Reflected gentle in the skies,
Moon and stars, strolling serenely
Laughing winds in shadow implies
Quiet dreams dancing pristinely
Listening for the chance to rouse
Phantastic that might prove keenly
Hidden away like the still mouse
Quiet dreams dancing pristinely
Dusk falls light against the spirit
Mounting dreads, seldom obscenely
Mighty moods, the heart can hear it
Quiet dreams dancing pristinely
Even the night cannot explain away
Hence, feelings dark, not so meanly
Nocturnal dread, filled with dismay
Quiet dreams dancing pristinely
Fanciful twilight falls softly
Echoing musings quite sheenly
Beguiling glooms, quite awfully
Quiet dreams dancing pristinely
Kirk goes back to practised cadence,
With it he hits ears, no conscience,
Great stir in a once mute audience,
Afresh bides his time: Great Patience…
Talks triggered between close sitters
That a night guard steals embitters:
His straight sack: more hard hitters:
‘People’s wealth the meanly fritters!’
At the right time drop microphone:
Now, your voice is a xylophone.
They all hear you, no francophone.
If there’s one he should guess through tone.
What speakers do is stamp knowledge,
Over the rest ‘some sort of edge’:
That of one who’s passed through college,
Night candles not burnt sacrilege…
The Guard who steals likes his worst foes;
Just time he stepped on his seen toes
But like one fighting men’s woes:
It hurts when what comes quickly goes.
~The mild man makes meanly as the mortal man manages merrily~
3/14/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
This poem was a forest fire; it burned me up as I read it
I was supposedly the writer.
But was I?
Voices inside me are laughing, taking credit, kicking me to the curb.
My next poem is a blizzard.
She whirls me into a whiteness.
This turns into marshmallow crème.
I am quiet for a second,
Landing in a drift, head first, but there is no coolness.
Snow without coldness is not a poem at all.
It’s a fake poem like fake news.
I believe it best to give up now.
Maybe I am no poet at all but a prancing pony
Two steeds prance up. Dragging Cinderella’s coach.
Do not use Cinderella! My muse says meanly.
I stick out my tongue.
Cinderella, Cinderella, Cinderella.
I am easily distracted when imagination is giving me instruction.
Where did she go? I wonder.
For she is nowhere about.
I think she stepped into a quagmire, our muse offers.
This does not seem plausible.
A muddy, mucky, grayish quagmire, our muse says meanly.
Willing myself into a deep sleep, I am determined to regain my soul.
She is within my dream state, in twilight hour, slipping into the sea.
Rejuvenating and replenishing herself.
She comes up from the depth of the sea
More vital than ever, energized and renewed.
Turning sixteen shades of delight, more joyful than ever.
Have we found her? Muse asks, in a whispery voice.
Already knowing the answer.
We have I say, and it is not a contest.
I love you both; you are yin and yang.
Let’s play!
Written: April 23, 2020
Contest: Slipping Soul Sunsets Into the Sea
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I was known as the donut queen. My husband was Frost Away Boy.
Together we were known as Sweetie Number One and Sweetie Pie.
He was Pie. I was Number One, of course.
I am a Gemini; we are always number one.
The neighborhood knew that we always had something sweet around.
Hot cinnamon rolls freshly iced oozing real butter,
Warm apple pie slathered with whipped cream,
Donut holes freshly rolled in sprinkles.
A new person moved to the neighborhood.
She was the only skinny neighbor. We all made fun of that.
I doubt if she has any rolls at all, we women said, meanly.
She looks like a skateboard, Sweetie Pie said, endearing me.
We had a potluck and she brought a vegetable tray.
Giving us fodder to laugh about for the next ten years
Until she moved back to where she came from,
taking her skinny healthy self with her.
Growing up playing sports
I was raised to compete
Confront face to face
not hide and seek
it’s unsportsmanlike
to slyly sneak
If you haven’t played sport
that word may lack meaning
it teaches you to play fair
not behind backs meanly
Teaches you teamwork, you play with all sorts,
teaches you to lead and learn from faults
it teaches you it's not all about me, and of course
teaches lessons untaught too dorks
Makes you honest, fair and respectful
Makes you up front, letting know, so all equal
makes slander look pathetically deceitful
Those are ways of weak feeble people
Happily ensconced in a glimmering tree
Wearing buckle belts on his pudgy left knee
The old Vogan king took a potshot at me.
My men promptly snatched him up and threw him down
Tore off his wig, his shirt, and his hideous crown
Kicked him meanly into a heap on the ground
We dragged him by orange donkey cart all over town
By the time we were finished, his pants were all brown
He gave up his scepter, his gold teeth and his crown
He offered me the key to his kingdom, his wife, and more
What would I do with that dried up old shrew of a boar?
Anyway, I was on a mission and wanted a war.
What really made me mad, what incensed me, was Vogan TV
It was on every single channel, and how good can that be?
Next time I tell you the Vogan King will be sorry he messed with thee.
Do not skulk, my mother said, sternly, meanly, and often.
How could I not? I asked myself. We are skulking birds, are we not?
Your bill is too black, my brother cautioned me. Try to tone it down.
Or other flycatchers will not play with you.
Was he insane?
How could I do this?
You need to lighten it, added my haughty, mean, nasty critical sister.
My happiness in youth was hiding away from them, as far down the coast
As I could get, imagining a different life for myself
Where people liked me,
Revered me,
Appreciated me for who I was.
I could not wait to get a mate
And raise my three flycatchers a different way
Entirely away from my family’s critical ilk.
I wanted to instill confidence and hope in them.
I found the right guy, and raised three flammulated flycatchers of my own
Without their interference, or so I thought….
All they wanted to do was fly back to grandma
And laugh at stories about how awkward I was.
Seriously?
Crushed the soul like a rock wild desperation
Cursed lack of prospects kills my inspiration
My life is suddenly lost in a black hole
And my joy disappeared there meanly whole
My microcosm is dying - I'll explode like a bombshell
In splendid isolation I go viciously to hell.
Being fragile is a curse
Every day it's worse and worse
Trying to be sweet and kind
Then someone crosses the line
Causing me to shake and shiver
All I do is sadly quiver
I don't like the confrentation
But this scared and sad sensation
Makes me wonder why I hide
Sinking back way down inside
The shell I have come to know
Never letting my strength show
I can not be mean or rude
I always keep an attitude
Of happiness, that I spread
But sometimes it causes dread
When bullies see how weak
I can be they slowly sneak
An attack of viciousness
On me leaving me to ask
Myself why I can't fight back
Then the answer comes so clearly
It's because of times I nearly
Lost my patience, acting meanly
That's not how I want others to see me
There's enough violent history
I don't want to be a bully
I am terrified of pink clocks
magnified with blue striped locks
they are crude and meanly loud
some are also big and proud
stay away, you bad pink clocks
my cousin is one, he simply mocks
nightmare dream of pink clocks
truth be told, mine seldom rocks
one on my wall is pushy and mean
worse, she has the wildest scream
if you are into pink clocks
I must tell you some eat socks.
And cause your id to go insane,
Throw nightmares into your brain
I am not a fan in the least of pink clocks
One was in my room with my childhood frocks.
if you think you know about pink clocks
You have not met one, with its ticks and tocks.
bossy and thick, and a mind of their own.
pink clocks are bad as children, but worse when grown.
So, honey, eat your veggies and Velcro your shoes,
Avoid pink clocks, or you will be the one to lose.
Alas Dear Madam
Alas, dear Madam, have I thee wronged
by gesture, savage word, or deed,
thus giving thee cause for sorrow,
importuning your heart to bleed?
Have I, dear Madam, given thee
injury so rank and so low
as to merit your cool design
to suffer me the status quo?
Dear Madam, have I deceived thee
and showered thee with silken lies,
or primed thee with honeyed words
that cloak dark purpose in disguise?
Nay, dear Madam, no wrong to thee
did I meanly perpetrate.
no grievous sin did I commit,
nor cold insult dedicate.
My grossest error, dear Madam,
was to unknowingly explore
the pride sleeping in your bosom
and its delicacy ignore.
So, dear Madam, please forgive me
for the numb bruises I thee gave
to that one part of a woman
which no man should ever brave.
Alas Dear Madam
Alas, dear Madam, have I thee wronged
by gesture, savage word, or deed,
thus giving thee cause for sorrow
importuning your heart to bleed?
Have I, dear Madam, given thee
injury so rank and so low
as to merit your cool design
to suffer me the status quo?
Dear Madam, have I deceived thee
and showered thee with silken lies,
or primed thee with honeyed words
to cloak dark purpose in disguise?
Nay, dear Madam, no wrong to thee
did I meanly perpetrate.
no grievous sin did I commit,
nor cold insult dedicate.
My grossest error, dear Madam,
was to unknowingly explore
the pride sleeping in your bosom
and its delicacy ignore.
So, dear Madam, please forgive me
for the numb bruises I once gave
to that one part of a woman
which no man should ever brave.
Aw sweet Angel, it's you that I seek
all alone jotting up winds so bleak,
for so many hearts I have perversed.
You; another to wield my meanly little curse.
I am the Queen of manifest clay,
Craft my horns despite the pill's delay,
Sleep child, the veil's open on a pagan's feast
such beauty on your heart fully creased.
We'll fly with crows and ravens! Then Daemons
without reasons; a joyless flight throughout the seasons.
A journey, a dream thought to be Babel
another crimson palm succumbs to this fable...
Acheron, Marionette of Seethe
Why have this Daemon gnaw in me?
"Help... is... agony..."
Her crippled hand
tightens this noose
songs whispered from serpent truths
another mind went bland...
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