Long Wilts Poems
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The only woman I ever loved gives joy and love, For I have met and loved other women but not with such satisfaction I feel now. For she turns a dark day bright and shares a smile that brings life to a withering rose, if only her parents knew they would have called her Rose because she is my Rose of Sharon. Give me love my angel for today we joined in one, let us rejoice in our love and strengthen our bond in marriage.
Days, weeks, months pass and my love is still strong and sharper than any double edged sword. We on the second year now, why the sudden change. Our usual routines fade with the honeymoon phase, no more cuddling its now frequent quarreling. Is marriage like this? Love fades now its reality; she comes late at night and leaves early in the morning. The home once full of love now lays with sorrows.Donot know who to blame but myself for I ran before I could walk and landed before I could fall and now everything is vivid we jumped into marriage leaving us livid.
Everything changes I do not feel at home anymore, because home is where the heart is and for now my heart is wondering. I start feeling at home at pubs, for it is there where I drown my sorrows. Nightfall becomes my joy for I know the bar calls and sorrows are drowned. I now long for body warmth for in bed we now like Siamese twins joined by our backs.
Usual routine at the bar two three beers a woman approaches, she speaks with persuasion, have I found love at the bar or is it the alcohol taking its course? She whispers in my ear all through the night. She then leads me away like a bull led for slaughter.
Morning and everything is bleak but I feel body warmth, had I partaken in the act of love with the mystifying woman. Suddenly she awakes; she smiles and demands she be reward for her participation in the act. It then hits me, is she the thorny rose that wilts other roses, the lady of the night that brings gloom. I glance around the room; nothing strikes me as a condom. Does that mean I partook in the act of love with the lady of the night without protection?
Has my marriage lead me to death, It seems death is now soon to be my destiny. For I know with the ladies of the night comes the devil's advocate.
And now that the curse of my marriage
She was one of the reasons I lived and now she is the only reason I'm dying...
Form:
When life throws shades of gray
and darkness hides the day...
When rain seems to make me oh, not gay
for it wilts my blooms to decay~
When wild winds blow my gateway
and take all my darling buds away...
I bow my head and pray
and look up to my star far away~
So very far but never fades away.
Yes, it never fades away
for it is brighter than Sirius
and more beautiful than Betelgeuse
as it never ceases to shine even at day.
Troubles may come along the byway~
but I will not go astray
for at the end of my everyday
I am still proud to say~
amongst a million stars light-years away
there is that star that bears my name
and shines only for me.
But, oh, today as I begin my way~
midst autumn auburn trees,
I see a star carved in the bark of a tree
with my name embossed on it.
I look up to the sky but I don't see my star.
In wonder, I cast a passing glance
at the golden morn that surrounds me;
As shining rays descend like gossamer of starlights,
the shy birds begin to sing in unison
with dancing trees that hum a tune~
there I see you illuminating in sunlight
holding a necklace with a star pendant
and I see my glittering name on it.
Now, as you come closer to me
and hang that jewel on my neck
I close my eyes ~ galaxies in silence hail!
as you take me back to your constellation.
November 11, 2020
There is a star with my name on it
Contest Judged: 11/12/2020 8:33:00 AM
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place
Entered for " All Yours ( April 9) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
I.
What delight is there, when the wine of youth
runs out and just the dregs of life remain?
When childhood flowers, and love's fire becomes truth,
the lusts of adolescence touch the brain;
when youth is gone, and life's sunsets approach,
the carnal pleasures of one's early years
cease as the winters of old age encroach;
and Cupid's arrow-tipped, twain-feathered spears
no longer fly true—for autumn's reproach
wilts passion like coffins that rest on biers.
II.
With vanished youth ardent love is absent;
yea! true love, as well, is scarce and then gone;
life's spring and passion are together meant,
which is a law of nature's lexicon.
But love desired is a love to acquire;
though plenteous are the fish that fill the sea,
casting nets (for love), like scalding Greek fire,
can burn and hurt the once young and carefree;
sought hastily, love without St. Elmo's Fire
can turn young lovers into a casualty.
III.
Ephemeral is love! The Muse, changeless,
unlike suitors won't dash one's youthful heart.
Her love is permanent; and she, viewless,
will bear one aloft to one's rhyming art.
A higher purpose is the divine Muse,
and no greater love has one known than she;
the bright north star to one's Parnassus, whose
west wind for one blows light and feathery,
she'll inspire and put one to divine use,
an assertion that's no minor decree!
Goin over goin overs keepin' me in pain and locked inside.
Goin over goin over till I'm insane and I've lost all my pride.
Goin over goin over till that day I go on over to the otherside.
Years go by, four seasons in each.
Thirteen so far in to the past I reach.
The air begins to clear as my life comes into view.
It's time to see tomorrow with someone besides you.
As new love shines with rays of hope.
Yesterday keeps calling till I'm almost out of rope.
Too weak to climb, I'm barely hangin' on.
Waiting to be rescued to my feet back on the ground.
Filling the hours with sunshine and flowers.
Till the beauty wilts and dies with October showers.
And we're left with a cold fridgid feeling.
Waiting for our hearts to melt, and our heads to stop reeling.
Just how much more can I write from behind?
Digging for the gold till it's all been mined.
Wondering what I'll lose first, my heart or my mind.
This chair has chipped paint.
Its shadow gangly
in the light spilling through
the window. A deep
buttercup bisque steeps.
Through this stream, ember
motility of curdled
cream seeps into pores.
The seat embraces. Blood
colors sugar soft.
Fragments of dust waver
around the chair. Like
the suspended stars, or
the pixel points on
an LCD screen. Crumbs.
Feathers stick to the cheeks,
to be brushed off,
puff into the heavens.
Egg -white tinctured coat
wilts within the humid
air. Like the jaundiced
skin you wished to shed
when you first sundered
the sheets this morning.
This chair rocked my great
grandmother and her
children, and mother. Creaks
like an anchored boat.
Exposed grey brown wood
perishes, stabs the skin.
Like the chilled sea tinted
eyes: an ingress tears
the hushed air- a summons:
her son. Long ago
an apollyon. Starless.
The chair will be kindle
in September, sand-
peach colors imbued,
flushed like the candied
burn of Fall. Her flames.
Relive the fire
in the sky; salt waters
plum green, oily.
tauten red orange arms.
War in the distance-
better. The rose portrait,
diabolus shades stain
a cimmeran- tinted
loss, wound. Chalk inhaled.
And the blaze of two black
holes colliding. Wraiths.
The winter of her life,
within which a lurid
spirit-thin webbed cross
bleeds ash. Freezes; clots.
Wendsday child filled with woe born into choas cold empty shadow.
she who shivers while her baby glows
small feet and eyes simply close
A tight fist hearth a crying mist
skin that is dark who fathomed sun kiss
kissed on the bridge
of thy nose
curiosity strikes thee small eyes that follow
magnetic warmth that only you dream about cookies and candles and a water spout
hope cools the steam off a dragon's snout an image of worry succeeds his doubt
fire flares but only rage finds out broken glass only acommpany a shout
she knows pain... and he knows now
A love tie broken but why tight bounds?
Fragile mind do you feel sadden at all?
you laugh and play
pass river sheep small
you will seek out the forest trees tall
mysterious uplifts whenever you fall
they beck your name they need not call.
You're just a babe
A scattered brain U
what path do you take
You must be brave!
you suddenly peer a great goldenly gate
clever u are not
so vines you break,
unnecessarily so plant life you take
the spirit of wonder you seemingly shake
It's The women who used her hand as a plate!
She guides your light so bright and so pure all through the night her lullaby cures
She chased away your lonesome fear
You feel comfort now that she's here
she a flower who wilts away
pours u her soul as her leaves turn grey
you are captivated by the beauty of her growth she whispers to you like a sacred oath
she will say to love and to pray and always be wise her eyes will cry you seem to know why.
she can no longer play in Marvelous May
the sun has to set at the end of the day.
you weep the woes of wistful Wednesday.
When all else went to hell
And even he thought, he was too far gone
She found hope in desperation and she promised
She’d keep hanging on
What she sees in him he doesn’t know
Cause even he, can’t see it in himself
And the storms of life feeding him feels like
A bottomless well
The last petal on the rose
Wilts a little more everyday
But it somehow finds the faith to go on
While all others have gone away
The light of its love
Makes it feel more like a spray
The last petal on a rose bringing blue skies
To a world that’s turned gray
Any chance of getting sober
Found him guided, by the devils hands
If it weren’t for the love of a woman
He’d be eternally damned
The last petal on the rose
Wilts a little more everyday
But it somehow finds the faith to go on
While all others have gone away
The light of its love
Makes it feel more like a spray
The last petal on a rose bringing blue skies
To a world that’s turned gray
At his eulogy the only
Petal that was left on the rose
Laid beside him for she too had decided
It was her time to go
Wilted withered finally fallen
The last petal on the rose
There's a vase full of flowers
By the window
There's a bowl full of golden fish
On the table
~
Oh and my man has left me
My man left me goodbye
oh I wish that I was a baby
So that I would cry
~
There is love across the corner
And around the street
That is where he went, my man went over
To the house where he did seek
A lovely Maiden a beautiful woman my my my
He lifted up with praises toward the skies
~
There's a vase full of flowers
By the window
There's a bowl full of golden fish
On the table
~
And in the morning this young girl cries
Cuz her man has left her here to die
Brokenhearted he has forsaken her this love less woman left her why why why
~
Each day one of the flowers in the vase just wilts away
Each moment leaving me with nothing but ashes
And tomorrow I know there's going to be a better day
Cuz the golden fish in my fish bowl on the table begins to sway
Tears in the water for my gold fish cry
Fairs in my heart and stomach my breathing's nigh
~
There's a vase full of flowers
By the window sill
There's a bowl full of dead golden fish still
My tears are in the water
My breath has left the flowers
He told me he was leaving
And that he would not come back
I found myself grieving
He broke my heart now I don't want him back
(a womans brokenhearted verse, love loss sigh)
7/26/74
Written words by James Edward Lee 1974, 2020
In the beginning this boat was bare,
Greenest with infant's sinless stare;
Before soles more selfish than sane
Had trodden its dreary derelict main.
First to blacken its still-tiptop form
Were kith and kin as is sin's norm;
For if brother Cain won't Abel kill,
Which other bloodier maniac will?
Then hopped wild neighbors' feet
Onto this boat's floor sterile neat;
And like schythes thrust to the hilts,
Hurt this bud that yet writhing wilts.
Nor were classmates' limbs and toes
Any kinder to this vessel's prior woes;
Hasty to sprain its ingenuous naiveté,
Sterner kilning did than fire dealt clay.
There finally was that first-ever flame,
Wooled to the wrist like a mild dame;
Which vulpine swill in flannels guised
Took I, and at last this boat capsized!
Surreal sonnets found their way
into the cavern of emptiness,
Scrolling through rusting rhymes and concrete couplets,
All in a chaotic cadence of crème de la crème.
This hard-held heart barely softened for the colors in the fading photographs.
What can the mere past do to these strings of stones,
When the dents from adrenaline-filled butterflies
Remain as few frozen water droplets,
Resting on an ocean-wide dinner table,
Questioning what lives and what wilts?
Have these hands abandoned the will to hold the moon?
For the absurd symphonies your worn-out wounds sing
Do not touch the skin of my ears.
Naive senses were the first silk to pay for lost love.
Delusions are funny when they play,
Crystal ball showing doves,
Promising everlasting angelic bells from above.
What difference does it make
When words can only be breathtaking as they float,
Without a beat, without bones?
The malicious necessity behind a heathen and it’s horns,
Making pouring Polaroids out of dreams and thorns.
For beyond a portrait of murky eclipses, there is nothing more,
Just ravenous ravens and stale blue shores.