Your whisper is in the burble of the spring stream.
You pass through the internodes like rays through a prism.
I have composed my lyrics. I would like to sing.
My morphemes are coarse. Could you give me your rhythm?
Aesthetics and passions amalgamate in me.
My soul finds solace in your consoling bosom.
Sentiments break within me, like waves of the sea.
Words move tunelessly. Could you give me your rhythm?
Mind and heart should be in tune, like a musical.
Compassion for creatures should be the sole dictum.
Shouldn't equilibrium be endless moral?
Castles of creeds crash. Could you give me your rhythm?
To begin and end each of my days with truism
Dear Mother Nature, could you give me your rhythm?
Categories:
morphemes, life, nature,
Form: Sonnet
My veins are the schematics
My conscience the pragmatics
A nuclear weapon that’s omnifarious
Self destruct the one that’s multifarious
Many parts no two the same
Doesn’t mean I’m not painfully plain
Nothing about me is distinctive
Identical and parallel, anatomy’s instinctive
So why am I so self-destructive?
You don’t need to be quite deductive
Deduce the reason and the people pleasing
My consciousness requires easing
Rhymes makes the feelings and words coalesce
Does it really makes you digress?
Words made up of morphemes
Feelings made up of morphines
Nothing without you has meaning
It isn’t held it’s given without demeaning
My schematics look better inkless
Don’t want my veins to circulate just ingress
Categories:
morphemes, 12th grade, absence, age,
Form: Rhyme
.
poesy etcetera
v o
Lip morphemes
i into e y
eyne t n
g i write
u o r a
i n e lexicon
s e a i
transcendentalism
l
linguaphile w
a y y i
u p s
r knowledge
poet
a dopemine
telepathy
e e
*92 yearz !
* "svo"=subject-verb-object>with regard
using this abreviation(svo)>i plead the 5th; i
mean, poetic license ;)
Categories:
morphemes, dedication, education, introspection,
Form: Free verse
Poetry
A wonder of creativity and innovation
Jungling of words and morphemes
Expression of views and emotions
We praise n sing
We cry and sob
We hallulate and jubilate
From it solace we derived
Our emotions we express
Our inner most thoughts we express
Its power beyond limit
The mind it sharpens
Its not for the weak nor feeble minded
The future it predicts
The present it analyses
Poetry is my name
In riddles and raddless I speak
My innermost I express
Poetry is my name
Words brought together
Poetry is Devine
Categories:
morphemes, poetry,
Form: Lyric
War Cry
A vicious tussle broke between two foes
the quiet faction firmly stood its ground
verbose wing dug in heels while braving blows
Both land and sea were numbed with booming sound
The battlefield a mangled, spectral form
as angels wept, aghast at ravaging
dispute; slain morphemes dazed, could not perform
Just lay unnerved, shell-shocked and whimpering
Then God took reins and urged the twain to call
a truce; with His grace last trace of dark strife
was buried; malice shed for once and all
Peace soon prevailed to usher in new life
Refulgent thoughts and words now on same page
with souls well merged, sublime verse came of age
footnote
Words and thoughts need to be in perfect harmony for poetry to see the light of day.
Resubmitted for Brian Strands contest mid Jan
Jan 14 2018
Brian Strands contest
Mid December Premiere
Any form less than 20 lines
13th Dec 2017
Categories:
morphemes, analogy, war,
Form: Sonnet
Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
I load the washing machine up with my dirty wishes
Found myself lost and broken in the kicthen
All the writing on the bathroom stalls
Surpasses the shoppers at the malls
And why must I write about you at all
You come before me and you think it a lark
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
Swimming in odd-houses while cutting class
Grown up thinking pew is a piece of church furniture
Watermelon basketball salmon crochet patties
Wring on the sidewalk with a broken bleeding thumb
Picking up harden day old chewing gum
You come before me and you think it a lark
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
Now while you are trying to comprehensive and make sense of my lines
Don't condemn me because my words don't make sense
I'm no more or less educated than a bowl of pink grapes
Bet you gonna try and fluctuate and define my lines of morphemes
And why must I worry about you at all
You come before me and you think I am lost
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
11/25/17
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Categories:
morphemes, adventure, allusion, celebration, confusion,
Form: Free verse
Seated alone; a room full of blank and emotionless faces.
The murmur on with unimpressive tones. Failing their attempts at using alliteration, morphemes, to name just a few. How can the educated, lack the simplest of appreciation? Life's little gifts, such as poetic beauty or powerful prose. Instead babbling on with mindless banter. Never scratching beyond, the rough exterior. Lacking the knowledge, even to explicate their products. Believing literature, nothing more, than words upon paper. Never to experience, the hidden beauty, within words exposed.
Categories:
morphemes, appreciation, language, poetry, ,
Form: Prose Poetry
The gentle watery flow smashing against the ragged rocks.
The snowcap mountains nestled against the bluest sky
wisps of a soft breeze whispering against the blushing cheek
unanticipatory verbiage impacting emotions
to thine own self be true
to rhyme without rhythm
to eat, to pray, to love
the best of times, the worst of times
the state of an era,
the unpredictable elipses
the improper but appropriate pause
inflection for reflection
brilliant salutations
morphemes
contractions
exclamatory fragments
Freedom within thought
freedom to express
Once upon a time ...
it was a dark and stormy night.
Of man's first disobedience ...
We hold these truths to be self-evident...
learned growth,
long journeys into the lost world
satisfaction at the close of the book.
artful, impacting, storytelling.
Categories:
morphemes, analogy, beautiful, beauty, imagination,
Form: Free verse
Poets maybe extravagant
Not of money but with words
In a minute they can say thousands word flagrant
But nobody can just understand their world
For poets speak of humour, of pun, and others in instant
With so much, no one can see what their mind wore
To them words are just words and no more
With meanings which is hidden or obvious
Poets may be drastic, filled with horror, cool, or more with their talents in store
But who knows what they go through and why their mind is torn
Poets say words and words and structures morphemes in thousands multiple turns
They praise, disgrace, say and frame and do many more worse
Categories:
morphemes, art,
Form: Free verse
Love me dear, so slowly
Throughout this life and death
My muse and inspirations
You are the best parts
Of me and my words.
I couldn't sew a stitch
Write a single phrase
Without it being gone through you
For my pen is now within.
My mind hides my morphemes
Unable to express
What they really feel
How they are undressed.
They come flowing
With the minute thought of you
Writing soullessly barren
Unless you caress my heart.
My only escape
From a dark lonely word
My writings the half hearted
Plunges of despair.
Giving me my strength
I must go on
Fueled my absence from you
Loss bringing to surface.
The best I have to offer this world
To be desired by you
Forthcoming they do
The vernacular of hope.
Categories:
morphemes, absence, longing,
Form: Romanticism
Silly Syllables
Making sounds out of morphemes
Through the lexicon
Categories:
morphemes, words,
Form: Haiku
Ireland's James Joyce was a wizard with words,
inventing, inverting, morphemes nouns and verbs,
hiding perversion, *********** too,
under a language that only he knew.
Our own times Bob Dylan's a master of rhyme,
who expressed all our hopes, and the angst of our time,
deprecating a war that left innocent dead,
with melodious lyrics that sprang whole from his head.
John Lennon earns mention for the prolific ease
with which he composed songs of love and of peace.
He left us a martyr lying bleeding and dead
on the cold New York street where he was shot in the head
The true value of poets is not easy to measure
the three here extolled have bequeathed us their treasure.
New York City
Categories:
morphemes, people,
Form: Couplet