We cannot lean too heavily on words.
They buckle under what we mean to bear.
Too many mouths stand open in the air,
And still the air is torn by what we say.
You told me I misrepresented us.
I asked you how. You said you never wished
To leave. I asked you why you did. You said
You feared that I would stay.
How quickly language makes a blade of breath.
We speak to spare ourselves, and cut instead.
What mercy is there in explaining fear?
Bring wine, my dear. Let silence have its turn.
I will not press the wound to make it clear.
Sit here. I will listen to your staying.
I have rabbit ears
the time is 1963
The black box is receptive
Tell-A-Vison color picture I have not
Static is the sound
Adjustment so matters
In order to make it clear
I must move the rabbit ears
So it shall be
What a directive
The green grass grey
The reception chatter
Adjustment so matters
In order to make it clear
I must move the rabbit ears
12/24/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2025
Though our love feels so timeless,
There is never enough time spent.
Though you promise our love is endless,
I question it 'cause of who came and went.
Though my heart is big and wide open,
I also bottle up worries of if we'll ever end.
Though I always welcome you to my den,
I'm unsure if you approve, even as a friend.
Though I am always happy with you here,
Sometimes on the phone I'm easily upset.
Though I will reassure you and make it clear,
At times I need you to see thru empty threat.
Though I'm a woman with a unique mind,
My inner voice is both my heroine and critic.
Though I'm a woman who can be so kind,
Never take for granted how I am lovesick.
My soul is on your shelf,
Nobody's catching that.
Next to your photo frame,
Which gives me a heart attack.
Did you wanna tell me something?
Oh, I could make it clear.
Open the door, B-I-R-D-I-E,
My soul is on your shelf.
I sweet seeds
Might they sprout
To harvest
Oh mercy me
To sprout and grow
Then of me
Who am submissive
Sayeth and speakest
Love
For a World to know
A jeweler sculps
In his creation
A piece adorned
To celebrate
Gownest me
You in tuxedo
To tell the world
We celebrate
Oh love defined
That none should
Wain or wonder
Ceromonious
As we
Bride and groom
Stake my claim
Love is the spell
We are under
To make it clear
For those who
Presume
Love be redefined
Oh ..mercy me
To procreate
Bride and groom
In love together
No I'll faded thoughts
For devilish persummes
Most all have known me, a few know me well.
Ask people about me, here’s what they’d tell.
Sometimes when happy or sad I appear.
Here’s who I am, these statements make it clear.
I may happen while you’re cheering out loud,
Your child is succeeding, and you’re so proud.
Or in a moment when there is no doubt,
Suddenly your joy may bring me about.
In a time of sadness when life seems bleak,
You may notice as I run down your cheek.
Your heart is so heavy, it may just burst,
Here is the best clue, it should have been first.
When your loss is something or someone dear,
Everyone knows me and calls me a tear.
It’s a brand new big idea
The banned country of such size
So I want to make it clear
Either way it looks unwise
Wasn’t Germany at war
In Bach’s time, and wasn’t France
Fighting England till the score
Levelled up by circumstance
But they never used to ban
Scholars travelled, merchants traded
Painters painted, music men
Wrote their stuff while the crusaders
Fought their sacred wars whatever
The high goal was pursued then
But it didn’t seem too clever
In the past, to put a ban
There’s no other meaning to it
But revenge, to make the foe
More outrageous, and they knew it
Now it's what the wars are for.
Lord, nobody loves me like you do.
Only you know what I'm going through.
In You only I place my trust.
My mind's saying no, I tell it I must!
You Lord are the One who created me.
And it is You only that can set me free.
Please forgive me for my sins.
Grant me victory from within.
Tell me Lord what I need to say.
To be set free by you today.
My victory will only come from You.
Please speak or show me what to do.
Whisper the answer in my ear.
Send me guidance, please make it clear.
No one but You truly knows what to do.
So humbly Lord I come to you.
I give thanks to you and now I'll wait.
I'll mark on my calendar this prayer and date.
In His name I will proclaim.
Victory is mine in "Jesus" name!
Let the breath of heaven flow with grace,
As the gathering of angels fills this place.
Soaring high, both near and wide,
His Name, our banner, strength and guide.
Refine the oil, let its glow be bright,
Let our lives shine with newfound light.
The table cleared, a meal prepared,
The taste is unknown, yet richly shared.
New strength will rise, our souls renew,
As chaff falls off, our eyes see true.
Soar higher still, both far and near,
Review the vision, make it clear.
Let God reveal the one piece so bold,
That makes the new vision to unfold.
Stop and see the enemy’s sway,
Unusual creatures bring delay.
Yet God brings joy to light our stay,
His Hand will guide, His truth will stay.
Topple the foes who seek control,
Let revival sound where your feet stroll.
Repeating myself
Over and over and over again
You can’t begin to imagine the pain.
The anguish.
The derelict feelings born of a journey
To better thyself.
To become the best version of me
A version forged in solitude.
I scream into the silence,
And I cry like a ghost in a glass house
Visible, but unheard.
Seen, but not felt.
Do they care?
About this version of me
This loathing of life,
This obsession to become
Everything they said I couldn’t?
Let me make it clear:
I. Will. Endure.
In spite of them.
In spite of the silence.
In spite of the lack of applause.
In spite of the hate.
The anguish.
The sorrow.
So I say unto you
You who don’t want to see your loved ones win:
You sit still while the chosen move.
You call effort "too much"
While they make it look easy.
You sleep because you're tired of trying.
I sleep because I burned myself alive in effort.
I don’t rest because I’m lazy
I rest because I fight every single day
To outwork, outthink, outperform
EVERY. LAST. DOUBT.
Let me show you a world
Where execution is my art.
Where performance is my ritual.
Where there is
No stop.
No quit.
No giving in.
Never.
NEVER.
NEVER AGAIN.
I beg
Have mercy
Kill this dream
End my misery
If you will never choose me, make it clear now
Give me something real to mourn
If you are destined to break my heart, do it now
Give me something real to move past
If you will only ever give false hope, discard me now
Give me something real to end the cycle
Douse the flame
Bury the fire
End the torment
I beg
The spiritual world is not real
But psychological defence
I know it brings relief and heal
To a certain kind of extence
But I stand by formal reality
Forms make the content real
Otherwise no personality
Can appear and appeal
I don’t argue the fantasy
Its great to have some mysteries
But it’s a play of fancy
A comprehensive bliss
We quite enjoy and treasure
Still that desire burns
I need the formal measure
Another life of forms
That once have turned to dust
The same genes combination
Can it revive my past
Break through the circulation?
I’m tired of rituals to repeat
I want to make it clear
The only thing I need
Is time, when you were here
I’m dreaming of release
Its natural to think and say
Come down to me, please
And take me straight away.
I'm sick and tired of the so-called muses,
especially the one who always chooses
to make it clear that I don't work hard enough,
yet, when I ask for a little help with my stuff,
she's always the first one who flatly refuses.
My muse yelled, "Stop! That's prohibited."
I said, "What?"
"The behavior you just exhibited."
I said, "What did I do?"
She said, "You took some lines that didn't belong to you."
I said, "Jeez! Instead of helping me, you're making me feel totally inhibited."
Someone asked, "Could you write without a muse?"
I said, "Probably could, but I'd refuse.
Why? Because a muse is so good at showing
what to tell the audience and what to keep it from knowing
so that you can keep right on going with your wild-ass ruse."
I was having a hell of a time
with a poem that shouldn’t ever have been mine.
The muse had made a big mistake
by giving me lines that shoulda gone to this poet named Blake,
of which I could make neither reason nor rhyme.
A woman in a shop
She sat in a shop that sells jumpers and scarves
doing some embroidery for a wealthy client who
wanted his name in big red letters to make it clear
his exalted sanding, but also as a person who
bought wares made by hand
When the man who runs a famous site had
gone in a fanfare surrounded by sycophants
she tied on a silk dress of untold value and
we embraced at the foot of hell
the dress was not for the intended bride
The girl, artis with needles and threads, had
green eyes as a bottomless sea impossible to
read in bedroom light or in a shelter waiting
for the bus to take us heavenward in the sin
of greedy sex and thorn lips
Oh, this heavenly day, a haze of dreams
most of them unfulfilled, lacking in the truth
as something partly remembered, a line
a famous poet wrote, but whatever it was
she stung me with her needles
Your zeal’s infective, flashed his frown,
Get it not to your headless crown.
We want our work done here,
If I must make it clear,
Let not your zeal spread, tone it down.
________________________________
A boss warns an executive for his enthusiasm, pointing his index finger.
Limerick |20.07.2024| humour, business
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