Long Unsmiling Poems
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Even when she laughs, she’s sad
her smile does not reach her tired eyes
deep within her heart, pain spreads, she feels so bad
life was never her friend, it betrayed her, she cries
She has completely forgotten her fieriness
gone is her smile, her happy mask, her frank cheeriness
look around, death surrounds her, she’s lost in soul weariness
Lonely, she saunters mid trees to find a way out
birds give her company, the grave’s her hideout
here, her unheard tears can shout
She weeps, she cries behind smiles, but she’s not mad
it is not her fault that whoever she loves, dies
her desolate life’s filled with dreariness
she’s broken, yet strong…penning away all doubt.
07.19.2021
For Constance La France's "Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces" contest
Somber Force
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So dull
blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe austere
Blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe Austere
So dull
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights such an enlightenment such a… Somber Force
11/13/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
date: Feb 15, 2017
Always the same little hash joint.
For lunch, the identical dish -
in Kremzer's, on Mott and Delancey,
potatoes and yiddisher fish.
His real name was Julius Henry,
but "Groucho" is how he was known.
His whim was to lunch in the corner,
unsmiling, unnoticed, alone.
So in comes a true-born impresser,
a back-slapping man about town.
He's towing some Princeton professor,
and eyeballs the vaudeville clown.
Finagling faux introductions,
the forte of showbusiness sharks:
he'll astonish the ecrivain manque ...
"I'll get you an entree with Marx!"
He gives it the big how's-it-going,
the Princeton prick shuffles his feet.
But Groucho, unseeing, unknowing,
uncaring, continues to eat.
"This man wrote 'The Vanderbilts', damn it!"
(incipient panic attack).
Without looking up, answers Groucho,
"The Vanderbilts - did they write back?"
Coal hearted caretaker
never could accept or give love
has a collection of wounded women
placed them in his half-dead heart museum.
He painted over one with his oil-colored tongue.
Stuffed her into a silent taxidermy bird.
He turned some into paper mâché mobiles.
Fingered them into a sad sort of yellowing.
They, void of any hope, were left for dead.
Forever spinning in the end of his selfish head.
Others sit hollow-eyed, clay pot women.
Left on a dusty shelf, chipped and rotting.
Mostly from disrespect and neglect.
Another is in the foyer for the unsmiling,
Colossal bronze busts, monuments to this volcanic prick of destruction.
The final conquest was glass blown.
He melted her spirit into a glowing poem.
A masterpiece born from a seed of sadism.
Hung it in a forgotten corner of his mind.
Framed it in his blood and karmic dust...
Someday he'll have to pay back these endless debts.
And become a forgotten etching in a derelict museum.
Spontaneity 2-28-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spontaneity
Arthritic inertia,
Absent of the Prime Mover,
Bursts into astral fireflies of serendipity
Coloring outside deliberate
Past ebony links in tangerine comets
In outbursts of the unplanned ad-lib
Flicks of incandescent glory
And slivers of glee,
Like dolphins leaping or whales breaching
Into the spontaneous’ ephemeral sparkle,
Ignite gusts of rumbling grace
Rushing past anxious spirals,
Sneaking past solemn's gates,
In explosions of uncontained whimsy -
As springs of roiling combustions
Split life draining millstones,
And rock musty routines that shuffle
Bathing the unsmiling dower dirge
With thunder dancing across sullen waters
To christen spontaneity’s godchild
With new robes of unrehearsed mirth
And a dedicated named -
Laughter!
In the middle of the universe I stand
Pencil and pad warming my palms
All around pictures hang like the solar system
And my heart fondly wants to reach far like the sun
I let pencil do its orbit around pad if only to aid my heart
And I add a touch of good where nonexistent
Lay a pillow of kindness where hardness reigns
Blow a wind of love in a needed direction
Firmly stand before injustice’s glowering eyes
Erase sadness from a dazed gaze
Draw a smile to unsmiling features
Pat a defeated look with victory
Pour out peace into war torn zones
Doodle sanity over inhuman acts
Put a microphone up for the voiceless
I look around and elsewhere see joy, laughter, serenity
Turn the other way and hands are tangled in a stroll
Perseverance hard at work, kids running around without a care
And I smile as I plant these on this pad
Knowing well these are just words
But hoping like sun they may reach beyond these situations
And be a balm of hope to someone out there
©GraceM Composition
I found an old photograph by the lake-
A young woman with dark hair, gray face,
leaning against a painted wall.
Unsmiling, beautiful. In full white,
with nothing exposed beneath delicate layers
of lace.
I wondered if she'd lived near, or if somewhere else,
how many miles?
I wondered how she'd laughed,
who she'd loved,
how she'd died.
Why didn't they smile often for pictures back then?
I wondered, if it'd been the custom,
would she've had a reason to smile?
I wonder if she ever felt the hard pang of regret.
How loud it screams,
how noticeable the most useless things get.
And did she ever think to blame herself?
Or was she wiser, her face a mask
for knowledge, that indifference is sometimes best.
If she were alive, and walking past me on the street,
this would all mean nothing.
But her gray nothing arouses something in me.
I can't help but wonder,
If she ever felt lost, did she find her way?
And afraid, did she face her fear in the end?
I imagine if she could witness me,
there holding her picture,
she might herself, feel something of wonder.
And maybe at some place in time where she waits,
her mountains would've grown smaller.
The times she cried,
closer to nothing than something.
I imagine if she could tell me anything,
she might not tell me anything at all,
Herself knowing the light
at the end of every dark road,
the length that gives it meaning,
the darkness that intensifies the light.
Gold! Gold! Dassel screamed: he had found gold! And so what we were told, he stuffed his pockets and told the fellas to pull him up.They had straddled a well rig used to clean shallow wells to lower him down into the hand dug tunnel.
"On the eastside: yeah the eastside, he began singing dancing around full of joy and happiness! "Yee Haw"! "Yep, Yep Yep dippity dew" he'd holla with seven of the eleven smiling along with him. Then one of the unsmiling fellas said: "well get back in the hole and get us some more"; ah-hell we can lower ya'll down and stand in watch of the gold; by then Dipper and Tinsel will be back with the midday supper for us to grub on." Fassel jumped up with glee and said thre of us can fit in the bucket, ya'll just lower us down! Well they did and lowered the remaining four in two more sessions: the second time the bucket came up the heaviest two men were concerned with the condition of the floor of the bucket, they took some time to make sure there weigh would be supported while they were being lowered.
After the remaining men were lowered: one guy yelled up to the fellas " above the snakes" ( a cowboy term used to say every things okay, or that they were still alive). No one answered, the fellas had takin the gold and scrammed." Ding Dang them hoodwinking scoundrels done told the gold and ran off!" "Barearolle done got us ah-gain! Ding Dang Scoundrels!" He took off his hat and whip the fella next to him until he fell on his shoulder and cried. They started looking around while they waited for the fellas to return with the midday supper: and behold, they found ten times more gold then they had before!" one guy was to have said: we gonna need action for the woman now Paw: aint no fiddle glad enough to sing this song! "We gonna needa huntin horn for them dang bushwacking scoudrel Paw!" "We hear Paw say: nah we gonna leave be: we just gonna leave them be, we gonna get outta here take our gold, in a hushing manner and just leave them be!" "Something about beleiving makes me think the Lord will serve the best revenge!"
From The Book
"THe Passive Mister Gangue"
( The WheelBarrel Man)
Written by Shoofly Muckmen
and Bolero Etude
From the Sounds of Music
Recording and Publishing
Company.
The Ottawa and New York Connection LLC
A deserted old house stood off the county road a little way.
To keep apace of living I rushed by it almost every day.
For years I'd wanted to visit there to see what secrets it held,
And perhaps find out about the folks who in it had once dwelled.
Towering oaks stood erectly as if to guard the old place.
Clinging vines held weathered clapboards in precarious embrace.
I mused as I opened the latch on the sagging garden gate,
"Why was it forsaken and left in such a forlorn state?"
Floors squeaked and mice skittered as I sauntered down the hall.
Abruptly, something caught my eye on the faded papered wall.
'Twas a grim, unsmiling portrait of a Victorian family of eight.
I wondered who they were and I pondered about their fate.
Off the hall was the parlor where stood a brick-lined fireplace.
I could fancy the cheery flames glowing upon each happy face,
As they celebrated gala affairs or gathered for family prayers.
Alas, the old folks passed on - their children seeking other affairs.
What had been a vibrant, loving home was now a house in shambles,
Almost overtaken by massive oaks, shrubs and tangled brambles.
But my downcast mood was uplifted despite the engulfing gloom,
As I saw roses planted so very long ago now in magnificent bloom!
Hello moon bitten... one
Unsmiling... one
Dialing up the darkness... one
Where is my peace nest at... one
So ...so very restless... one
Desert tumbleweed... one
Crashing into the foothills of love... one
Loved ones watching you self-devouring... one
The truth of your miracle lies in the mire... one
Cherry blossom winged... one
Cascading to the ocean floor... one
Lantern fish shattering the blackness... one
Swimming up from the darkness... one
Soul of stardust and gemstone-hearted...one
Donning the shawl of sunlight... one
Sunlit... one
I love you beyond my death...my number one
October/2017