Today as ere Dhara’s alive,
So is Goddess of all Learning,
Vivacious learned seem to thrive,
Bhoj back to Earth, long live the king.
__________________________
Translation | 27.10.2025 | alive, education/learning, king
Note: To continue from the preceding verse… the king, not really dead, returns, and Kalidas, when asked, just modifies marginally the earlier verse to paint a different picture. One can note here the felicity of poet Kalidas to pen a piece extempore-- a minor twist and the meaning changes 180 degrees. Alas, the English translation cannot match it. Transliteration of the Sanskrit is as under:
Adya dhara sadaa-dhaaraa sadaa-lambaa sarasvatee |
Panditaam manditaam sarve bhoja-raaje bhuvam gate ||
I think there is a new vibration, I can feel it right here on my stoop.
Can you smell it in the wind, I’m thinking it might be some poop.
It could be a sudden division, of a burrito that stuck in my bowels.
I’m feeling a little emotional, can someone please hand me some towels.
My eyes are beginning to water, if anyone should even care.
I’m starting to feel quite dizzy, I could use a little fresh air.
I shouldn’t have eaten those beans, they are known as a magical fruit.
They come in so many different colors, but I guess they all still make you toot.
Hurry and get off of my stoop, or you’ll experience a change from within.
When the smell has marginally decreased, then you are welcome to come back in.
I’ve experienced an influx of gas, please forgive me and try not to hate.
Lord help me I love Taco Bell, but that burrito I never should have ate.
autumn be's
fall leaves on a tree
visual colorful
beautiful bountiful
covering blossoming photo synthesis
colorful leaves in a containment
feed me visually marginally laming cover me
colorful beautiful Daughter of God
You are Autumn's eyes so, calls
9/29/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
Arrogance rests on the spectrum of ignorance
Somewhat camouflaged by its superior air,
I surmise one requires huge gulps of intolerance
To maintain equilibrium teetering there.
“Pride goes before a fall” intones the holy book,
It does not appear to discomfit the haughty
Who traipses through a life without a second look
To monitor their poor behavior so naughty.
Neither do they respond when called on to explain
Their attitude so warped by self-satisfaction,
Some have suggested they are marginally insane
I rather think they are soiled with putrefaction.
These narcissistic fools so in love with themselves,
Believe they merit a place on museum shelves.
Written September 21, 2022
A blood red dawn eloquently drizzles in through my windowpane.
Added beauty greets my morning once again.
The barren leafless trees hide what they’re able.
Stifling our world’s incumbent label.
Centered testament as I face this day.
Observing some blue as I recognize collected grey.
I will venture out more risky work at hand.
All normalcy henceforth marginally banned.
More freedom incrementally begins to fade.
Persuading mistakes our new future is being made.
Exhaustion and fear now become the norm.
Mauling sensation as I navigate the storm.
a marginally redemptive micro biography
offhandedly ushered into this reverie
by Ellipsis the muse of all highway roundabouts
my first impressions at age minus 20 minutes
stuck in the birth canal of a woman
whose deeper psychological structures
think she is withholding permission
her screaming was possibly misplaced
since dying was only seemingly inevitable
not knowing what a scream is
I am struck by the echo in the delivery room
which gives me my first indication
of a space that is filled with something other
myself presently possessing nothing other
only a great body-long dimensionless squeezing
amplified by the gentle tug
of my deliveryman's forceps
though possibly not so gentle
since to this day I am left with
dents and ripples upon my peanut head
which would constitute a turgid prose novel
for any Nazi phrenologist worth his calipers
apparently a mighty heave ho
and some cheer leading by the hovering nurses
released her death grip sufficient to the task
of birthing another potential carrier of civilization
into the world of sequence and insanity
I suppose all that future grunting
kinda got its start right here
March wind
Written: by Tom Wright
7-9-2016
You roared and howled throughout the day,
And late your voice is reduced to a whisper.
Content that at dusk you’ve had your say,
But your slurred voice was never crisper.
Now the willow branches marginally sway,
And your potential, at present, is hushed.
I observe the stillness at the close of day,
Taking note of the objects you’ve crushed.
“From now on, I’ll be good, Mom,” my son said.
This came after not too few tears for him I'd shed.
It used to be once he got out of bed,
my boy would get in trouble! He was led
by some strange drumbreat pounding in his head!
While other children liked to have books read
to them, he’d throw his to the floor instead!
He wasn’t treated cruelly or underfed,
yet often out in public, I would fill with dread
from his behavior or when he saw red.
He broke his toy cars, his bike and sled.
I felt like I was hanging by a thread;
I wondered if my boy would ever wed!
The year he started changing, my fears fled.
"From now on, I'll be good, Mom," my son said.
May 25, 2018 For the "From Now On" Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Note: This is only marginally fictionalized. Later he joined the Marines,
put himself through law school and wed!
Dreams alit by candle fire
Ripped paper littering the table
A dream of a dreamer
Exists only marginally
Deep within the dark is a light
And I've fought so hard to find it
To sift through all the bleak masks
To find my one true persona
A dream can be broken easily
And if the dream is truly broken
What must become of the dreamer
Trapped between here and there
It took the deepest love
To birth the most agonizing pain
Leaving the dreamer awake
Existing between the planes of existence
Alt music serenades an aromatic algebra;
delicious, bitter, subtle notes served black.
We dance the math - I swipe, she smiles,
equations we don't know we've become.
She measures quanta
in these mathematical grounds, a coffee shop
where perfect rationality is axiomatic
and we've all come to get a good buzz on.
Imbibe the finest chemicals on Earth,
in history perhaps, for a minor modern pittance.
Everything is marginally consumed,
we cooperate despite ourselves
and yet we feel alone.
The sign reads 'Figure 8'
That perky sidelong infinite
of Escher, of Godel,
of all those lofty thoughts
borne of a simple brew
and so much mathy froth.
3/12/2016
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