Long Whisk away Poems
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Flitting and buzzing in a
playful, poetic dance
a whirr of delicate wings
crescendos and decrescendos
among a colorful carpet of
sumptuous, silky petals.
Daring drones speed dizzily about
barely resting, constantly competing
in a crazy chase for their sticky prize.
Swooning with drunken lust
they dream of its sappy sweetness
and long for its golden glory.
Insect tongues sip and suckle in tandem
greedily drinking with delight to the full.
Soon they whisk away with their
sticky stash to unseen combs.
And I wonder where they go
and how their delectable delight grows
in that hidden world that only nature knows.
Written on 9/14/2019
Goldfish stumble upon a princess
Ruby of the sea? Charlie guesses.
They swim to get old Tom
Who is floating close to a gaggle of mermaids.
Come quickly! Charlie says to their wisest resident.
He is an alarmist, so Tom moves not a whit
Besides, these mermaids are tasty and beautiful.
Charlie looks to see what is captivating Tom
Come take your turn Tom says, handing over binoculars.
Those sirens are poison! Charlie says saucily.
One turns and winks at him, proving his point.
If they are gone when I get back it will be tragic for you Tom warns.
But never the less they head to whatever wanderlust
Charlie and his cousins have in mind today.
What is the humanoid leaning on? Charlie asks.
Clocks I think, Tom says. I think they call them that.
What do they do? They make time whisk away
Before you know what has happened.
Is it Ruby of the sea? Charlie asks, remembering the premonition.
Mystify me once, shame on you, thinks Tom.
Mystify me twice, shame on me.
Unsure, Tom says. But she could be.
It is a she? Charlie asks. He has not heard this word before.
Or it is a clock, Tom says. Maybe it is the clock.
Maybe the other things are the she.
The wind chill is 45 below sanity
a snowman has frozen snot
dripping from his 1 carrot nose
but the cold doesn't stop the death toll
in my sweet home Chicago.
27 dead across the Midwest.
Frozen solid in the echoes of their final steps.
A snow-shoveling heart attack took out a vet
who did three tours in Iraq.
My neighbor kept me awake, wielding a leaf blower.
To whisk away little puffs of snow.
He knows I work the graveyard shift.
But tomorrow I'll give him my happy hello.
He's on permanent disability, drives a nicer car than me.
He's the one who rolled a snowman into form despite his bad back.
Clever little mother#%$&*$
He'll never have a heart attack.
There's a variety of starvation and riots.
Thirteen wars going on at present.
But the primetime gossips are obsessing about.
Trump's big orange belly and wispy hair...
Mercifully, they cut to a Kotex commercial.
It's a good time to coffee up and take a piss.
I've got a very serious case of the polar vortex blues.
Filched Physiognomy - Mine!
Absolute zero escape
velocity guts dance
sing days (contra and square),
cuz metabolic full abundance
abdominal adipose tissue acceptance
not in accordance
with light as a feather
miss lost acquaintance
the boy within forced admittance
as sure man tanks of fat did advance
shotgun marriage demanded allegiance
to pledge lifetime alliance
no room for allowance
crushing lightness of being ambiance
nor allies to help me combat
battle fatigue require
ring superman endurance
to muster strength
to stand erect else ambulance
will whisk away husky
embarrassing appearance
loose fitting clothing
jelly roll appurtenance
overnight digital readout,
asper body mass index
scaled quick ascendance,
thus when showering,
I look askance
fearing bulging balloon
will necessitate assistance
else... diet of worms
as only assurance
safeguarding body electric
against hecklers at open casket
no matter, a small perchance
crowd in attendance
yea... eventual cremation
after life only fat chance
to alleviate present circumstance
heavy matter fails security clearance
the price for astute cognizance
weak willpower alighting countenance
esse pie ying sweet treats
now measures taken to counterbalance
to fight temptation and dalliance
overruling feasting craving delectation
to restore trim deliverance
love handles around equator
no magician can render disappearance
yes the discontinuance
of just dessert must maintain distance
without being weighed
down with disturbance
by heaviest haunch
ain't no elegance
lugging extra encumbrance
when throughout my early life,
skinny, yet able to steel glance
mirrored reflection now grievance,
where wistful memory
ha...ironic insouciance
more so than
today finds intolerance,
thus woebegone issuance
thorn in muss hide
to experience jubilance
hmm...maybe a strong
arm can lance
excess flab quite a nuisance
to defy gravity, why penance
sans unsightly paunch
yours truly laments skin
tight fit, thus petulance
lame excuse unwanted protuberance
necessitates dedicated pursuance
recollection of washboard
abdomen impossible, yes
nothing accomplished by remonstrance!
An afternoon stroll, I could not detain;
Together stroll arm-in-arm the distance.
Whisk away with the sudden cool light rain.
Fruit set, new growth, leaf and shoot existence.
Marigold start to bloom, love's insistence.
Butterflies swarm; all different colours,
Across the garden with all the others.
Spring-summer rain, flickering gray shadow,
Blow the birds about with their small brothers.
I hope it doesn't rain again tomorrow.
4/11/2020
Rain Dizain (10 lines, 10 syllables per line, a b a b b c c d c d
Poetry Contest: Delightful Dizains
Sponsored by: Beth Evans
Outside, inside,
Up and down,
To the upside of the downside
To my final step, and the squeak of a shrew
I am the rock that bears the weather
And the fire that eats the heather
I am the self in selfish desires, as
I float higher and higher and
I dream in my cadavered recumbency
To but fall down, and
Drown in the salt of the sea.
Slashed sweetness of my sweet seventeen
Burns with the berevity, and
A brisk bleed
As I succumb to my disease.
So let the wind whisk away my cares
Let the naked air style my hair
And I'll wear what I'll wear
Let me orbit the stars between my scars, and
Let me be, let me...
I pulled the cold and old electric Glarry piano
out the closet and make happy music again;
this one was the sensational joy of Claudio,
he played it until he was tired and laid down!
The first thing he'd do is to attune to his feeling,
he'd sit down and play the Fifth of Bethoven;
nothing ever bothered him, he kept on going:
perfection wasn't something hard to attain!
Dusting off these piano keys with a dampened rag,
I treat it gently, leaving no visible smears but shine;
oh, an attempt to play it incites temptation to brag!
Would nostalgia be emotional and utterly sublime?
This piano was wrapped for twenty years in a white sheet,
ignored and forgotten by me to deny my sorrow until now;
my music was heard two blocks away, it delighted Juliet:
she gladly came around, applauded and cried somehow!
Dusting off these piano keys once flicked by fingers that loved life,
this idle mind will create new melodies to whisk away all boredom;
I have endured enough desolation, don't I desperately need freedom
to break away from a long winter with days without warm sunshine?
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
SEPARATED SPIRIT FROM THE MOUND OF DIRT AND CLAY---
As I walk across the silver sands, winds;
Blows throughout my daughterly brazen hair;
Whisk away seldom the sun dims, its grin;
Shining brightly those grinning light shines there;
Kicks the pebbles corner stone’s made of gold;
Harboring the renaissance of stories told;
I yet still walk through the Holy Garden;
Never forgetting, never seeing sin;
Placed in the heart of the Jesus mercies grace;
Never deny the Father’s primal space;
Caring and sharing alms of misplace;
Comforting and soothing man’s divineness;
Made up of clay and dirt covering spirit;
Departed death walks lands no one hears it…
1/17/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
The 5th Symphony
is the terribly great symphony that scarred the sky
The 5th Symphony
is in the hands of the conductor
with skin like the bitter Prussian snow,
and the eyes of a starless night
The 5th Symphony is played
in the tempo of War,
with the opera of mourning
in the Key of Retribution
The melting of a city made of gold.
The angel of Revenge
forges the weapons
for the sons of Injustice, Wrath, and Survival.
Gardens of peace offerings, swallowed in fire.
before their ghosts could whisk away
the arrows that clothed the ash
were fallen unto them
The edge of the blade condemns the Emperors, and their wives,
yea, even their handmaids to the Pit of Sheol
and their souls are rended apart, down to the dust of the dust,
even before they descend