I see only dread
in the break of day
if I lie with my thoughts
they'll devour me
all concepts lead
to forked tongues
I trust nothing
as I know of the arrows
shooting left and right
until this dread is swallowed
starts to occupy within, by my own hand
and I cough it up
- examine its contents
mentally swing
from limb to limb
over reliant
on the gait cycle
mistaking stagger
for momentum
I need only step back
join the dots
scan the reference points
mindful
not
to
loop
infinity
predictions may be on the nose
observations kept intense
until curated
should I care to unravel them
I regress
regret
feel sorrow -
that every star-filled sky
becomes a named constellation
Inspired by Morning Star (L'étoile matinale) - Miro
Microplastics
Are not fantastic
People pour them down the drain
And they end up in your brain
Initially I thought fantastic
This will make me more elastic
But this was not the case at all
They’re even in some blokes balls
Often consumed when we eat
Which I don’t think is very neat
But this is a fact that I detest
When I’m dead and laid to rest
As I finally get on the nose
The microplastics won’t decompose.
Fashion’s a verb
an action word
something you do.
A subtle brush of blush
cheeks dusted with peach
eyes, smudge-framed with kohl
a soft fingertip of powder on the nose
so it doesn’t like-Rudolph-reindeer glow
A shimmer of glimmer arching over lids
A bit, a spark, of barely-there bronzer,
and on the lips, a trace of glossy color.
Alchemy or pretty pollution
Chasing radiance on tired skin
powdered to porcelain
Yesterday's bad decisions
hidden by good DNA
and makeup in a cliché
of desperate optimism.
Disclaimer: Tell your doctor
if you show signs of delusion
and begin to believe the illusions
.
.
Songs for this:
One Way or Another by Blondie
Rush by Troye Sivan [E]
.
.
[E] = explicit song
As religion is discretionary
(not hereditary)
it's like a day at the races
a trip no less and here's a tip
while going through your paces
first check the horses' form
pick your odds-on favourite
as is the norm
from worst to best
(forget the rest)
put money on the nose
and place your bet
for yours to win
not those which show(s)
high-risk is high-reward
on the scoreboard
at the rail(s)
say a prayer take note
it never fails
for a day out big buck
winner's tote payout
and with a little luck
through thick and thin
your horsemanship
will come in
But what about the jockeys?
It's not the stakes, bookies' odds,
or those holding the reins...
it's all in the hands of the Gods.
Cutting onions without tears
I need diving goggles
Clothespin on the nose
Meters of Kleenex tissues
Stinging tears come quickly
Should drop the mascara
Drops in the flood,
makes black river lines
Suffering for the onion
Kinda crazy, kinda wild
So much useful advice,
without giving you tears
Bread in your mouth
Stick your tongue out
Peel under running water
Sugar between your lips
Snow-white blood runs through
the branches to be activated
by the Sun's synthesea.
White Oaks in burn of bled-wood,
to turn to the Parapet blossom of infancy,
Peaking curious tops that summit the icy eaves;
ready to be born again after
heart of Mother lion sustains within-
through pregnant Winter grieve.
A Resurrection
from the dark of the forest,
embracing the holes in the thicket
there.
Banking on a show of images
peaking curious props of light
that summit the abyss of seasoned blight, showing through pierced darkness;
like nail holes of Death in reversal;
conqueror, Life.
The sign of the cross,
buds on its boughs,
outstretched to the sky.
Showing how the wind blows.
Limbs giving homage, to the Son,
the one, honorary blossom,
Holy a scent sion blessing, right on the nose.
He who would use it's kin's body in the way
of Universal Salvation.
They show, that they know.
He is the Tree of Life.
He is it's rose.
The great bird feathered harpoon
Flung from one shore to the other
Soaring over the Caribbean green of Torch Lake
Flies at the bow of my speeding boat
Or should I say more accurately
I race on the morning frill of waves
At the Blue Heron’s pointing wing
20 miles per hour
On the nose
Skipping stones lake to sky to lake
How to explain why flowers trees and birds
And even man with her pyramids
Are driven upward?
The sun’s draw more powerful than the iron grave of gravity
Behold Goethe
The doomed mathematics of the boat beneath me
Opposed to this bird
Born free to fly in one with majesty
How I wish to be all of thee
The rising slopes stop my boat
Heron looks back
Glides atop and over the hills to Central Lake
As if he was but a trick of the wind
And me a sleight of hand.
let the magic live
july sunset peach revel -
twinkle in your eye
redemptive poppies
swaying lace leaves flare softly -
an invitation
evening's last rays
bride in orange velvet veil -
freckles on the nose
It's raining from the third heaven
does it mean
the angels are crying tears
falling from there
I on the mountain
cheek on the nose of the valley peaks
oh! but how can that be
such a reality
and how can that be true
when God allows not no tears
in heaven for there's no crying in heaven
but yet did He not create the clouds
the rivers
the rain so I guess
I must dwell in the pain
there is rain
that so flows
falls down from heaven
It's raining from the third heaven
7/7/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2023
I’ve never been to Sicily, and yet
it’s always felt a part of me. Who knows?
Another life, another alphabet?
Alongside Archimedes, jotting prose
in Agrigentum I, with each vignette,
imbibing wine, as bitter as regret,
harangued the hellene farmers, stoning crows.
That Greek me – did I tend (as now) to get
frustrated when my verse was ‘on the nose’,
all too transparently in Homer’s debt?
But Italy’s a credible coquette,
more winning in her ways than we suppose.
Like Rhapsody in Blue’s smooth clarinet,
she captures us. We victims, in love’s throes,
admire her steely claws, as black as jet.
Written October 11, 2022
I was in Trieste
It was in 1962, a revolution attempt that failed
roads had been churned; the American CIA tried to blend in
not successfully wearing Hawaii shirts to hide the guns.
I met her at the railway station, a small woman with a big suitcase
which I offered to carry at her lodging.
I was a polite young man, thanks to my communist mother.
It was a long road, a cobblestone road, was heavy going
I have come to think Federico Fellini was hiding in the case.
Arriving at her lodging, I was not invited to her room
she gave me a peck on the nose.
Later I learned she was a famous actress, but I wondered
why is she, in Trieste?
With
summer
breeze gently
blowing, its blue
wings flutter, as it dances in the air
trying to find the perfect landing spot
the cat never
knew it would
be its
nose!
9-13-2020
Double Tetractys 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Photo 3
morality sits
on the nose of this
bitter young man
erotically
impulsively
hands of intrigue
dial his extension
that call, that lure
from a feral hunter
to a wounded prey
soliciting capture
as I reach
for the ignoble
the knees, the elbows
the betwixt, the between
a door
to an orifice opens
revealing
our imminent doom
If flowers could speak,
I would put my words
in the mouth of roses,
so they whisper to your ears
"I love you".
If...
I would put my whole,
in lavender nosegays
so they can kiss you on the nose
and tell you how much I care.
@Stranja depoet
mergence of thoughts, look into that mirror,
one that begins underneath your child’s eyes —
slip a look, or like Alice
should your son or daughter slip into nonexistence...
do you see their head as a wastebucket
where you wad up lined paper
throw it into their basket...
could that you see the wrinkles that form
the worry lines like rivulets
all over her...his….non-discriminant face.
the jewel that dreams a longing
like the Nile belonging, hugging the coast.
don’t tower over a youth
like a strong babbling brawn.
look into the clear waters of their mind,
they become clearer all the time
at eye level with their thoughts,
strands behind the ears,
even the pimples on the nose —
suppose you love all of their apropos refrain.
suppose you dream their dreams too…
2/7/2020
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