I find myself
So marveled
At the layout of it all,
By that I mean,
Existence,
That the personified
Ambition
Sits next me, buckled.
But definitely not driving.
Has ideas, that said.
Of technology’s many gifts
many receive remarkably short shrift
Yet without one of its aging marvels
the entire civilized world unravels
So, I’d like all those short shrifters
just one sweltering summer to envision
their homes ~ un-air-conditioned
lithe marvel with wings
progeny of pegasus
~ proud magnificence
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
She has a hundred,
then covers in sand.
Then 8,000 miles traveled,
to get to land.
Two or four years,
she returned , to be.
Across Atlantic,
beneath the sea.
'How does she do it '?
the great minds do ask.
Where she lays her eggs,
and use sand, to mask.
Then off she goes,
and the babies wait.
Then time has comes,
and shell, they break.
Now here's the thought
how is it done ?
a mystery,
not solved by one.
Was it designed ?,
she returns same spot
how does she do it ?
for she traveled a lot.
Caruncle tooth
to break his shell.
Then off it drops,
and all is well.
Then off it races,
to waters edge.
Travels 8,000 miles,
again, Atlantic bed.
This creatures journey,
this marvel told.
Sea Turtles, amaze,
across the globe.
Yes, a navigate marvel,
the experts say.
Sea Turtles, we amaze,
her mysterious ways.
Oh Allah, I marvel at Your power divine,
No pen of mine could ever define.
You’ve crafted the universe flawless and grand,
From Your perfect laws, I take my stand.
Every creation has its destiny and way,
I’ve found no flaw in what You display.
The heavens, the earth, the mountains, the seas,
Life and death—all by Your decree.
At Your will, tears can flow from the blind,
Stones may fall as rain from the skies.
Floods, storms, and disasters of every kind,
Begin solely by Your command to arise.
Your power is boundless, endless, supreme,
We are but a fraction of this vast dream.
Humble yourself, see how small you are,
And make your brief life beautiful, near or far.
A cathedral, a petrified forest,
reaching, striving for the celestial.
Arches, skeletal fingers,
grasping at the impossible light.
Sunlight, a fractured diamond,
filtered through stained glass,
painting the stone emerald, sapphire, and ruby.
Shadows, deep, cathedral-black,
sculpting the silent prayers of centuries.
A silent guardian, this stone sentinel,
?watching the world drift by,
listening to whispered prayers,
unfolding like ancient hymns in the air.
The nave, a tunnel of ethereal light,
lost in the echoing grandeur,
a testament to faith,
a timeless whispered prayer.
Time, a phantom, dust motes dancing,
within this cathedral of stone,
forever caught, eternally suspended.
A whispering echo of ages past.
The intricate carvings,
whispering tales of kings and saints,
faith and fortitude,
are woven into the very fabric of stone.
A sacred space, breathing with history,
a symphony of stone and light.
A timeless hymn, carved in stone and glass.
A silent vigil, eternal.
Stone, kissed by salt, sighs on the isle,
A Gothic spine, against the tide's guile —
eight centuries, etched in weathered stone,
A whispered prayer, a lonely throne.
Granite fingers, reaching for the sky,
Embrace the sun, as shadows fly.
As a timeless grace, the abbey stands as
A sanctuary in this watery space.
The sea, a restless, murmuring friend,
Whispers tales, to the tide's relentless end.
Each ebb and flow, a rhythmic beat,
A soul's lament, on an island's feet.
Columns rise, like ancient trees,
Reaching heaven in the salt-laced breeze.
Tranquil silence fills the air,
Faith's fragile bloom is beyond compare.
Granite heart, a watchful eye,
On shifting sand and moonlit sky.
Time, a tide, relentlessly sweeps,
The abbey stands; its purpose remains.
A whispered hymn, on wind-blown waves,
Hope, a beacon, on these lonely caves.
The abbey's soul, a steadfast light,
A testament, to human might.
mermen of marvel
twixt the sandbar and horizon
delighting my eyes
a cool spring Midwestern morning
the preacher started his sermon
a guest preacher known for fire and brimstone
the little country church was filled
censuring the flock about their sins
claiming to be sin free himself
he said he was perfect like Jesus Christ
and that's when it happened
two large front doors blew open
gust of wind raced down the aisle
happened so fast and ended so quick
the little country church was dumbfounded
his hair a mess his papers scattered about
with Bible in hand and rumpled suit
he walked down the aisle and out the door
the little country church sat in silence
I marvel at stranger’s kindness,
At beauty born of a child’s smile,
Its imprint etched on memory,
Ah to re-live after a while.
Why, goodness of any kind soul,
A kindly touch on mortal flesh
Retained till wrinkled gets the skin,
Till scorched at death, turned into ash.
I marvel at an autumn leaf
That leaves, not a word of regret
On face, nor of its mother tree
I marvel at the souls grown great.
And how can I forget cuckoo
That waits for someone’s views nor clues,
And sings, world approves it or not,
An alibi there’s, nor excuse.
Those that wait not for weather warm,
And in silence venture ships launch,
Nigh undeterred by thoughts of storm,
Not those that hide behind loin haunch.
_________________________________________
Musings |17.04.2024| smile, soul
Behold! The soft, silken snow
waltzing in the white wind
hither and thither.
In his singular splendor,
her forlorn frosted surface
freezes further in awe
and becomes all surreal.
Harken! The wintry whispers
flowing in fragile flakes
hither and thither.
To his ravishing rapture,
her myriad longing limbs
spread to load his love on,
and become all serene.
Behold! The delicate dream
woven in wonderland
hither and thither.
In her aesthetic aura
laid in luxurious light,
he bares his succulent soul
and becomes all beauty.
Harken! The satin secrets
wafting on winsome waves
hither and thither.
To her mellow love lyrics
well-versed in quaint quintessence,
he sprinkles snow petals
and becomes all marvel.
A marvel of nature is a bird
You've seen it eat, but where's its turd
"The Amazing Spider-Man # 26 " by Zeb Wells John Romita Jr.Writer/Artist"
muslim teen superhero saves world - the death of ms. Marvel
7/18/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2023
8th Place Placement in Contest
For men who a lot travel
Are sights at which we marvel:
Crossed truths judge knows not nor Gavel;
The ones rolled cars unravel,
All travelers wide awake,
In crossed folks glimpsing the Old Snake!
For men who a lot travel:
Sure contacts with The Civil
But as sure with the Devil,
Who could flash some Nice Evil;
"You hit her and I'll shoot you:
You'd be long dead, still, no clue!"
And Travelers' ears words grab,
As driver keeps steering cab...
The sadist dropped their tears dab
Against a new grave with slab.
Marvel films have a way of grabbing our interest.
Superman, Batman, and Robin can't interrupt.
Superheroes are a common childhood fantasy.
Some dwell on villains who are full of fallacy.
Everyone wishes they could fly or be a superhero.
The pride of possessing their own unique billow.
Our desires for a flight might shift each day.
And I've been obsessed with writing essays.
When I'm upset, I strive to be clever and back.
There are also fine days, that I wish to be on track.
Children who seem to be ill, suffering, and insane
I wish I could heal away their pain and grief again.
I often wish I could create money out of thin air.
But then I realize that I would surely turn evil there.
Instead, I'd yearn to bestow hope on the world!
Probably, alike garlic, finding a cure is absurd.
Then I realized that all of us held distinct skills.
We all are born with imagination, and this is real.
That incredible receptacle you name your body.
It's artwork, as love, passion, and care to embody.
March 22, 2023
Marvel Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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