Long Wait your turn Poems
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Joe works the gas station,
they still do full serve,
tops you off with a big grin,
if you wait your turn.
Chats with all the tourists,
shows them where to go,
that’s why everyone in town
calls him Fill’er-up Joe.
Fill’er-up Joe,
whoa, whoa, whoa,
Fill’er-up Joe,
don’t go slow,
folks need gas,
don’t you know,
they’ll all come back
for another go.
Works the bar for night shifts,
only one in town,
there’s no head when he pours beer
the folks guzzle down.
Chats with all the ladies,
makes the liquor flow,
all his friends, when nighttime comes,
call him Fill’er-up Joe.
Fill’er-up Joe,
whoa, whoa, whoa,
Fill’er-up Joe,
don't go slow,
folks need booze,
don’t you know,
they all come back
for another go.
Sometimes those young ladies
take a shine to him,
the man’s not that bad looking,
they fall for his grin.
The man’s got no money,
but those girls still go,
the next day his buddies smirk,
“Did you fill’er-up Joe?”
Fill’er-up Joe,
oh, oh, OH!
Fill’er-up Joe,
please go slow,
girls need love,
don’t you know,
they all come back
for another go.
Some places you don’t write about. You survive them.
Frost on the telly, piss on the stairs,
Smells like bleach, burnt foil, and prayers.
Boiler’s gone. Sockets dead.
Someone’s screaming. Someone bled.
Tinfoil wings fill every bin,
Ashtrays stacked with yesterday’s sin.
Fridge blows air. The kitchen’s grave—
Nothing left, and none to save.
Upstairs she rocks a silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
Skin all wire, voice all gone—
“He screams less when I use alone.”
Three doors down, a bloke named Rick
Dealt ten bags to fund his fix.
Found his brother stiff and blue—
Took his coat, then shot up too.
They found her curled behind the bins,
Legs like rope, cuts on her shins.
Said she slipped.
Said it was rain.
But silence screams
when soaked in shame.
Kid got stabbed by the corner shop—
Twelve years old, still learning to chop.
Mum lit candles. No one came.
Council rinsed, but the stain remained.
Still—
still—
Through all the filth and smashed-out glass,
a streak of sun begins to pass.
It cuts across the piss and pain,
slides through blinds, through cracked windowpane.
It brushes past the silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
No cries now, just the ticking room—
Still rocked gently in her gloom.
It lingers at Rick’s old front door,
His coat long gone, his name no more.
His ghost still trapped where the rot runs deep—
No peace, no fix, no final sleep.
It finds the girl still by the bins,
Track marks raw on paper skin.
She doesn’t move, just lets it burn—
“Smoke still holds me. Wait your turn.”
The sun don’t ask what you’ve done wrong.
It just turns up. Don’t stay too long.
Don’t save the good. Don’t curse the bad.
It lights the wreckage, leaves you mad.
And while it’s here, we breathe. We fight.
We crawl one inch. We steal some light.
A thread of gold. A breath. A flame.
On streets they curse but still proclaim.
So write it raw. Don’t make it sweet.
Don’t bleach the blood. Don’t clean the street.
We ain’t saints. We ain’t pure.
But we’re still here.
And we endure.
This is the sound of neglected Britain—
forgotten, boarded, pissed-on, driven.
A country that don’t fix, just shame.
And sun that shines on piss and pain.
OVERBEARING
When you walk up upon two people talking
And they shun you turn away start walking
Cold non endearing
Never ending so not caring
Overbearing
Wait your turn don't interrupt the corrupt
And those problems bag them up
Place those worries in a locked closet
Cold non endearing, never ending so not caring
Overbearing
Distrubuting the prviacy of others
Does it matter abundant covers
Don't be abrasin or impatient
This is a new revelation
Overbearing
It's not that your not important
Cold non endearing
Never ending so not caring
So just wait for your space
And when your late the groups already started
Don't be broken hearted
You enter in but all eyes on you
Don't resist in your hues or views
Place those worries in a locked closet
Cold non endearing, never ending so not caring
Overbearing
3/3/10
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©
Wait Your Turn
It was clear to me that there would be no magic
Expecting no inheritance of riches, I stuck to logic
But to remain poor and not go forward, is tragic
It’s hard to 'find yourself' in so much people traffic
We learn to keep trusting, and not become a lunatic
Inner senses reveal one’s time will come; how terrific!
I waited for Adulthood
I waited for an Education
I waited for Right Relationships
I waited for Open Doors and Opportunities
I waited, waited, waited, and continued to wait
I'm okay with waiting; I just don't want to be late
God takes His time to create a rose and to grow a tree
A time of waiting unveils, “The best things in life are free”
Sometimes we cannot avoid lines created just for you and me
Though we hate to wait, it enables us to be the best we can be
01252015 (PS Contest, Becca‘s Inspiration “Waiting”, sponsored by Craig Cornish)
As flowers fill with summer rain
Commuters board their rush hour train
Oblivious to all they see
They must get home in time for tea
Reflecting on their busy day
Decisions seldom go their way
The simple things that mean a lot
Just too busy – Now forgot
Magic times remain unseen
Now blinded by their dull routine
Tomorrows dreams stay in the past
Time flies by - the moments passed
It’s easy to be lead astray
But every dog will have his day
The thoughts inside – Just Cant let go
So don’t let on - no-one will know
All heading for another place
They hide behind a dead pan face
Afraid their plans have gone astray
They must survive another day
Don’t bother with a crystal ball
You have the power to recall
We each determine our own fate
So take control – Don’t sit and wait
Why stand in line and wait your turn
Just cut the ropes and watch them burn
Feelings that we all suppress
You never know – Perhaps they’ve guessed
The sands of time will ebb and flow
The tree that grows will always show
The promise of a future dawn
On platform nine you stand and yawn.
I am the voice of time —
The whisper of centuries long silenced,
And today, I thunder:
The Earth has turned. The meek now reign.
In the year 2050,
China stands not as a country,
But as the heartbeat of a new era,
The firstborn of the Global South’s resurrection.
Not with swords, but silicon.
Not with chains, but circuits.
Africa —
No longer a continent of carved borders,
But a single soul,
One country, one currency, one command.
Its deserts bloom with data farms,
Its skies sing with satellites.
Nairobi, Lagos, Addis — the new jewels of the world.
The old gods —
IMF, World Bank, UN —
Have crumbled into myths for the museum.
BRICS++ has risen, forged in fire,
A furnace of South-South solidarity,
Wielding economic thunder and military lightning.
The New Alliance of the Rising Earth
— a pact forged in justice —
Holds a strength the world has never known.
A military force not born for conquest,
But to protect balance, defend harmony, and uproot hypocrisy.
Meanwhile...
Europe staggers —
Not united, but scattered in tribal echoes,
Its streets echoing with hunger,
Its parliaments burning with blame.
Third World, now not a label,
But a mirror to their future.
And America —
Once fifty stars in pride —
Now scattered into fractured republics,
Each fighting to remember a name.
They come now, ship after ship,
Seeking shelter, seeking work,
Filing into Global South embassies
With applications marked: Desperate.
And the white man, once crowned in ignorance,
Now knows the taste of his own medicine.
Discriminated, undocumented,
Told: Learn the language. Wait your turn. Prove your worth.
But this is not vengeance.
This is balance.
The earth, long patient, has reset the scale.
Oh reader —
This is not a dream.
This is the roar of a future that remembers.
A reckoning seeded in colonized soil,
Watered with blood,
Now grown into a harvest of reckoning.
The last shall be first,
And the first shall be last.
This is the New Superpower.
And its name is Justice.
Walking in Limbo
a man finds himself alone
in a dark forest
filled with strange trees
and hears voices
in the wind
he walks forward
towards a light
in the forest
and soon finds himself
confronted by a ghostly image
the dead are all around
and he realizes
that he has died
and he is wandering
in limbo
he walks towards the light
and sees a man
at a desk
who asks his name
he says his name
and the man
smiles and tells him
welcome to limbo
join the others
to wait your turn
for judgement is due
and the man
walks back
through the haunted forest
trying to remember how he died
but he has no memory
of his past life
and is doomed
to wander in limbo
stuck between time
and worlds
comforted by the ghosts
around him
and the light
in the forest
writers digest prompt to write an ekphrastic Poem
I want to write a poem about birthday
Because today is my birthday - yeyy yeyy
Do you know why you were born?
You were born for a purpose
Do you know your purpose yet?
God will show you
Do you know what happened on your birthday?
You - the star was born hehe
Heaven was rejoycing
And still is today
Does God know what He is doing?
Sure does
Just look at you today
Why does God insist on doing what He is doing?
He created you, didn't He? haha
Can't be wrong
Now the question: do you know how you were created?
Ahh that - I will leave it to the expert
You are no expert either
Don't fool yourself lol
What should you do on your birthday?
Whatever the h I want to do, right?
Born, buddy
You got to get in there
Through the canal...
And jump
Bingo haha
You made it
You were born
The star is created
Now how many birthday I am going to get?
One - my friend
Unless you want to be born again?
Ahh I can arrange that
No problemo
Are you sure you want to be born again?
Yeah yeah
Now get back in there
Go through the canal
Not that canal
What do you think I'm saying?
Canal of water my friend
Of accepting Jesus as your Savior
Because if you don't
You might as well not to be born again
And how can you live
if you are not born again?
Anyway, how did I get here?
Lol - Happy birthday to me
And you too - some day
Wait your turn, will ya?
Bright lights, noise, life, living is
cold and sometimes unsettling becoming a disappointing annoyance,
when and where time seems to stand still
and all motion, activities, purpose ceases.
For some, the sounds are enthusiasm that life continues to thrive
looking elsewhere for a new goal, a point and purpose;
Others seek some driving force, an incentive or a push
to hold them steady in place, patient, waiting.
For a moment, all appears the same, stagnant,
unchanged, ungrowing, eating away within,
slowly decaying the minhtes, bored, dying without challenge
as everything around is stationary, unmoved.
But there is a hidden force in being alive and well,
beyond mere survival in a giving and a taking
in getting through the need, the time,
the very act of living.
Take your number now,
be patient, understanding, kind
and wait your turn in line.
I see you're Right
Her Path is Light
I can hardly wait to meet Her
Hurry, please ~ Take Me to your Leader
I've lived life all wrong
To nothing, to no one I belong
I really, really need Her
Please, please ~ Take Me to your Leader
I've turned to crime
Bathed in mud and slime
I'd do anything to see Her
So, please ~ Take Me to your Leader ...
...Not so fast. Please listen here
You'll wait your turn, darling dear
A thousand others want to meet Her
Crying: Hurry, please ~ Take Me to your Leader
Just like you, they're sinners too
Bungled life, through and through
So desperately do they need Her
Their voices begging ~ Take Me to your Leader
They've robbed and ransacked city and village
Murdered and kidnaped, even pillaged
They'll do anything just to see Her
Screaming ~ Take Me to your Leader ...
"...I guess I see," I managed, sore abashed
My hopes, my dreams, thoroughly dashed--
Plunged the blade in my heart so deep
~ No Leader my soul to mourn or weep