Tick tick tock ….. watch that eerie clock,
with buddha shaped tuscan stain shroud,
intruding the silver-blue eyed fog waker,
me, the gem treasure hunter hovering,
oe’r sunshine focussed raspberry trellis,
that sturdy bamboo shoot prop “ripener,”
I sabre rattle squishy mango downpours,
in my nirvana of forest green subconscious,
now jolted by the red rose tint second hand,
into mortal transit’s dwindling time-lapse
A poem by me
You can take the breathe from my body. You can have my soul ripped open wide. You can have my mind, the wanderer it is. You can have this hand to hold. You can hold the very essence of my being in the palm of your hand. Do with me what you wish. I offer myself to you as nothing more or less than who I am. Down to my very core I am yours. Feel my heart beat in this box with your name upon its lid. Forever I will be a part of you, and you always a part of me. I lay here bare, naked. With wrists torn open bleeding for you. You are my soul, my heart outside my body. I give you all I am and ever will be without hesitation. You have won me. A war long fought. You turned a cold damaged soul into a bleeding heart. I give you all I am. Scars and all.
I tried to preserve the wilting flower,
Tried to protect it from its pain.
I did my best but failed at love,
And everything with my heart is to blame.
Late: The square?holds its panting between
?the last bus and the first argument.
Nowhere / ‘online’ - @someone is ‘winning’..?
A face, a flag, emptiness trending; always.
We desired a just world -?rights, dignity, ‘progress’; doors?that open to merit.
Enlightenment still flashes warning
from the distant rocks - through darkling fog.?
The doors? Gone.
?it will not be alright.?
it is cold.
?the square waits: quiet, tense.?
you are here,?
so am I.
It was nearly without sound,
Save a pine-brushed mountain breeze
When I rose beneath fog's blanket
And stepped lightly through the trees.
In reverence of the aura there
Subdued in temperance;
Without a word, just in tears
I offered holy reverence.
Before me in this quiet place
A lake, in still perfection,
Lay without the slightest wave;
Heaven's mirror gave reflection.
As I gazed into the glassy lake
My soul and spirit swooned
With God's creation holding me
He healed my hidden wounds.
No greater ambiance nor scene
Has since renewed my core.
I found the Prince of Peace that morn
On a pristine mountain shore.
Next, the sun began to rise
And the Quakies clapped their hands
Creation birthed a brand-new day
And I began to understand:
God is a God of perfect peace
Who in countless ways can bless
Whether heaven sent or by a stream
He gives the seeker rest.
If your world has left you wounded,
"Come unto Me, sons and daughters"
God offers early morning grace
To bless beside still waters.
Psalms 23: 2 (KJV) “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside still waters.”
Sometimes I wonder how we make it through a single day? The Light and the Darkness, the free thoughts and old fears. Eyes that tell the world of what a man has seen. And in this life, It is bound to be too much. As a child I found out one day, that love was mysteriously negotiable. I searched for the true kind and found a great love, yes one that had it all, the joy, the sorrow. We learn to make our way through that thick bramble, scratched, and a ragged heart, The doctors they can put hearts back together, leaving it up to you to let it get beat up again, in the tradition of all human families. I think back at all the drama of people living together, suffering the broken love, solemn faces held in the past, when days shone with the possibility of happiness. The stories tell of our plight, all those who survived the good, the bad and the ugly, and if possible, will probably do it again, until we learn just what it's trying to teach us, and where it will eventually take us.
1
I left my Father from my space from a place called heaven.
I came down into a womb
Out the womb into a room
And in 1 day, if the Lord says,
If I'd accepted him as my personal Savior
I will return back to belong
Just a traveling soul,
Just visiting this OLE World,
I've been saved safe and imparted.
With the love of God,
His Amazing Agape love
Hallelujah,
I belong to HIM, I am of I AM,
I am the righteousness of God
And in 1 day, if the Lord says,
And if I'd accepted Him as my personal Savior.
I will be returning back to belong,
Just a traveling soul
Just visiting this old world.
Father, Lord, my mighty saving Elohim God,
I will be back in a minute. Second,
if you don't come back here,
first I will be back why I belong.
8/25/26
written words by James Lee Sr. 2026
STATUS QUO
You be my only
You be my only, you be my only one
You are my only love
I am encouraging
Holding your heart, in my spirit
You, only one for me can’t you see it
Ever so nourishing
You complete me
You make me whole
Bringing me fresh ideas
The way things are
Status quo
Existing state of affairs
it’s you your love that’s so rare
So, so sweetly you care
You are my only love
Sent by God, above
My only love this you should know
Status Quo
You complete me
You make me whole
Bringing me fresh ideas
The way things are
Status quo
Presently it is condition good
You are in my mind, soul and heart
You’re giving me a brand-new start
You are mine, my heart, that part
The way things are right now
Existing state of affairs we are
Covenanted engaging
Keeping things exactly as they are
There’ll be no making changes
You are always, only mine,
My heart, my soul
existing state of affairs
it’s you your love that’s so rare
So, so sweetly you care
You are my only love
Sent by God, above
My only love this you should know
Status Quo
8/18/26
by James Edward Lee Sr.2026©
.
i do
edvard i
and
al'uv'us
we
ofttimez 'neath
wander
Yahweh's
Magnificence n'all
shamrocks
kentucky blue grass
n'love
anywho
edvard hern
hear'd
frolick'n flutter'n
decorously
"((put'er back
she's yours
not
edvard))"
')>
A tree has fallen sadly, strongly pulling out all the roots that were mounted by the ground. Hitting straight downwards with no plans of being revived.
The fear of the fallen world has landed in the mud, creating a great series of unsettling feeling raining down in streams in-between the branches.
Leaving steady branches to raise the thorns by force with no luck the tree has no breath to blossom.
Leaves lingering in the air like lost plastics.
And then there was light behind where the tree was stalling, proclaiming its nature to never fall. Leaving it's fat presence known even by a topographic map. Landing a mark of eternity.
The sight of seeing behind became weary.
All though the tree took years to fall, but finally the air felt fresh enough to awaken what laid behind.
As days and weeks passed by, the disbelief of a fallen world became normal, a month passed and the soil consumed what was made to return on earth.
As it has been written what was made unholy will parish. The branches where weak shaken by the tree. But the lingering leaves landed better and became a bigger tree that took years to seed and sealed with the soil.
Ashleigh Ngoqo
Poet's Note:
Written for the Skeletons Poetry Contest. This dramatic monologue uses "skeleton of hope" as a metaphor for resilience that appears during grief.
Ash Into Phoenix
You ask why I walk barefoot through this frozen forest?
The broken road cuts me, and dancing fog swirls at my feet.
Every step is heavy and cold.
Demons of sorrow and despair circle me.
I thought grief would bury me in the dark.
Then the skeleton of hope rose from my chest.
He wore a gown of silver, with stars on its glittering seams.
He sat beside me, a golden staff in his hand.
He took my hand and looked into my eyes.
"Hardship burns your old soul," he said.
"From the ash rises a phoenix of hope."
"Grief is fire. Let it light your path."
"In darkness, you can still glow."
He smiled at me, at the person drowning in grief, and said:
"Grief is not a punishment.
It is the polish that strengthens your inner self."
And then I stood, because he was right.
The north winds of my mind began to howl,, bringing with them a chill to my bones..... a chill which I’ve never known before ..... a chill scented with hollow skies void of new tales while whispering only of memories from times gone by….
I think upon the present.....
which will soon become the past
The moments I enjoyed....
but foolishly let them pass....
All in lead to question::
“What shall become of these empty memories and broken dreams?,,,.... Are they to be carefully laid in hidden vaults..... locked within the dark recesses of my mind. - Visited only on cold winter day with thoughts which in time grow grander than truth ? Or......shall I set them aside in hope of a new season, a new time, a new moment bringing with it opportunity to dance once more to the tune of a new song?”
Shall I live in hope this day be the beginning of my new Spring and perhaps free me from the chains of this mind’s winter.
.
i flex mine
torso'z push
limbz
mine rusted
uhhp
umph lock
got'chuh
now did that hurt
"((mmph))"
.
chomp
chomp
chomp
chomp
chomp
ohh my
want 'mooch'it
i
better
"((no))
maybe later"
')>
NO COMPASS OR ANCHOR
….At sea
also known as my life, I drift.
I dream of wanting to have a
plan but I don’t. Letting down
people, not quite grasping
opportunities.
For I am a
non-commissioned
ensign of a boat in a storm lost
without its compass
or anchor.
I have passion and the drive
however I am fettered to a
chunk of seaweed.
It smells. It rots.
It becomes a part of me.
Oh the distant sunrise of a new day
is so far on the horizon it may as well be a grain of sand.
Small, minuscule, measly and insignificant.
Just like my remains of a past plan
long ago stranded on a desert island.
At sea also known as my life,
I drift….
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