THE BABY WHO CRIED WAY TOO LOUD
There was a baby in Kochi town,
In a cradle of wood, lying down,
Who wailed “oh shi!” with endless might
, And won the medal for loudest cry!
His voice rang out both far and near,
Through Gujarat streets, Jaipur clear,
It echoed in Delhi’s bustling bazaar,
Like thunder booming from afar.
He cried and cried, the people prayed,
For silence, peace, a calm cascade.
His mother stuffed her ears with care,
Cotton buds to save her hearing there.
Crowds arrived from far and wide,
To see the baby’s sonic tide.
Windows cracked, bangles broke,
As if the earth itself had spoke!
James the tourist came to see,
His ears bled from the baby’s plea.
Aunt poured oil to soothe the pain,
But still the cries began again.
At last, on day six, came the cat,
Catter the clever, catty cat.
She leapt inside the cradle bed,
And massaged the baby’s neck instead.
The baby paused, began to purr,
It loved the gentle paws on fur.
And after a decade, peace was found,
returned to the village ground.
Sometimes we get knocked around from the outside
Perhaps more often, we are defeated from the inside
It's not always like being attacked by a wild beast
Who doesn't release until he's finished the feast
So often, its true meaning has been redefined;
And being convicted by it is in decline
More often, it's like snail-paced drips from a water faucet
More often, it's like being massaged by the very best
More often, it's a slow kill, satiated with thrills
More often, it's highly hidden in drinks and pills
More often, it shouts with alluring sex appeals
More often, its lies are not so easily revealed
It's soothing and breath-takingly satisfying until
Our lives are slowly drained and filled with pain
It disguises its source
until it runs its course,
And every measure of peace
Disappears and ceases.
in the sweet park
abandoned by
women and men
thinking over
and over that
She shouldn't roll
In poop, onion
and dead small birds
ever again
my Ratcha got
a nice soapy
bath, that washed some
of the stink, dirt
away~massaged
her back and legs
now she wants play
she seems so much
happier now
she plays with toys
was she ashamed
that she did stink
or did the bath
make her anxious
and now she needs
to expend the tense
feeling upon toys
unmasking a sunshine holiday
feeling free and delightful in the gentle breeze
smiling at the first sight of the cool clear water
the whole of my soul is free and i cherish the vibe of it all
totally relaxed, eyes closed, massaged by rare rhythms
the cardinal is expresses her appreciation of the beautiful day in her elegant element of fusion
completely by myself my sanity shows its gratitude in complete stillness
blue skies inspires me to play hooky from the normalcy of life
my imagination decorates the bullseye of its unexpected confirmation
the joy in the air around me right now has a maternal ambiance
as a direct result, i simply Cherish The Blessed Day
{For 5x5x3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Miranda Hawley
Date submitted: 20/4/25}
ARTIST
They shone daring green avocado
in dark adverse period swearing
guilt ridden heart vanquished free
sacral scrubbed pink and ready
plumed serpent in magnificent bloom
with candles God watched supreme
from blue misty mountain clean
knowing Artist was not insane
two green irises unusually plain
pierced her luminous spine divine
naked Eve eyed painting quiet
easels of unfinished tired purple
massaged her throat coloured gurgle
rooms without curtains collapsing sad
Artist pierced Love bubble mad
IN PRAISE OF DIVINE LIBERATION
I once wallowed in apathy,
I once had bad feelings
Of being unworthy;
Struggling with failure:-
In anger, I once felt
God had abandoned me,
Until a keloid memory
Of a childhood lesson
In gracious spirituality,
Massaged my aching soul;
And with amazing divine
Wisdom and guidance,
I became blessed
With the healing awareness
That lesson had taught:-
In renewed soul searching prayer,
I sought action to replace apathy,
And labors of love were revealed;
I beggingly asked God for help
in arriving at belief self worthiness,
And it was profoundly given to me;
I knocked on the door of determination,
And opening widely, it ushered out failure,
Graciously ushered in faithful persistence:-
Indeed, with forgiveness and supreme love,
God has never ever abandoned me; rather,
It has always been me abandoning Him!
Yet, with His forgiveness and supreme love,
God has now eternalized me with living faith;
Energizing me in being an instrument of His love
And a reflector of graciousness in labors of His love:
To god be the glory for forgiveness and divine liberation!
She doesn't have to love me
But she's soul does
She spoke the words she loves me
But it's from above
God given God gave
Agape
O what a beautiful love
She hears in her heart
Those the words that speak Life
O what a beautiful love
My actions are secured
From my heart the Lord
O what a beautiful love
Has molded and massaged me
To be a love as God so shows
Agape
O what a beautiful love
O Hallelujah O what a beautiful love
Please forgive me for any negativity
Come be with me and our Father's creativity
A story has been written and we have been read
Let us lift up praises jointly with our hands
04/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
Circumstance lost control;
Lost obstacles betrothed;
Whom am I to unanswer the call;
While on my stomach vividly I crawl;
Points of random denial;
Circumcised heart chiseled because of its hardness;
No longer harden massaged by the Father's hands;
Beautifully conformed I am;
Shore beautiful
I am moved in grace, present before His face;
A child of the Righteousness of Father God;
Endowed in His amazing grace;
2/25/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024
Shallow Waters got me walking the top mountains;
In depth deep Waters got me standing taller;
Moistened air got me inhaling humid swallows;
I sit High and I look low I'm in heavenly places;
I have no shame no disgraces;
I am bound to God's truths;
And I am absolute;
Holy wholly to the lamb;
~
Deep dark valleys got mine visions clouded
Like the skies at night broken by a pin drop of light;
My brain comprehends the spark;
My Father has a massaged my harden heart
I sit High and I look low I'm in heavenly places;
I have no shame no disgraces;
I am bound to God's truths, and I am absolute;
Holy wholly to the lamb;
For I am an eagle and I sit on high
For I look down from heavenly places
~
Rivers ever flowing like a snake crawling;
I am ever beholden to the energies flowing;
Wide eyes open I see beyond the horizon;
I sit High and I look low I'm in heavenly places;
I have no shame no disgraces;
I am bound to God's truths, and I am absolute;
Holy wholly to the lamb
For I am an eagle and I sit on high
For I look down from heavenly places
2/11/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
These hands
By Michelle Morris
20/02/2021
These hands are sacred,
They have held so much in their time;
From baby bath bubble moments to
Writing poetry in notebooks -
Transcending space and time...
These hands have blessed my life,
And that of others too;
They've held people close,
Smoothed teardrops from cheeks;
And massaged weary muscles
Overworked and weak...
These hands, they are a gift
From God above;
With these hands I pass on so much
Light and love -
Their healing is heaven's gift,
The blessing of a loving touch...
© Michelle Morris, 2021
A gentle wind combs the long tresses
of peppercorn trees and brings
a sense of ease, the soft stroking
of a morning to slowly awaken
drowsy souls from sleep.
I enter the space and take in
the quiet, feel a comfort in being
here, sink into a silky, way off drift
as that which lulled the mind
when, as a child, my grandmother's
fingers massaged my head
and at that moment
there was no other place
I wanted to be.
*Image of Making Kalua Pig by Hawaii Luaus
Kalua Pig Luau
Hawaiian salt massaged pork
drawn from an "imu"--
a hot rocks pit ere covered.
Succulent pulled-pork
tenderly yielding
juice-dribbling
bliss.
2022 May 31
*1st Place*
Whats Cooking on the Grill this Summer? Contest
~~M. L. Kiser: Judged 2022 August 12
*HMS: 7,5,7,5,5,3,1.
Another roll-over-in-bed poem
A nose blow and a wide yawn separates a lubricated **** scene from a gravelly scripture. In that gap, the harlot’s far from the screen.
My blade’s lacquer reveals the blood of my nightmares. Evasive mirrors hide the sum of my white hairs. The mucus of the acetic isn’t enough to stir up lust for a ghost, so I scroll for a post that soothes me the most.
When they let me in the garden, I don’t bite the apple; the yoni is worshipful.
It’s buried in the pit, and excavated in the chambers.
It is massaged. It is kissed. It is suckled. I return to sleep.
With a deliberated ruse; she washed its tiny face with a soft washcloth.
With no resistance, she enfolded the wee infant into a swaddling cloth.
In the Autumn equinox, she placed the tiny form in the simple wooden box.
She watched them perform their antiquated burial tradition, and then she returned to the loose gray dirt.
She then headed home with a secret beneath her skirt.
Earlier during the dim of the day, while they were seeking each other for comfort.
And while superficial prayers were offered up with great effort.
She blew breath into the tiny mouth and massaged its tiny smooth chest.
And by the grace of God, the tiny infant was blessed.
Madame Blackwell by virtuous askew created a makeshift bundle and made a switch.
Her deed made unnoticed without a glitch.
No regret manifested in her heart.
No transient sorrow, in place was a spiritual upstart.
For retribution was pacified and made whole.
There was a righteous mood in her soul.
Justice was done.
For her, the sun's unsparing glory shone radiantly on her and her son.
We called our Bed and Breakfast the Presidents’ House
A sprawling antebellum Italianate with a rich historical past
Fed our guests tasty nourishing breakfasts of presidential repast
Served by an eighteenth century-adorned raconteur, my spouse.
Our guest house was known for its spectral residents merry
Many we met, got to know, and interacted with over the years
Some got acquainted with our guests if they showed no fears
Prominent to visit from the house of the dead was Ms Jerri.
She was sassy, could be mischievous; at times playful and sweet
Until they met Jerri or her friends some were reluctant to believe
Other guests agreed what the mind believes the eyes can achieve
Once a female guest became quite ill and chose to stay in her suite
When she got over her flu and came down to breakfast one day,
She wanted to know who had visited her and massaged her feet.
She insisted this was one fine woman she wanted, in person, to meet.
We told her then, in great detail, about Jerri our shadowy spirit’s stay.
Written on February 12, 2021
For "Ghost Contest"
Sponsored by Julia Ward
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