flash
spark
lights dark
court and spark
fireflies on a lark
flirting with their little lanterns
adorn the skies, and tease the eyes, with starlike patterns
school-kids savor in Summer, before that bare bummer, the firefly funeral in Fall
Dusk shone lavender toned skies upon the mountain field
where scattered trees with wizened limbs were steeled to ground.
High grass tickled their small legs while they giggled and ran.
Intoxicated by freedom from rules and the summon of fireflies,
they were four cousins with jars on a lark never known before.
All under nine but two would wake the morn to lifelong heartache.
Life turns on a lark.
Will the day crack with a spark ?
Or turn pitch black dark ?
He was going to choose coffee.
But this matcha drink intrigued him.
Made him buy it on a lark.
Monday coffee?
Monday Matcha sounds better!
He wanted to share matcha with his coworkers.
But then they would hate him.
Glaring at him as if his clothes were melting away.
And also his hair is dripping with some goo.
They’ve always hated him.
He keeps the matcha a secret.
He hands everyone their coffee drinks.
The lattes, the doubles, even the triples.
He takes a sip of this green drink.
The taste is odd.
Like drinking footprints.
He takes another sip.
The taste is like some person handed him this green drink.
Except it doesn't taste green, or gray, or even orange.
Or floral, or bright, or happy.
He had been drinking coffee since college.
Terrible times.
Do people like matcha?
Do people hate matcha?
They sure hate him.
Yet, somehow the rest of the week was…
Like matcha.
You can’t spit it out.
You can’t undo it.
Everyone hates you.
Matcha Monday…
The coffeeshop asked what he wanted.
And he really didn’t know.
Rich and poor, good and evil, light and dark
Juxtaposition examples living on a lark
Sliding down a hill in east Central Park
Inviting hot and cold, benign and stark.
I’m going out on a lark;
That I’m not fraid of the dark;
Though I be on point;
Not living the life in this joint
Suspect
Music moment of the time;
Rhythms and themes;
Tarnished polished dreams;
Not giving of sorts;
And in all of this, we all miss
Detective, detecting---
Suspect
11/4/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
How about a movie?
But first let's go to brunch
One or two mimosas
We can skip the lunch
Midtown at The Regal
Showtime is at 3:00
I have two first row tickets
For "Breakfast at Tiffany's"
I know it's one of your favorites
That's why I want to go
A day that's really special
Made just for you, you know?
After, a stroll through Central Park?
Let's people watch 'til it gets dark
And I may ask you on a lark
If it's okay to hold your hand
A horsedrawn carriage, a hot dog stand
No, that's not our dinner, first a band
I know the club for you and me
The Waylon is the place to be
Smokin' hot and all country
And after, when we've had our fill
Of Manhattan club scene meets Nashville
We'll find some late night bar and grill
And finally eat, relax, and chill
To be with you would be a thrill
I'll plan these things for you, I will
Someday, one day...until, until
Unheralded purple on wings of hush
Stretching to infinity
A rebel erasing lines of sight
On a lark
Of inevitability
What forces have combined
To set this immutable wheel in play?
No haste it knows
Yet its advance is constant
As the day and evening goes
It measures progress in shades of gray
‘Til one last gasp
And we are plunged to sightless depths
Tottering, blind, and dumb
While the madman laughs
The dog was incensed, he sounded the alarm in the form of a bark.
But the master was away, and the kitty cats were on a lark.
They began typing away, changing their master’s story for the best.
He would soon come home and be thrilled; finally able to rest.
The dog did not know how talented were the kitty cats in the house.
Only recognizing their ability to be fast and catch every single mouse.
He was going crazy, watching them type away at the manuscript.
Picturing the worst, this hound was having a startling doggy fit!
A Florida man went to the park,
did martial arts there after dark.
His wax more off than on,
he karate-kicked swans
and yelled at the cranes on a lark.
----------
Actual headline: "Florida Man Arrested in Local Park for 'Practicing Karate' on Swans"
once a tree hugger from warren
awakened from too much snorin
setting out on a lark
to the nearest state park
he sent all the birds a soarin.
Remember the young and carefree days,
When laughter accompanied all our ways
Adventures when we were out on a lark,
And the world came alive long after dark
We gave little thought about our futures,
Wounds would heal with a few sutures
Somehow, we let the good times roll away,
And responsibility came jolting into play
Time seemed to move much faster then,
But we poets found time to take up the pen
We write of those young and carefree days,
And deep down inside the laughter stays.
The wife was just lying their stark
As a young lad puffed on a Lark
Without his pants
It took one glance
To see that her Kent was no Clark!
Some poets write to glorify the Lord
while others like to sing the praises of
earth’s beauty or perhaps of their adored.
So many write of nature and of love!
Some poets have a funny bone. They come
up with cute limericks while some write dark!
Some rant; some ramble; some write haiku; some
can give great thought, while some write on a lark!
All poets use the themes that suit them best.
Some are eclectic. Others use few styles.
It’s not for me to say what is the best.
We can inform, inspire, bring tears or smiles.
So whether it’s with levity or might,
we poets must take up our pens and write!
Oct. 9, 2020 for Beth Evans' A Poet's Duty Poetry Contest
Submitted Feb. 7, 2022 for 'A STRAND (1068)' Poetry Contest
Elmer Fudd chose one day on a lark
to go looking through mud. In the dark,
he got swept to the sea.
Most unfortunately,
he found naught but the bite of a shark!
April 4, 2020 for Mudlark Contest
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