the counter a house made of gingerbread
Nothing special or precious stones on the riverbed
Going to see it through until the bitter end
Regardless of all the unfortunates
On the road an unexpected fork in it
Still got to reach the coordinates
And help hang some ornaments
Zest expresses definitions beyond our own understanding
If we could validate the word passcode we would acsend to Heaven
Forever embodies the suggestion that the cruel suffer more in Enternity
Lowered from The Roof in a Wheel chair by younger men
A man full off sorrow saw he was recovered and restored to his sanity
The man who saw this was was called His first born
Concerning a forgeiner we all on forgein land if we are sent from Heaven
Sorgeining upon this forsaken land the Force we carry is is of The Mighty One
Polluting no mans grave but looking forward to his resurrection
The source of the unfortunates ones disgrace and desitution
Jahova is The Glorious One now Suddenly we prepare ourselves for another battle
The portion He gives to us all is according to His Mercy
More does one suffer when he is overtooken
AS best as we can we must depend on His Mercy
As so be it when one is left for dead who can ever save you
The thorn is the crown Of HIS Head you would do well if you never try to strike it
This country is torn apart by war for it is the one who disdained Him
Understanding is often gaven to those who seek Virtue
Questioned but not overlooked is a man who gains his lost possessions
Vengences belongs to Him so I remain a trusted servant
Wasteing no time blessing all of His other servants
Wise all you are if you have heard me
Vernie is an invisible woman.
She knows this but she tries anyway.
“Sir! Sir! Please sir!”
He does not glance back. Instead takes out his cell phone.
Walks more quickly, afraid of her. Afraid she will chase him.
Difficult to do in her wheelchair. She sits back and takes another breath.
Breathing in the cold air that will eventually kill her.
The shelters are all full of others.
She does not want to take a bed from a baby anyway.
She is an old woman. She would like to die. She would welcome it.
She has been on the streets for six years now.
Maybe seven. It is hard to count without a calendar.
Here comes a young lady. Bouncing as she walks. Large smile.
“Hey!” Vernie yells, “Can you give me a dollar? A quarter? Anything?”
The young lady’s smile slams from her face. She glares at her.
“You people annoy me!” she says!
She walks harder. No longer smiling.
A day on the street. Or a week. Or a month or a lifetime.
Vernie thinks about her assignment. To try and get two dollars from the Christians.
She knows both of these people go to church. She saw it before she was sent.
She shudders at how pious they are in the church in front of others
Yet how little soul they have for the unfortunates.
“Pull me up!” she says to her angel committee.
“I have seen enough”, for she truly had.