‘Oft overlooked is the noble foot.
But please let me in, my 2 cents, put.
For, granted, it is so often, took.
Homely and crooked, though it may look,
still gets you there, that most noble foot.
Darrell Simmerman © 2026
Emily (part 2.2)
From the outreach of my hand
I can feel you
From my eyes I want to
Bewitch you
From look in my eye I want you
Only because I fell
In love with you
From the shore of the Atlantic
To shore of Lake Erie
I row a boat to get you
Take you in my arms
Kiss you until you cry out
Love me
The sky opens up with the sun
It time for us to have some fun
Walking the beach
Snuggles under cover
Swimming nude together
Living a loving life
Got you under my skin
You let me in
Every so softly I sung
From East Coast to the west Coast
My find will outdo the rest
She has beauty from out and in
Love the feeling of her skin
We kiss and hug and love
she is my lady
Emily
COMES
Canto I
Come
Canto II
Before the light there was light the lands dwells grasses;
Canto IIl
Come
Canto IIll
God stood still His brilliants shun so shines
Canto IIlll
Come
Canto VI
night drops its cloak across embracement black.
Canto VIl
night drops its cloak across embracement black.
Canto VIll
Come
Canto lX
Lose He spoke life words dominance creation of light
Canto X
Before the moon and sun shown
Canto XI
No shape darkness empty everything things He spoke by dawn,
Come forth come
Canto XII
The wanderer has crossed the pass.
Canto XIII
Come
Canto XIV
Gathering in one spot cover then and withdraw from the lands
Canto XV
Continues…..
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………………………………………………………………………next chapter…..
count down
familiar six- day creation structure right you know found in other Abrahamic traditions it's the specific wording and
0:31
31 seconds
the emphasis yeah that makes it so compelling okay so let's get into those six days okay day one kicks off with
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39 seconds
9/3/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
Sun-streaked topaz,
of faint silhouette,
woman gulping phrases,
uncanny mirror’s orbital,
of resonance,
in blind recess,
seeing, hearing icicled image,
psychic blobs melt,
in close locus,
hair-raising halo,
hallucinate my opal eyes,
sultry smokescape,
furnace of,
walnut garland,
from ambling weeper,
whose shaken trauma,
I shudder and pine for,
at red coal pit of,
my abdominal agony,
this lava veiled,
human’s sideswipe,
“you remind me of someone,”
whilst being eclipsed,
by vanilla vapours,
in a hazy billow,
rippling stream heart,
inducing isthmus of,
harrowing bereavement,
blue vault fluke
surreal concoction,
shrouded in mystique,
enigmatic shroud,
shrouded pang,
otherworldly episode
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Lavenders “allure,”
they “lure” bees, butterflies, folk,
toxic air immune,
flower on spike, fragrant vent,
evergreen shrub in svelte perfume
dilute blob oe’r skin,
red blotches, wrinkles, acne,
stoma clogs clean flush,
witch hazel spoon scoop fold in,
with mauve plant a face fillip
Sweet, spiced and salty,
courses, with subtle mint hint,
wild herb a chef’s boon,
its honey glaze gels with greens,
or muffins, waffles, ice cream
I’ve a mind full of thoughts
plus stuff I try forget
those things I won’t recall
are hard to recollect
it’s not I can’t remember
but prefer to deflect
that part of what I am
feels wrong in retrospect
“Oh just say it already”
No! I’m here to reflect
“Say it! go on admit it
this is plain old regret”
But I’m the damage done
that I cannot correct
And you, this other voice
are that part I can’t accept
By
David Kavanagh
Sometimes I wonder if eventually the rot leaves way for love,
if the thick layer of hope on my lips is enough to get myself out of the trenches,
I wonder if I’m held captive to my past because my past is just a reason to hate,
Am I in fact hateful?
do I hate the fact that it feels as though my past has deteriorated any thought of being loved future?
sometimes I just want to crawl out of my skin and soak it in bleach,
Allow every last sin to burn away at the chemicals on my skin
am I dirty forever?
is it really purity culture or just a lack of self esteem
I love myself repeatedly but it never seems to stick in the moments that truly decipher one’s loyalty to themselves
Conflict-ion of loyalty, love, and desperation.
- V.B
Becoming my own essence that quest,
of marked candid introspection,
a disposition to embark on,
recondite global.bold voyage,
jettison vacuous self-distrust,
that sabotaging virus veneer,
I once did sanction as odious habit,
for protracted periods at first blush,
phases I squandered, lost tally of,
so immaterial to core perception
Scorched
moss
remnant
speck of dust,
dainty dot matchbox
plume ex tiny chaser light chain,
dried out moist field, drought a wretched blight, habitat woe,
as wide sweep venal mindsets purge swathe after swathe of candle fly inbred impish glint,
they feeble bugs, leaf strewn dwellers whose twinkle once power charmed tree tops, lush pastures, putrid logs, harmless to the touch, dodging worldly brass nerve,
warm-hearted watchers for the environment who pose not the remotest threat of even miniscule proportions, now diminishing landscape feature, they atrophy, sag, shrivel, wither, languish, a pointless premature death
Faint,
spark,
smothered,
frail flicker,
doused by wanton strafe,
of bogus blitz on firefly swarm,
whose sintered flecks luminous once a mint meadow rash,
fetid stench on sombre marsh morgue deathly plummet in wet woodland, squelching plot interred,
winsome wing glow worm surreal,
larval lantern love, a spring twilight trail flash mate signal in mid-flight flare, haphazard helix of red flame,
lightning mimicry from maiden whose passion quest quenched querulous by nightmarish callous earthling hand clamped coffin dull click, twilight yellow, blue ghost, witching hour green tint spectaclenow grave entombment, mourning planet sheds tears
The date of your death was a day I'll always hate.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned 78.
When you became ill, you went under the knife.
A surgeon amputated your leg to try to save your life.
He also operated on your stomach and it was enough to cause fear.
You couldn't be saved and it's so sad because you're no longer here.
When you died, it was upsetting because your demise was so unfair.
Happy Birthday, Mom, you're in Heaven and I'm glad you're up there.
[Dedicated to Agnes Greene-Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
Sundown creeps,
across adorned amber,
sky whose welkin,
shades volte face,
as evening edges,
into cosmic chakra,
of visual feasts,
orange, pink, purple,
prelude which emblazon,
point of day exodus,
atrophied moon winking,
mystic morph of,
dwindling halo,
to homeward bound,
throngs thirsting,
for redress within,
winter jasmine enclave,
cabal, clique, cluster,
in shrunken retreat,
from dreary toil,
nudge from nightfall,
whose cryptic code,
a dark art patois,
exemplified by,
eastern screech owl,
whose stocky medium,
and varied volume,
that twilight tremolo,
purring incognito,
among other creatures,
wet soil genus,
brisk firefly flash,
in town backyards,
wing rubbing katydid,
tree top rasp,
or amid green bush,
chirpy cricket,
midget burrow dweller,
allow oneself to wallow awhile,
in evening habitat,
in all its allure
Reports they redact and hide
Experts who tried can’t chide
Appliance of science denied
Us all being taken for a ride
On some helter skelter slide
With no shelter in or outside
Swelter in this delta of snide
Fried by fake national pride
As the past & future collide
Know on us all have spied
Our secrets they have pried
Data for advertisers supplied
Time to choose your side
Surmise AI guys pie eyed
In Geneva should be tried
For war crimes can’t abide
Yes it is up to us to decide
To stop the slop of the tide
What term history’s applied
Call it genocide or ecocide?
Either way everything died !
Trump is still gobbing off
Sheriff’s tiff tariffs lobbing
Sleuth’s truths fobbing off
Mother Nature is sobbing
Refugees bobbing in a trough
Sighs her eyes still throbbing
With crypto cronies robbing
Hobnobbing with every toff
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