Long Valued Poems
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Piece Left and Ignored
A beach ball stuck in rafters of a pool
resting in same position since last seven years,
as I visit the pool off and on.
The ball might be filled with air
breathed by its owner,
retaining remnants of his personal attachment,
Yet neither recognised nor reminded.
I wander place to place
and wonder, where I might have forgotten
a piece of mine, but solely ignored,
yet could be honoured!
My one -time presence might have left
a significant part representing me.
But I never recollected nor visited that spot.
I would like to inquire ,
whether I left any portion related to me,
unnoticed but detected by someone
who ever valued that !
I hope , someday I will encounter and interact
a long lost friend once important in my life,
still preserving special memories
associated with a trifling item.
I might tie the scattered beads
to make a necklace to shine reflecting
my one-time entity.
Miraculously that may link me to bygone days
to reminisce as worth not trivial.
Part of chapters once left on negligence
be reassembled, rearranged
to present my one- time existence on reality.
Return from Egypt
Matthew 2:19-23
After the Christ’s left for Egypt, where they avoided King Herod,
For five whole years, because in the fifth year Herod simply died,
Mary and Joseph arose, took the boy and his joinery wear, god,
To return finally in the land of Israel: Herod had in death, failed.
Here is Matthew 2:19-23. Matthew: “19 After King Herod died,
An angel from the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt [lex].
20 ‘Get up,’ the angel said, ‘and take the child and his mother [hi’d],
And go to the land of Israel. Those...trying to kill the child are dead’, [rex].
21 Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to...Israel.
22 But when he heard that Archelaus ruled over Judea [Joseph thought],
In place of his father Herod, Joseph was afraid to go there. [The rail].
Having been warned in a dream [ok], he went to the area of Galilee [ought].
23 He settled in a city called Nazareth so that what was spoken,
Through the prophets might be fulfilled: He will be called a Nazarene.”
So, that was Matthew 2:19-23, full text almost and not token:
Your understanding of the script is fine, it is true and alkaline.
Sigmund Freud theorised the ego, which depends upon ID, brink,
This is the id, and stated we are psychopaths to our identity cultural,
Where our super-ego can lurk. He said it is by libido that we think,
A sexualised energy towards death drive and a neurotic guilt banal.
Here, Joseph objected to King Archelaus, the son and heir of Herod,
Who valued Roman law and therefore this Murder of the Innocents,
This did not collate his mind. Blaize it seems, he contradicted the rod:
The angel’s whose thought was his speed, to instead Nazareth pence.
So, church some leaders today don’t imply angels, predestination,
But rather judge angels as suspicious: Catholics believe, Protestants mar.
With your wit do judge the mild baby as given digs from relation:
Taught intelligent, made sane, driven to writ and forgiven for tar - bar.
Dreams above visions state the problem too simply, paraphernalia,
Because it is using minds that humans have visions, possibly -
Our stress points cognate the brain to visualise a better land, trivia,
So Freud’s dreams are more personal, and talk community.
Common English Bible used.
Rockwell was my rock
The reason I became
A graphic designer
Seeking fortune & fame
Achieved my portion
Of the fortune part
And fame, at least locally
Graphics was my art
Long before computers
I will king of the hill
Even after, my design skills
Were valued still
Worked on the art table
Longer than most
Wasn't sent out to pasture
Till later, I can boast
I still miss the challenge
That faced me each day
A big part still longs
To revisit yesterday
Surely at my happiest
While practicing my art
That pleased my clients
'Twas the best part
Receiving recognition
I sorrily still miss
Coz I know I'm still able
Now I just reminisce
Norman Rockwell was my rock!
© Jack Ellison 2013
All I know is my soul
So do love you Lord;
All I know is that my soul sure do love you God;
In my reasoning
My spirit mind hungers for
Hungers for my spirit mind hungry for my appetite is for more of you O' God
O' Lord
All I know is my soul;
My souls memory
My souls my feelings
In my imagines in my convictions
My desires ignite of the those Holy fires
I am valued
I am beautiful
More than I know
All I know is my soul
So do love you Lord;
All I know is that my soul sure do love you God
All I know, all I know is my soul;
1/15/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©2023
So Dog Gone Tired Today...
May 20th, 2021
Like a fly without his/her buzz
even popping a guarana (caffeine) does
not shake the feeling
like brain covered with fuzz
no matter how hard I try eyelids claps
shut nor how many hours of sleep elapse
offers nary reprieve folds
welded tightly shut
feel like they weigh
much as a ton mud covered flaps,
thus thought to summon
meager energy reserves perhaps
generating poetic lines
interrupted by taking constant naps
but no matter eyelids
weigh heavy as a ton steel traps
narcolepsy not ruled out since
tired body struggles as if gasping for air,
yet such fatigued state uncommon for me,
though bothersome to grin and bear
this bout of sleepiness, where this
white knight chess sleeps
trouble free aye declare
quality deep rapid eye
movement marked noticed
since medication taken
to treat debilitating anxiety e'er
concomitant panic attacks, where psyche
got rent asunder send
ding this atheist to hell
episodes pained me
forked flaming tongues flare
ling, immobilizing, paralyzing
and stinging entire body,
hence methinks primary cerebral gear
and cog glommed
like a drain clogged with hair
nonetheless, no alarmist worry,
nor "worst case scenarios" betray
my ordinarily mellow emotional state,
thus any task I must delay
thoughts unstoppably captivated
by snoozing upon
a bed of freshly mown hay,
and then hours later
diminishing fatigue in catchy rye
ming verse aye re: lay
relishing being awake,
the mine true valued self I kin portray
best to surrender whereby
unfettered invisible manacle doth yoke
mine body electric unresponsive, yet woke
to myriad stuff dreams get made
ashen faced flesh impossible mission
to energize (think cattle prod) futile stoke,
thus methinks eternal sleep only option,
whereby yours truly only request do not provoke
nor poke
the bear, but only I make exception for
Little Red Riding Hood,
cuz she ranks as innocent young female folk.
I would wear your emblem on display,
So you shall never feel dismay.
My power comes from your words,
Though they can cut others like swords.
Our intimacy brings ecstasy,
Like a cloth rippling through the sea.
Conjoined in unity and love,
Like a wailing song from a dove.
Like the Holy Spirit beget Jesus,
The light shall shine for the two of us.
My skin hot, bothered and sizzling,
Love so strong never fizzling.
Journey through the times,
Like an instrument that chimes,
I'm valued like an old pack of dimes.
Passion building like open flames,
Heart locked down to yours with chains.
Birds singing on the skies,
Sweet aromas like freshly baked pies.
You and I ........ Oh what a perfect match...
Perfectly molding like a roof of thatch.
Placing our love on a picture frame,
Cause with your love I don't need any fame.
...They told us to hate those people
who take a risk to make profit,
that instead we should idolize
those who say they’re socialist.
Bu t I look a their history,
and it’s utterly insane,
just blood, and death, and prison camps
wherever their ideas did rein.
Twenty-five million Russian souls,
sixty-five million Chinese,
and all they brought to those who lived
was oppression and poverty.
Even within our own cities,
where the far-left runs roughshod,
we see feces, typhus, and decay;
once great towns now just left to rot.
Detroit has become a ruin,
San Francisco smells of dung,
Los Angeles covered in trash,
the Golden State has gone all bunk.
That’s what they want me to worship?
It’s a plague that should be abhorred,
besides that, it’s immoral to
have economics based on force.
The capitalist freely trades,
both sides agree or it’s no-go,
price itself becomes a language
so all of the people can know
how much something may be valued,
what is and is not in demand,
giving them a general idea,
so they can make a living, plan.
And the mass of competition
responds to the people’s needs,
does not need to be ‘ordered to,’
it responds automatically.
It’s what lifted civilization,
there’s no arguing with that,
without it we’d still ride horses,
and electricity we’d lack.
Those fools want us to reject this,
when it makes our nation great?
I’ll save my rage for leftists that
dare try to tell me who to hate.
Those judgments are mine alone.
Gladness oozes from Yolantha's fingers
Radiating warmth, gently caressing
Aftershock of angelic touch lingers
Tickles 'touchy subjects'; stress-repressing
Internal spark, external expressing
Filling Heavenly crown with jewels accrued
Invoking rain-dance-showers-o-blessing
Calming storms of amplified magnitude
Alluding, "All God's children are valued!"
Touching foreheads with fear-fever fervant
International Queen of Gratitude
Offbeat and earthy, heart of a servant
No worthy words from my pen: shooting blanks
Simply stated, "nothing better than THANKS"
**** **** **** ****
(for Yolantha Pace)
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...
Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.
Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.
Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.
Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).
Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.
A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.
That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.
Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.
August the eleventh is a very special day
Because happy Jack Ellison is ninety today
A talented musician he used to play the banjo
With the Canadiana singers, many years ago
A ladies' man with a keen eye for the fillies
Makes us all laugh with his limerick sillies
But Jack he can write serious poetry too
He's a proud Canadian through and through.
I hope that he has a lovely birthday today
And hope that everything goes his way
I've enjoyed banter with him over the years
We've had plenty of laughs and shed a few tears.
So, raise your glass and let's have a toast
To a fine gentleman and poet that's no idle boast
He has lots of friends on here, so I hope you'll join me
In letting Jack know he's a valued member of this community.
(Here's one of Jack's poems)
Once was a folk singer back in the sixties
It was surely my time to shine
Along with the great Peter Paul and Mary
They seemed like good friends of mine
A group of six, The Canadiana Folksingers
Appeared on Canadian TV
A couple of albums and a number of performances
Played banjo, sure looked geeky
Hi Jolly was our biggest success
Wherever we went they clamoured for it
Did I tell you Bruce played a one string bass
It added some charm I'll admit
Wife Linda was one of the two girl singers
Sure prettied up the group I'll say
Didn't make much money but that didn't matter
The joy hasn't left me to this day
Not everyone can say they were part of a group
Twas a very special time in my life
Wish I could go back and live it again
A great time for me and my wife
Jack Ellison.