I long for the majesties of autumn--
the mildly chilly breeze, pleasant walks,
the mums of varied colors, the changing leaves . . .
I look forward to seeing the riot of colors in the leaves;
but where I live, the sun burns hot in early autumn.
I anticipate wearing flannel during October walks.
Though I am no longer able to take long walks,
during short ones, I’m still in awe of the changing leaves.
My favorite time, weather-wise, is near-mid-autumn.
Autumn-lovers on walks gaze at red, yellow, and purple leaves.
Angel dust glides
past the fairy wood
high above ancient boughs
and descends to anoint
my mangled mind
shot through with the lead
of seething maelstrom
born in the tombs
hewn to cordon frozen angst
bellowing for battle
with steel majesties
cocooned in satin alcoves.
I lie myself down in silence and close my eyes.
Imagine I'm flying high in majesties skies
Over open seashores as sounds of waves rise.
Embracing the breast and scent of land
With the nascent sun towards inland,
Sunflowers, butterflies around grassland.
Enjoying the sunshine melting into my dream
As umber twigs reach upward into space of cream.
Nature's music beams among earths pigment scheme.
Motionless in peace, tranquility, and clear mind.
Spellbinding simplicity, strife left behind.
My life spiritual fantasy world defined.
1/16/2024
you are flying on a hazy dream carpet —
floating up there, above these old streets,
these ancient genuflecting pines and cedars,
rising above the sleeping dead on Broadway,
soaring now through the white tombstones—
the low walnut branches that flail like hungry cats.
now the sudden rush out of death’s hand we fly,
whirring by faster than blood flow in a silver sieve,
in and out of the shadowed majesties far inside,
these soul itchers that foretell the coming andantes,
here in this perfumed dreamland with only you,
as we seep through the spinning pines and cedars,
the long extending blood rivers naked with stones,
of venison death and fish spasms in the final sun.
If you can get the name,
Even if you attain fame,
If you regard it as yours, one and only,
Can you claim it loudly?
If you can bring your zone completely under control,
If you know you will survive till your downfall,
If you have the same appetite as you had before,
You are not unknown and unnamed anymore.
I can sense you growing too superior,
I can find you stunning for your demeanour,
But I do not want to call you 'the majesty,'
As majesties can become far too nasty.
You sound like we are no longer similar anymore,
I want to challenge your haughtiness to reach your core.
Don't express your false sense of gratitude,
We recognise we don't deserve this attitude.
Can we play again?
Can we address it as another black rain?
Will we again dive into a giant algorithm?
Can we truly consider this our best time?
What Is It Part III
Then there is the flow of the shoals of galaxies,
Great clouds within the blackness.
Countless stars, countless worlds about them
How much sentience flashing
Through the great and shifting clouds
How much communicates
With itself
How much has become aware?
Is the Universe dreaming?
Is God dreaming?
Is It dreaming of the horrors, of the majesties
Unfolding on the countless worlds
Of the great cloud that is It's brain?
Does it care?
Is it sane?
And if the Divine, the Entity, be mad,
Overwhelmed by the cacaphony of It's parts,
What then of the motes carried along?
What ultimate fate awaits them?
"Oh beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain."
----------
Tales from ancestral lore decree
How journeys prompt discovery.
Evolving visions, sacred themes,
Beckoned onward those hopes and dreams:
One land became that promised place
Undaunted seekers could embrace -
No plight would prove too burdensome
That might deny wayfarers from
Immigrating to obtain
Freedoms that they could thus sustain.
Unbowed by struggles they would face
Long suffered souls these tests embraced;
Long wandered wards from tumults fought
Advancing quests for futures sought.
Now, praise their spirit rightly famed -
Defend those rights so nobly gained.
Missionaries were cunning
Not less than a cat’s eye fixed on a meal with a waggling tail
Curiosity extended in those that heard them speak.
With a thorned crown of dead porcupine.
A pagan king and His ignorant servant standing taller than palm trees
Leaning forward like a falling tower to its knees.
”Story tellers.”
They bring stories on what lies beyond your majesties' kingdom.
A routine of tales sang under a silver silent moonlight
It was Entertainment at a day’s end of a successful hunt.
The tales told to kings articulated volumes of curiosity
As the red fire flowing its light on curious faces,
The missionaries had learnt to tread softly
Not less than a cat’s eye fixed on a meal with a waggling tail
And so they carried on and drew mass crowds in this likeness.
Sir God,
It's me again,
You already know what I want to say,
But allow me put it this way,
Our genesis is different,
But the destiny is the same.
We all must rest,
We'll die and go to unknown land,
A place only known to the departed,
Not even the worldly majesties,
Will escape it.
Do not give me many years,
Like those of Methuselah,
I not need to be wrinkled,
And look like a beast,
I need not to be a burden,
When my time come,
Let it be a decent journey,
At an old age dear God,
When I'll have accomplished all,
The wants and desires in mind.
At a time I'll be giving blessings,
The time I'll have nothing to lose,
Nobody will have to wail,
For I'll have put it to a halt,
My gift of life.
Dear God,
Let it not be through an ailment,
Not a fatal accident,
Not a suicide nor a genocide,
Not even a lightning strike,
Let it be a decent journey.
@Tha Formidable Cheru.
#themonk.
though they sought the gentle verse
a wracking pain drew up their purse
as thoughtless sovereigns hissed their curse
the dollars drained; their feign- rehearsed
this tragic dismantling
ever-torn fabric seams
flowing a pious demand of the feed
groveling majesties
planted their effigy
cordially under the pew cushion seats
stating repeat
loving the myrrh
silent decree
ebony spurs
A day of beauty -rainbows on the sky;
the oceans’ and the mountains’ majesties;
bold colors when day’s light begins to die -
my muse delights in wonders such as these.
Emotions – mostly happy ones – not sad;
imaginings that make my spirit dance;
a time recalled because I felt so glad;
nostalgia of a beautiful romance.
A story that is begging to be told
poetically! I feel the need to try
to put down words and also turn to gold
most precious moments that have made me sigh.
I rarely write from sorrow or from strife.
My muse is most enthused by love of life!
July 28, 2020 for the Muse Poetry Contest of Regina McIntosh
Instead of amber waves of grain
We witness somber waves of pain
Our beautiful for spacious skies
Are filled with angry, hurtful cries
While purple mountain majesties
Look down on civil travesty
No brotherhood from sea to sea
When hate still shines on you, on me
Can this America sustain
While blood now seeds the fruited plain
Can we not overcome this shame
When we are clearly all the same
She was calm, collected, majestic and silent as the pups approached her.
Secretly howling her truth but only mystically, in the ethereals,
where other packs could not hear or sense her presence
Faerie-land majesties had cautioned her to not reveal her
alpha sky powers, unless she wanted to share them with her
fellow earth wolves.
She studied the young pups poised before her.
There was a magical thread of desire linking them.
You may mate for life, she said.
As she agreed to the pact, the couple saw purple and
lavender jeweled wings and a jeweled mask for a brief
second.
They gratefully gave a couple of happy yips, and turned
to leave, knowing they would never be the same
having met the prophecy’s she wolf, pure white.
as told in the ancient myths.
“Maverick”
Mavericks are made
in the silence
spent
where
freedom
is kept locked tight
in solitary confinement
moments melting
down visceral pain
through love
and
loveless madness
fierce swords are
grown from what’s
left of the shattered
Heart’s core
self-belief taken up again
intellect fox cunning
running the gauntlets
between the
dishonour guards
in Hell’s burning rain
Majesties are silver spoon
and coddled born
Mavericks are delivered
from hot kitchens and
cool as milk made
to lead
Warriors Brave
through
The Storm
Mavericks are made
to reign
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"I am the master of my sea"
Maverick
An unorthodox or independent-minded person.
)This is how it will all end
Red Rock business
Burning dirt and sand
Mystical red carpet
Smoke signal dewdrops
Blacken Marshes
Purple mountain majesties(
The Antichrist stands in the palace
Even now saumur ever-present
Rooted and grounded in power and money's of all evils
With regrets he has spoken
To him I'm just a human token
Bow down and praise the anti master
No not I...
I will follow God forever
10/22/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
") ( words from PAINT CHIP POETRY
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