Chronicles of the revolving door
By Dustin Branum
When exactly does life begin? When will this
tragedy come to an end? It's like over, and over,
and over again... When will I ever find peace,
my friend? And nobody knows how far I've
been; Nobody cares about the pain
I'm in. This knowledge that
burns deep within, with
a withering soul,
reality will
bend.
The
light
turns dark
with a grayish
blend, begging for
mercy, it's demons they
send. The light is illusion I
can no longer depend—There's no
Destiny for me to defend. Yearning for
happy, acceptance, and Zen, Instead of this
anger and evil times ten. No kids, no wife, no
next of kin; Lonely and broken, this chapter will end...
Exactly where the it began.
Another spring
Counting rings
No longer dark
Dog days wait, for their bark
Signaling life has been in bloom
And soon
A beautiful reality will arrive
You do not really die
Glorious sunshine
Photosynthesis dines
Fed well
From nature's magic spell
Can't you tell?
Arbor figure matures
Always sure
About wilderness’ door
No one ignores
Relaxed, whistling tunes
Branches dance and swoon
Turning everything green
Shade is an escape dream
Then things turn
Brown and burn
Chilling breeze sighs
Giving a ride
To the foliage who occupy
Twigs ready to say goodbye
Fall scheduled to begin
Giving the end
A win
Low temperatures chattering bite
Haunting the cool night
Crumbled leafs descend
Crinkling no bend
Completing their beauty rein
Realizing it's just a plants game
Meeting with the rake
Realizing the bag is ready to take
Them to the disposable bin
No need to call a next of kin
Since they will be shred
Rip and dead
Until spring
And another ring
Appears
Exclaiming the tree is here
Giving a reason
To celebrate each season
Letting the seeds
Do their deed
And grow more trees
Yield not to the theories of optimism and pessimism.
Be on the fulcrum.
If all lakes and rivers shallowed,
We would miss the beauty of raining.
Half filled is a good omen of achievement.
But half empty gives room for progress.
If everything provided,
Next of kin would lose exhilaration in living.
My waves of emotions have touched here one aspect only.
My verse still half-filled and half- empty.
Neither can be filled nor emptied.
It's nature’s phenomenon!
Place: 5
Unearthly beauties, one and all
Angelic faces, each a doll
Physique amazing, walking straight
In runway's perfect balanced gait
They smile, in answer to your smile
Dressed sharp and simple, modern style
Somehow they know what is in fashion
Those shapely legs inflame passion
No girl be equal to compete
With wonder bodies, eyes and feet
The arching brows, ideal skin
Earth doesn't hold your next of kin
We'd love to meet them, hold their hands
And speak, about to be fans
To run our fingers through the manes
Except a dream it all remains
They are not real, don't live here
These beauties not what they appear
At least not yet, not on my watch
All I can do is wish and watch
As catwalk model or a singer
A dancer with the moves that linger
Recite the story, silky voice
Leave us astounded, to rejoice
Be you not fake, I'd be on fire
Ones' manly brain, it goes haywire
Oh, why, but why create temptations
When none of you are God's creations?
Illusions perfect, by A.I.
Hello, my beauties, and goodbye
One day you'll join humans' world
I wouldn't live that long, I'm told
December 28, 2025
I SHINE THAT LIGHT
Within myself I solely shine
Liken a beacon my soul so shines
I shine thee light I shines the light
Just a speck in the blacken void
Mine light shines ever so
I am the next of kin of phonics
Light up the glory
As they tell of my story
From glory to glory
I am Eye who shines the light
For in the pit of blackness
The darkness
I am I
I shines the Light
I shine the Light
I shine the Light
Ever so bright, I shine the light
I shine the Light, I shine the Light
8/5/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
pleading petals play gently in the sun
whispering joy across the sticky skin
summertime blessings cannot be outdone
however, autumn is her next of kin
praying roses and melancholic buds
remembering our heart’s tender healing
hanging in timeless ache of fair redbuds
season’s bliss lifts shadows who’re concealing
promising the night stars, moon and fireflies
rousing such beauty the skies come to life
only God can breathe this splendor its whys
summer’s glory comes ‘round despite all strife
birdsong and melodies rich kindness flow
sunshine leaves its touch as an afterglow
A little boy asked me about the future...
I told him;
It ends in the grave.
None wanna go sooner
But it's the final destination for all.
Everything we're striving and thriving for
We'll live behind
Then go to our future
Another world beyond
To behold
But through the grave.
In this life we come and we go
Nothing lasts forever.
Pray your next of kin
Don't waste all your efforts
Everything you worked for.
Do everything within your power
To leave a legacy behind
That's what matters
The only thing or reason
People will remember you for, when you've gone beyond.
This life is as familiar to me as my five fingers,
Yet I still find the flaws that linger.
When I think of the future for the next of kin,
My soul withers...
in various ways...
I begin to spin.
My soul withers...
in various ways...
My life drifts toward the western bay.
There’s no time to turn or even glance,
Many souls pass by, lost in the dance.
Many don’t grasp the essence of this life,
Has anyone truly reached their aimed strife?
As I wander in this flurry and haste,
One day I’ll leave without a trace.
Though these words may not make sense to some,
The blue sea won’t stir if no battles come.
Rivers may overflow in the end,
And pour into the sea, if you comprehend.
I, too, have been to the land of Oz,
where everything is
that never was,
where nothing is never
anyone's sole endeavor,
and where whatever is
is never just because.
When I arrived in the land of Oz,
I met a guy who claimed he wasn't who he was.
And neither was he who he'd been.
So, I was very confused when he did begin
to explain why he thought I was his next of kin.
Winky claimed she spent the night with the Wizard of Oz,
who graciously invited her to partake of his noz.
But she declined, saying, “Oh, Mr. Oz!
I can't do that ~ because~
I'll never again be the same as I was.
The way it is it never was
in that funky land we know as Oz,
where girls are girls and boys and boys,
and girls play with their dinky toys
to condemnation or applause.
One day in the Land of Oz,
I got hit in the back of the head by a big bag of fuzz.
And this is the first thing the doctor said,
when I woke up in an Oz hospital bed:
"At least now we know what getting hit in the head by a big bag of fuzz does."
Who's this, that makes a poet's soul,
and motivates the heart?
Who exposes one's true yearnings.
in depths that's set apart.
What stirs the scribal cauldron's lust
that moves the pen to write?
What mysteries the quill brings forth.
does wisdom forge the light?
I know not where the winds may blow
as passion dwells within.
But I know this, that I will write
that truth is next of kin.
Deep in the canyons of my mind
that screams for sweet release,
I can't contain that precious brew -
a tide that cannot cease.
The universal Master's hand
this most precious of all gifts.
Is likewise host to beauty's fest
and healer of all rifts.
In the tank are eighteen fish,
Or maybe there are twenty.
It’s hard to count them, but to me,
It seems that there are plenty.
The tank is not too spacious
But with pebbles and live plants,
The black and orange platys
Do their slo-mo floaty dance.
Yet I was shown a baby
Hiding underneath the leaves
And there might be another one,
Or so my son believes.
It’s cool to see how creatures
Have their instincts kicking in,
Doing what they can to stay away
From hungry next-of-kin.
I am empty of empathy
come sympathise with me
Cue the violins,
or just fiddle
like a bad-tempered Roman
Offer me hope:
bring flamboyant symbols,
cheap gold pendants with wings
Maybe a big gaudy
unflappable albatross
nothing too flash,
mind you!
Take my hand,
lead me towards the edge
it’s time to fledge
Sidle me onward,
watch as I waver
Try not be over-critical
of the albatross
He’s become a hanger-on,
too far gone
and addicted to flattery
If I drag you down
or appear inhumane,
it’s all secondary
I’m merely feeling depressed
by a pouch in my brain
A séance sensed
it was next of kin,
X-rays revealed tiny pleats,
masses of tissue within folds of skin
An exorcist said it’s
my vestigial twin
Google diagnosed
(Visual agnosia)
taking shape from within
Oh! And the indifferent
chatbot I confided in,
has begun self-harming!
Mind flashes the past, in and out of consciousness
Unable to find the door from which let you in
Visions of your own past life's sacarphagus
With the zombies standing over it claiming next of kin
Screams carried through the hallways, echo's everywhere
Your eyes are slammed shut with shaking lids
This house you purchased has become your nightmare
As you vomit continuously the Demons acids
Whispering voices within the walls, who is it?
Someone you once knew or previously heard
Unable to focus as if you've become illiterate
Is this me in past life where I was tortured?
Sorrow bleeds down the walls, puddling the floor
The haunted being haunted by it's haunted self
In desperate need to find that door
Locked in this house haunted by myself
Written for contest Haunted House @10/13/2024
Form: Rhyme Hosted by: Tania Kitchin
WON 4TH PLACE IN ABOVE CONTEST
Born into sin,
Was I the next of kin?
Pain and agony arrived,
Yet I could have moved on,
unlike Lot's wife.
Was this His plan?
To make my life feel purposeless?
No, I got it all wrong;
it was to make me understand
His faithfulness.
All He did was to teach me
how great He is.
Time and time, I'd spend my life
blaming, instead of facing Him
and seeing the bigger picture,
which I couldn't figure.
Yet again, He proved
that He was before I was.
Who am I to point fingers
when I couldn't stay faithful
to my word, listening to what I heard
instead of what He said?
I failed to do the one thing He asked:
to follow His will.
And yet He chose me still,
because He was before I was.
I have no theme, no muse, no just cause or aim.
Untouched by reason, no spark nor any flame.
Yet still the words flow, kindled all the same,
By the sheer love of words and the games they play.
My poet's head is full of words churning within,
With magnetic attraction for their next of kin,
Words that describe images, thoughts, sounds therein,
It's a noble cause, just because a story must begin.
It's not just the lovey-dovey smoochy stuff,
But words that clash, jog and jangle, huff and puff,
Words that trawl up memories and a serendipitous bluff,
Words that inspire a just cause in readers is just enough.
I wash, rinse, and recycle what pops into my head,
Creating a riddle, jingle, jangle and rhyme bedspread,
That's washed, spun, and hung out to dry once it's said,
To flap, taunt and jangle readers passing-by my spread.
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