In buses, on bikes, as passengers in Ubers
Faces blur and deeds collide.
Sprint down streets, stuck behind the slow,
always in passing I see stories unfold.
Quick check behind in case of cars,
None in sight but there's a beep.
Cyclists are invisible to pedestrians with places to be.
Taxi beeps at taxi and beeped at hops out
To harass the beeper with a wagging finger.
Apology, apology, I demand apology!
Delivery driver on a monster truck e-bike;
Near miss with a clueless tourist.
It's all too much for one man to keep.
I try to write them as they happen
but seconds pass and the moment is gone.
Passing, always passing, these moments with people
that we'll never know
but for a second,
laid bare on their face is themselves
whole and complete.
Each day has a second to be remembered.
Gather them, pick them, stuff them in your pockets.
Each day has a second for us all.
Why did they name it a freeway to begin with
Honestly it doubles your chances of getting hit
Drunk drivers and those with road rage throwing fits
Constantly driving defensively to avoid a near miss
Are the ramp meter lights really controlling the traffic
It causes more confusion when an idiot drives past it
It's on this road that the impatient show themselves
Another reason the insurance comanies are high in their sells
People changing lanes like they're under the influence
Tailgaters are annoying and also drivers with no insurance
If an accident happens anywhere on the freeway
Artificial traffic builds from the nosey looking that way
Then when lanes aren't moving but yours starts to
Someone always dares to dash right in front of you
You also have those who try to cheat the carpool
Even break through the solid lines just to roll through
That freeway business can be too much for me
To avoid that madnes I rather take the street
vroom…vroom
Toot-toot
near miss
stay tuned
I say
highways are not
not hard
takes a Bard
to park this poem
vroom…vroom
make room
I’m here to stay
not ruin
someone else’s poem
near miss
stay tuned
takes a Bard
to take a part
in this traffic
easy go
when it’s light
but when it’s heavy
write…right…write…left
crossing lines
make sure they’re not double
seeing reality
toot-toot
vroom-vroom
have to cross the line
so I don’t hit
the accident
don’t do a bang up job
back at it
write right
write left
beep beep
back home
lay back
pop up
watch show
Ever so sweet
is kernel hub,
the power button,
so neat, tiny and mighty.
But the sweet spot
can sour with
too much power
to savor its glory.
For to score is fragile,
furtive and futile,
when a near miss,
catches the edge.
It's easily bruised,
easily abused,
easily overused,
overdone and missed.
The soft spot sweetie,
requires a gentle touch,
with panache, pizzazz,
flair and feeling.
Ex-President Trump had a near miss recently. That can be traumatizing.
We know how it is, our old republic survived a near insurrection recently.
At least Trump's assailant was killed, he can rest easy.
Thanks to faux-jurisprudence, our felon is still out there - on the loose.
.
.
Songs for this:
Run On by Elvis Presley
Use Me (feat. Cynthia Greene) by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
.
I love gospel music, maybe because I’m from Georgia, the home of MLK, civil rights and the Ebenezer Baptist Church. Lisa (who lives in Manhattan) and I’ve made two pilgrimages to the Brooklyn Tabernacle to hear the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. I admit that I’m a heathen and a pagan but when I hear a gospel choir - I'm easily reduced to tears, and I’m moved to at least wish that I believed.
.
I would never wish Mr. Trump harm. I would like to see him loose fairly and resume his opulent, civilian life.
The cat wants in
dark spiraling clouds stretch
to grab at our throats,
the cat has made a fort of its
spring-loaded
corkscrew body.
There is no distance now,
just this on-rushing rumbling
a sign that we have mislaid
our past
in this brick-walled moment.
They say when it tracks us down
it sounds like a train,
the heart ducks below its own pounding,
thoughts become
a sensorium of beheaded sensations,
ears are left to ring on their own.
The term ‘Tornado’ does not cover
the many reasons to run blindly
or stay hunched in a bunker of reason.
Wide-eyes search out
nests of kindred heartbeats.
Then there is the wait,
the explosive ticking of electric moments
that shake both bones and faith.
You may not know it
but your bent body is praying,
your mind
has become a begging bowl.
Then the banshee whoosh
and clatter
of a near miss.
No flying cows cross our eyes
just a frigid silence
between the loud drip-drop
of a spent and broken rain –
then
hands reaching.
When I join myself in prayer
all the survivors; all those still able to bear witness
regarding my twisted way through the moments
and decades come together in the nothing flat
all eager to tell their tales once more.
The dead speak little;
ushering blindfolded angles
lead them into my presence
yet they are reluctant to testify or blame.
The survivors line up ready to spill all the beans
or elaborate upon some minor escape from
a near miss, or a cliff edge pull-back
when I gabbed myself away, not from the fall
but from the hard ground.
I listen nodding like a priest in a confessional box
absolving some, scorning others, dismissing many.
After this séance with myself,
I take an Ambien and sleep
dreaming of a life that once had meaning.
A bumblebee missed my head this morning
Flew into the plate-glass window, without warningl,
And bounced off into the dogwood tree
I wonder, who was better off…him or me?
written July 30, 2021
Junealane a Fictional Love Story-
As I swear into the future, my Junealane;
I shall always love you midst summer’s rain;
tick, tock, a moment, a kiss;
morphs like light, scarlet mist;
My dearest Junealane;
your smile, a passion through the thicket;
bound, connected, to never run away in vain;
You light my love;
you lift up my pulse;
I am just yours;
In you I must;
As I swear into the future, my Junealane;
a heart, a stone, your heart so pangs;
tick, tock, a moment, a kiss;
as the heart comes together for always a near miss;
No need to be apologetic;
My dearest Junealane
bound together, I bequeath to you I pray;
bound, connected, to never run away;
bound, bound, to never shatter;
I share with you my soul and yes you matter;
I am not ashamed to love you in no way,
My darling Junealane;
3/2/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. © 2021
Tears tumble as thoughts turn into words
Reliving memories of then and now
Hurts and heartaches make their way down
Blotting the ink on the dampened page below
Am I Mistaken?
Misunderstood?
Reacting far more sensitively than I should?
I struggle to let go, though you already have
Such pure oblivion of your wrongdoing and guilt
Our bond relinquished, you let it wither and wilt
And again, I fight the urge to reach out
Before it became poetry,
I was Cinderella, you were my Prince
It was fairytale-true, soulmate bliss
And now, such the sound of a heart-wrenched hiss
Oh, such a shame of a love near miss
November 6, 2020
Watts gnu
Asked Sou
Knot much
Said Dutch
Ewe're late
Four date
Takes walk
Small talk
Tries hug
Slugs mug
Steels kiss
Near miss
Street car
Two bar
Byes bier
Ayes blear
Holds hand
Grate band
Lets dance
Know chance
Yew're drunk
Yew punk
He heaves
She leaves
Head tossed
Git lost
Sou miffed
Left swift
Ewe're tight
Good nite
implosion
a near miss-
brown dwarf
CATCHING A TRAIN
the embark of a new day
kilters to the hand on a rail
lost beside the meager display
ground down remains of prey
the shuffle of blind insist
a march of unraveled bliss
all aboard a near miss
no time to resist
time wanders a train
the slow motion of a stain
bends back the will
misery’s honor forever stills
a life within reach
belief lies beneath a mask
arms a pressing disguise
bangs at an irrespective demise
daydreams for impressions bloom
cracked glass still reflects
the worlds mass on the move
turning hope in a kaleidoscope view
conflicts try a mind for limits
defend a paradox unseen
the fury to push back mean
runs free while praying for a leash
Terry D'Arcy-Ryan
Find you
Hold your hands in mine
Look in your eyes
Tell you I love you
That’s what I would do
If Earth was getting slammed by an asteroid tomorrow
Oh my God! What if it turns out to be a near miss?
Rocks
Really big ones
They shattered glass
Really big glass
Windows witnessed madness
Apparently life closed calls
A near miss
Missed Missy
Extras and extra
I read all about it
Memory served like a dream
As if things didn’t happen
It would seem
But it was you and it was me
We almost killed that lady
She sat atop her rocking chair
Without a worry or a care
But kid vandals scared
An innocent woman
That sat in there
We ran so fast
With all our might
We were so high
That day of night
Only pictures remain
Wrapped around mental pain
But luck had found
Rocks on top of the ground.
And time did tell
As our voices did not
That we did wrong
A lot less than whole lot.
12-10-17
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