Long Ungrateful Poems
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Within timeless scales of Earth,
a humane life is no more
yet no less
than one short ZeroSum Zone,
sometimes cooperative with Earth's climate changes
and sometimes competitive
against Earth's pace
of healthy climate therapeutic race.
Each of us is a sojourner
on this green-blue sanctuary planet,
a sometimes grateful
and too often ungrateful guest
by birthright of nondual dark DNA invitation,
patriarchal and matriarchal,
with only a short-term Left wins when Right wins time
to co-invest toward healthiest interdependent wealth.
What greater folly could there be
than to spend this short time longing,
unhappily thronging,
in Win/Lose conflicts
against other green sanctuary guests?
Far healthier, surely,
to invest and empower this short life
pursuing inspired health,
enriched by a green ecotherapeutic sense
of interdependent
organic
holonic HolySpirit/Nature transubstantiating warm-wombed connections,
nutritional communion with other medicating meditating sojourners
especially green young-born seeds
breathing in and out
Win/Win active and responsive hope.
So far,
of the revolutionary 2020 revisionary centuries,
just under a full-score have degenerated,
the major integrative portion is yet to systemically unfold
among us,
with and without becoming regenerative us.
Green sanctuary compassion
is my actively co-arising hope.
This is our emergent century of climate peace,
a century of bicameral health discernment--
a wealthy skill-set sharing century
when a more caring
scientific LeftBrain
and reconnecting RightBrain co-relational investment
and compassionate
non-violent communicating
communion of human nature-spirits
will re-emerge.
This is my non-sectarian reweaving
tribal prayer
for Earth's wellness
As our own shared security,
non-violent prosperity
non-partisan compassion
non-patriarchal love
non-RightWing dominant
choosing lifetime of great healthy transitional sojourner light
Even a growing warm-wombed infant
can interdependently actively hope to harmonically hear,
smell and taste,
feel and 2020 see
health raging between Earth's global co-passioned eyes.
I gather it the sparks that become the flames;
Arise above those calling me names;
I seek no disclosures, no fortune, no fame;
Money Burns. It's on fire. It's a flame;
I'm God's son, and I'm born;
- first again, like Popeye, I am what I am;
That's that all that I am;
I am a child of a king;
I rule that I am;
I stand unopposed in sharing my heart;
My heart is beating bled; running runs red;
Denominational Creed instantly fed;
I am not a spiritual dead;
I am not ungrateful yet slew;
It's more of God I crave;
It's more God I am well behaved;
In the light of my heart ablaze;
I am on fire. I'm alert burnt my sins;
Burning away;
As I fly away;
The dragon exists slain;
I recruit my blessings I stand;
Fast in Jesus' mighty name;
5/15/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
God gave Moses and his brother Aaron this celestial command:
"I have selected thee to lead My people to The Promised Land!
You'll wander in the wilderness for forty years in the scorchin' sand!
I'll hold you personally responsible to see that nothin' gets outta hand!"
After many plagues, Pharoah was finally convinced to let them go.
There was much singin' and dancin' but the euphoria quickly lost its glow.
The mob grumbled about their first stop, Elim (aka Palm Springs East)!
Miffed because there was no swimmin' pool, golf course or 5-star place to feast!
They complained about bitter water at Marah so Moses struck a stone, and wallah!
A stream of sweet water flowed from the stone more than they could swallah!
They moaned and groaned because they were foot sore and had little to eat,
Complainin' to Moses that they shoulda stayed in Egypt outta the searin' heat!
Heavenly manna descended upon them and they gathered bushel baskets full.
But they tired of mannaburgers, mannastew and mannahelper findin' it rather dull.
They murmured and wanted meat so God provided flocks and flocks of quail.
Still they grumbled - too much quail a la king and at Moses they did rail!
Hapless Moses nearly threw in his staff but God said, "Keep followin' that cloud!
I'm quickly losin' patience with thee and that ungrateful, complainin' crowd!"
So Moses with resolute stride led the Israelites to the land of milk and honey,
Mumblin' to himself, "Darned if I'll do this again for any amount of money!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
PILLOW TALK ABUSE (collaboration)
by~ Andrea Dietrich
Again you’re droning on and on and on.
Yada, yada, yada, yada, yada.
My time for beauty sleep will soon be gone.
Why can’t you close your eyes?
You know you oughta.
Just press those lips together tight and zip!
My lids are getting heavy as you talk.
So now I offer you this little tip.
Why don’t you go outside and take a walk?
The clear night air might open up your mind.
Before you kill the bush you’re beating round.
You’re killing ME; I hate to be unkind,
But when I start to doze, I hear that sound . . .
Yakety, yakety, yakety, yakety, yak. . .
Please shut your trap.
We’ve long since hit the sack!
by~ Poet Destroyer
Congratulations for thinking your work is done.
You may be tired but you’re not the only one.
I sure hope you like spending your time all alone
All the young ones are grown and away from home.
So, I have no choice to yap yap yap' when you're around.
But, I do this to annoy, before my other annoying snoring sound.
Ever since I remember the beauty line is to late.
Don't forget my yapping mouth is what brings dinner to your plate?
But think of the funny way you want me to zip my lips tight.
My yakety yak is what gets me going through the night.
Retire your eyes else where, if you can't hear me out!
Wouldn't you rather me beat the bush, than to hear me shout.
Your ungrateful ways are like a sleeping pill.
Talking to you is like talking to a wall~ " oh! What a thrill!"
Maybe if you say a word or two, your mouth would put me to sleep
So my dear, talking to you is better than counting sheep.
A collaboration with * ANDREA DIETRICH
My collaboration contest
Our precious universe is 14 billion years old, so I'm told.
14 billion years for us to evolve,
to sow, to grow, to lovingly reap love like a
bee harvests from a gentle face of petaled gold.
A trillion gifts bestowed upon us
from stardust to flesh and bone
nourished by a buffet of fruit. manna and oats.
Our souls given the shawl of eternal light
to drift upon this beautiful blue-green home
somewhere deep, so very deep
in the sweet spot of the Goldilocks zone.
We've become children of the wolf of infinite darkness.
We've mastered the dark art of kneading homemade venom.
So ungrateful, selfish, and poisoned-tongued we've become.
Weaving wheat and blossoms into deceit and
planet-rattling weapons of hate and oppression.
Sipping lies like a moth sips the night.
We've truly blown it; there's a bad powder dusting our collective soul
A merciless, jagged judgment we'll soon own.
Folks, we're blowing big chunks in the Goldilocks zone//
Never-ending aftershocks of yesterday’s tomorrow has settled in my mind’s eye…there’s so much out there to look forward to…I’d rather not die, but indeed, I must live to see the light of day take wing from on high! Cleanse me with your hope, oh Lord of Accord and you are so perfectly imperfect to me…and you shine bright like a diamond in the cave and you mirror my pain with healing, crystal-clear rain! I’m out of my mind in the past, present and future…what’s my fate? What is there in store for me? Why do I hestitate? I hesitate for the sake of Your honor-packed jubilance, not his blasphemed envy! Good news (It’s intriguing! Very!) – I’m suriving and still standing tall; bad news (nothing brand-new or exciting really): I failed the test with a F- for failure to the extreme…your sub-zero eyes see right through me and I can feel the coals heating up in my heart! I’m mad to begin with and I’m sick of breaking apart! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! Deal with the cards, roll the dice. Feel my words – you’re my livin’ sacrifice! We need a happily ever after after all! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! You kill’d me inside and out and I won’t pout like a child, running about! You killed me with your lonesome song and I have no slight doubt about that, if you know what I am speaking of no doubt! Are you damaged by your suicidal depression? Do you have any clue what I’ve been through? Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! I am a money saver, but a worthless beggar or an ungrateful waster OR a real big spender ~ I don’t mean to offend a single soul or drive anyone insane in any way, shape or form…I am just telling you the truth straight out of my brain while I lay down and type this verse up in my solitary, yet unique, wild and stunning-blue dorm…avoiding a bee swarm like escaping a windstorm with stingers flying all around me every direction I turn! Every angle I watch, there is danger looking at me straight in the eyes…replicating the death stare of the Lord of the Flies…my hope and faith withers and dries like a weed, left in the sun…pulled up from the ground by the gardener himself…rotting away…today…
(Jesus)
Said
Blessed are you who are poor
For the kingdom of God is yours
Blessed are you who are now hungry
For you will be satisfied
Blessed are you who are now weeping
For you will laugh
Blessed are you when people hate you
And when they exclude and insult you
And denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man
Rejoice and leap for joy on that day
Behold
Your reward will be great in heaven
For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way
But woe to you who are rich
For you have received your consolation
But woe to you who are filled now
For you will be hungry
Woe to you who laugh now
For you will grieve and weep
Woe to you when all speak well of you
For their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way
But to you who hear I say
Love your enemies
Do good to those who hate you
Bless those who curse you
Pray for those who mistreat you
To the person
Who strikes you on one cheek
Offer the other one as well
And from the person who takes your cloak
Do not withhold even your tunic
Give to everyone who asks of you
And from the one who takes what is yours do not demand it back
Do to others as you would have them do to you
For if you love those who love you
What credit is that to you
Even sinners love those who love them
And if you do good to those who do good to you
What credit is that to you
Even sinners do the same
If you lend money to those from whom you expect repayment
What credit (is) that to you
Even sinners lend to sinners
And get back the same amount. But rather
Love your enemies and do good to them
And lend expecting nothing back
Then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High
For He himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked
Be merciful
Just as (also) your Father is merciful [Taken from LK 6:20-36]
1977. Was the Queens Jubilee,also eventfull year
flew down from Teeside to London Heathrow,for an overnight stay
an onward journey to Kuwait, my father prime in the proffession he did
scaffolding coordintor,myself and sister Tracy were only kids.
Not many children get an oppertunity, stemming a family memory
weeks rolled on, settling into school,became normality.
I couldn`t put into perspective,developing indepth
pining for home,muslim life portraying what i missed.
However,amongst the feelings of uncertainty,and meeting my new mates
building dens behind bungalows,from old shipping crates.
We would attend The Hubara Club,an update leisure complex
untold amounts to occupy youths,skateboarding main context.
Not forgetting my mother,and mundane everyday tasks
muslim laws preventing,normality, has to ask
simplicity took for granted,from showing arms of pale
amongst kuwaiti public,the women wearing veils.
Christmas that year, will be forever etched
an altercation between perants,that i`d rather not fetch.
Kuwait a beautiful country,Twin Towers of Ahmedi
without sounding ungrateful,home i`d rather be.
Paul Beadnall for
Sponsor Paula Swanson
Contest Name Opened Doors
What does a sapling need to grow?
Is water, sunlight, and soil enough,
or does it need something more?
An ungrateful sapling—
it does not grow.
At what unfortunate hour
did I choose this seed to sow?
What does this sapling need?
An adversarial being.
I wonder what kind of fruit
its ominous seed will bring.
The sapling whispered to itself,
Maybe I need love,
love that doesn’t judge,
love that does not keep score.
The whisper faded into silence.
Maybe I need freedom.
Freedom to remain fruitless or fruitful.
Freedom that feeds the soil
without binding the roots.
The leaves wilt and droop.
The stem begins to peel.
Leaves curl inward.
The sapling can no longer name
what it feels.
It yearns
for what it desires but never receives,
its stem turning brittle
for daring to want.
The sapling no longer feels
anchored to the soil.
Roots that once dreamed
of reaching far and wide
begin to coil.
The clown juggled his feelings in front of an incredulous crowd
Life is a circus and even a fool’s manna does not fall from heaven
He had balls to impose his mask and mascara onto instant applause
Was not sure though about who was the jester of standing ovations
His delusion was the illusion of reality in preposterous meaning
An existential artist he seemed to be in retro postmodern nostalgia
Intermezzo personified with endless beginnings entombed in a grin
Cut with a razor tattooed on his skin facing an ignorant audience
True to his script he stumbled and fell short and flat of intemperate desire
Gobbled up sand mixed with elephant poo and regurgitated misplaced pride
‘I sold my soul to fake laughter but even the kids are stuck on their phones’
Past his best like a relic he assembled dust of anger and fear for the future
He had turned into a proverbial slurve a slipped metaphor of fading delight
An imposter of joyful exuberance in a tedious world that could not care less
A projection of resentment a nuisance and overdue reminder of innocence lost
He was real to himself though like a hole in a bucket draining trickles of faith
As he gathered oblivious agony and immeasurable shame and contempt
He whipped one last sphere of hope high into the canopy of sad gloom
Hoped that the contorted trapeze artist might catch his final effort to escape
She twisted dangled reached out then crushed into a net suspended in yearning
With the show over ungrateful spectators left the miserable dishonest display
The tent was locked up and the onlookers retreated into self-righteous boredom
As lions horses fleas impalement and con artists took to their cages’ containment
The clown and the acrobat slipped off the road and eloped into a promising night
17th June 2019