Long Yellowness Poems
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Below the craters of a sullen city
I burrow lightly, cautiously, hands on
Guardrails, one foot after the other,
Into the underpart of the earth,
Through a spiralling, syncope-fomenting
Stairwell, old and broken, but grandly ancient.
The light thereunder is dim and shallow,
And the rest of the matter with it was a
Basket of fusty smell.
It was by the loose side of noontime,
When mustiness gathers sweltering details.
Little rain from last night, falling from a
Sobbing, laconic south,
Made issues graver.
But I don’t mind.
With cracked, besieged walls, the grounds
Welcomed me well.
I stood and gazed at the books on staffed shelves,
Aged and worn,
Graced by times’ capsule of relief by way of
Primitive reckoning.
Tablets and scrolls rave with the lustre of fading
Yellowness.
Tomes (leather-bound) attested to the pregnancy
Of departed eras.
Encyclopaedia Britannica eyed me warmly.
A tall, bespectacled man, the age of Wilde,
With apricot skin and second-hand suit,
Thin and wobbling stick,
And shoes from Lennard’s
Buried his face on a Chaucer
Material, reading silently to the tune of
His twerking soul, his full lower lip
Mocking the higher.
Men and women clutter about, searching
And peeking from shelves of immortality,
On whose dusty surfaces elderly pages stuck
Out their tired, resting tongue-tips —like
Stray, hungry dogs on battered pavements.
The books and volumes sell for a farthing each —
Coins betrayed by roaming verdigris.
The quill feather pens for a few dashing shillings,
The scrolls, some teeth-showing cowries . . .
Above us (the reading congregation of this temple
Of books and time),
A coven of reading witches and winking wizards,
The city throng manages itself with the due process of law
According to traffic —above—
And several feet below — underground —
The hidden treasure of
Digestible info,
Divergent views.
Y
Yggdrasil
younglings
yobbishly
yohimbine
yammering yardsticks
year-round
yuppifying
yuppifies
yokefellow
yarborough
yellowtail Ypsilanti
yearningly
yellowback
yarmulkas
Yevtushenko
Yellowstone yachtswoman
yellowfin
yellowing
yearlings
yodellers
yearnings
yachtsmen yesterdays
yearbooks
yachtsman
youngberry
yarramans
yellowhead
yeastiest yardstick
yieldingly
youngling
yogyakarta
yoghourts
Yugoslavia yodelling
Youngstown
yarmulkes
yataghans
yawningly
yellowish
youthfully cowardly
yellowness
youngsters
yeastlike
youngness
Yiddish
yardmaster
yuppiedom youngster
Yaroslavl
Yellowknife
yellowcake
Yugoslavian
yuppified
Yorkshire
yellowest
yattering
yellowlegs
yesterdays
yeastiness
ytterbium
yesteryear
yardbirds
YouTubing
yellowwood
yellow-belly
Yucatan
yourselves
yabbering
Y words?
8/11/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Winter’s Wolf Wind
She smuggles her way to the window
watching daylight struggle through the curtains
to collapse on the floor… grey and lifeless.
Clouds like distant, dark thoughts,
slide secretively overhead
while she edges the window open
like a favoured page in a special book;
it allows the night’s story to begin.
She watches, entertained, as the dark
sneaks around like a thief in soft shoes
while a sudden scrape of moon
offers up a faint, pallid face
which, in turn, is swiftly wiped away.
She senses a change in the night…
and not for the better.
Silence, a chill, all still.… until….
Trees quiver, clouds scurry, the sea judders;
winter sends its wolf wind to scour the darkness.
The night nervously begins to skip up and down
as the wolf wind howls across the beach,
snapping at the mumbling, crumbling sand,
slapping, punching on the concrete walls,
bullying beach huts with butts of anger and frustration
while lightning, the night’s cat, scratches the sky.
Now the wolf wind’s almond, sharpened eyes
turn their chilling yellowness towards her;
coldly, boldly clawing its way to her house.
Her veins twist and twitch with apprehension,
as the wolf wind now snarls at her window,
forcing her to roll rapidly, snappily inside the curtain,
forcing her to tighten every sinew, every pore,
preventing the wolf wind creeping under her very skin.
Ian Souter
Your luminescence and clouds from once before, My vision blurrs fine connoisseurs and hunger profits more…
Longing for belonging vain void of emptiness,
Shoulders back, head held high weighting heaviness.
Murky desperation; wish not to be a bother,
Stars twinkle right above us whilst
Mist below does hover.
These feelings are so haunting; sober, solemn , staid,
Lured by loves’ prison, glowered from the grave.
To seek to be a part of all
Here again- love serves,
Though effulgence with all brilliance
Yellowness reserves.
For twilight is obscure for magic must unmask,
mysterious allure perchance, perchance to last.
Our world it keeps on turning
For here that God does bless
We must be doing something right-
To wrap in yellowness.
The wind rose early with the busying dawn;
And, rushing into the long avenue of beech -
Laid down years ago to accommodate labouring feet -
Began to scatter over neatly cut verge and lawns
With its own inimitable unruly gust, blow and fuss...
Within a cascading maelstrom of vivid bright yellowness.
Against strong trunks, held firm by steadfast roots,
Groans from creaking boughs as they upwardly heaved
Upon frantically thrashing branches showering
rusted, golden leaves;
Carpeting the rough stones below my trampling boots.
A mad kaleidoscope of leaping, swirling, skipping
colour
Where, as a child, I had once rediscovered...
Two green sandstone gate pillars sat well back
That ushered me under this arched, canopied track.
Pensile clouds of a new Truth loom.
With them are selected versions of
Extinct grief.
Looking through the yellowness of a
Dog’s eyes, this aura of Truth, pervasive,
Sours my palate.
What say the bulletins and tabloids
In their speech potency?
Have they recoiled on the sudden encroachment
Of stale seas
Or have they rolled out drums for Haley’s ROOTS?
Between Kamby Bolongo of watery essence
And the forested, warm plains of Juffure, ROOTS!
And drums fashion themselves out for Kinte,
Who must tap gently the face of the drum
For earthly summons.
From sinuous, valleysome frontiers backward,
We yodel loud,
Fronting bands of ROOTS.