THE GANGSTER DISCIPLE TREATY FREE LARRY HOOVER MOVEMENT BEGAN TO SOUND OFF THROUGHOUT THE PRISON SYSTEMS IN THE MIDWEST INCLUDING THE WOMANS PRISON IN WISCONSIN HOUSING REPEAT SEVERE VIOLENT OFFENDERS AS DEATHROW INMATES PREPARIING FOR PARDONS EARLY RELEASES OR COMMUTED SENTENCES AS TRUMP COMMUTED FOUNDER LARRY HOOVER FEDERAL MULTIPLE LIFE PRISON COMMUTED TO 200 YEARS FOR THE MURDERS THIS SENT THE PRISON SYSTEM INTO A FRENZY FOR CORRUPTION GANG RELATED LAW ENFORCEMENT PROVIDING RIOT GEAR TO GANG LEADERS IN ORDER TO STAND OFF WITH FBI AGENTS KILLING INFORMANTS I AM REMINDED OF MY WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI JUNK SICK COPS WORKING SECURITY FOR GANGS IMAGINE HOW TERRORISTS MIMIC AMERICAN GANGS A SYSTEM THAT TEACHES FORIEGNERS HOW TO HARM AMERICANS THROUGH ORGANIZED CRIME CORRUPTION I WILL NEVER FEAR 1 HOOVER LANE WEARING A BADGE WORKING FOR GANG LEADERS INCLUDING SEVERE REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDERS UCAN2 CORRUPTION AT ITS FINEST ACTUALLY REPRESENTING THE GANGSTER DISCIPLES OPENING A PASSAGEWAY FOR TERRORISTS RATHER WW1 WW11 WW111 ORGANIZED CORRUPTION CONTROLLING TERROISM ON AMERICAN SOIL GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT OF ABUSE OF POWER
Like the basement door.
Doesn’t flounder or bend.
Just is hinged.
Unlike me.
Any door can be an ocean.
As expansive and open.
Creates a passageway.
Tangled sea.
Any door can be a flower.
Attracts bees and such.
Gets gobbled up by slime.
Leafiness.
Any door can be a poem you see?
Just like candy stripes.
Just like peeling off stickers from the mirror.
Gobbling the space between those two planes.
It’s flat.
The door is flat and stoic.
Transfers me to the next realm.
But only if my feet stop trembling.
Any door can be a poem.
Attached to me.
Any door can be a poem.
Unhinged.
Dropping Flowers, Blades Of Grass, And Us
Like flowers droop
but refuse to die
from the heat,
like tanned fields
subsumed in the struggle
to survive and keep
the flow of transpiration,
like the trodden blades of grass
pushing through sidewalk holes
to capture the cosmic energy
that fuels them onward
the victory they seek
to be free,
we, like all of nature,
must continue to travel
the jubilee road
riddled with imposing holes
and nullifying roadblocks
that causes us to stop
by the roadside
once and a while,
to check our engines,
water up,
and refuel our spirits
with divine wisdom
and guidance,
navigating us onward
and upward
on the paved footprinted way
our ancestors have left us
in the never ending passageway
to freedom, justice, and equality:
thus, let us buckle up,
and with eyes on the prize,
hit the pedal
along the remaining
bumpy way
of our liberation sojourn:-
Breath
He had a layer of skin
That's wide open
He was suffering as he walked
He was buffering
Carelessly as a stride sought
He'll put his heart up while suffering
Why has it inhaled an exhaled
Lung keeps the flow
Who would know
And he walked through the door
Through the passageway he saw His lungs
moved and all he could do was be strong
... breathe
6/10/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025
“Memories come forth to say...
we are with you to stay.”
__by Poet
This was the passageway she took
beneath the limbs of maple trees;
to this day still, I turn and look
and feel her joy to help and please.
I watched her walk across the grass;
this was the passageway she took.
With all the love she could amass
she'd come out from the shaded nook.
For from her home to mine partook
to visit for a while and stay.
This was the passageway she took;
still see her there as branches sway.
Yes, there she was, my mother dear;
I miss those visits- long-forsook.
Above, she keeps my vision clear;
this was the passageway she took.
You
are my
dark, smooth and
richly flavored
double-espresso.
You’re the deliciousness
in my cup that always I’ll
wish to drink up. You also are
a double scoop of yummy ice cream.
So luscious are you – my chocolate dream.
You greet me with such delight you are like
a double door – the passageway for
me is is open wide, filled with light.
Your generous heart is a
double bed that gives me
my space! You could be
double trouble;
that would be
fine by
me.
Underneath unfathomable depths, choked by decaying thistle,
Where briny seas mix with putrid sentiment,
Creating cloudy waters of macabre melancholy,
Stand rusted arches, encompassing a thick, bleak, moldy door.
The smell of musk fills every molecule.
A slippery path of petrified rocks springs forth,
Creating a bewitching bridge between worlds.
Temptation courses through reincarnated pores,
But proceed with caution, as the siren call of eternal life beckons you in this perpetual loop.
For the path to the Book of Souls is riddled with sacrifices—
Sacrifices that masquerade as false hope,
Gut past lives, and eradicate future ones.
The butterfly effect holds far more power than you know.
So gingerly, take that step upon the stones.
Drown out the menacing laughs of the gods, old and new.
Divert your attention back to the passageway in front of you.
This time, you must get it right; you must make it to the door.
Your skin is turning paler, hair lackluster.
You can feel your soul tiring.
Who knows how many more chances you have until your existence completely fades away?
Beyond the skyline, I watch an expanse
outside this earthly realm…
torches of balls glitter in seamless motion,
orange streaks rolling in random numbers,
circling ' round their territory
like crystal fibrils wheeling, darting,
perhaps prancing…
Yet in relays, heavenly bodies afar
do not collide with one another
each of them holding an alchemy where
millions are unnamed, undefined, unattained.
Pray tell, of what purpose do they rule
through a mystery, perceived by
human theories, not by an imprimatur
of a Source's universal law?
Prophets say it will take light years
to touch their faces and claim
residence within this galactic space
... but for now, mark it
as a restricted passageway.
SEIJAKU
Three hours I’ve toiled at the keyboard,
Feeding the hungry screen.
Whilst all around the air is filled
With the clackerty-clack
Of a dozen keyboards more.
The dreaded deadline looms
And God forbid that should be missed.
At last, the final summary
And a quick read-through
In case spellcheck has missed
A careless boob.
Then press the button
That will send it to the printer
In the quiet passageway.
Away from the clamour,
I sit by the printer
As it churns out the statutory copies.
I close my eyes for a few precious moments
And my thought turn to you.
To your smile; to your sparkling eyes.
Your twinkling laughter
And the anticipation of coming home to you
At the end of a stressful day.
The printer falls silent
And wakes me from my reverie.
Just two more hours to go.
tween her thighs the inner Universe lies lights
comes from within on high
from within our eternal host
quotes to seeded at first into a vessel
From passageway from heaven onto Earth
birth soul inside of vessel flesh so right
For my truest essence not my flesh
but my life light
I am my Father’s Delight
I'm From Heaven and I'm journeying here down to earth
Birth
Father shine on me
For I am your see
as I grow I'm in eternal energy tree
While why I flourish and grow
I shine on this Earth
I'm From Heaven and I'm journeying here down to earth
Birth
flight I am the righteousness of you
A passenger from heaven
We come to earth
through the womb
of our Mother's
tween her thighs the inner Universe lies lights
comes from within on high from within our eternal
I'm from Heaven and I'm journeying here down to earth
Birth host
8/3/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
The day comes
with its invitations,
a door that can be unlocked
by a thought, a window
whose light beckons
the soul out of its dark retreat
and, along a passageway,
the sound of familiar voices.
And here you are,
cramped for so long
in your space that the shape
of who you are has become fixed
and seized solid in its way.
Deep in its contemplative soil
it sleeps rootbound
in its own pot.
If you listen,
the world is rousing you
as you crawl out of your dream
and sit on the side
of your life, dangling your feet
over the abyss that surrounds
you and the shrinking island
of yourself.
Hear what is being said
and let the world welcome you
with all of its imperfections,
uncertainties and risk.
Fall into its arms,
recklessly and full of doubt,
towards love.
I step out into the evening,
into a cloud of whispered conversations,
insect talk, birds uttering
their “goodnights” high in the trees,
the days last gossip settling
back into a more respectable
muttering of leaves.
Then other sounds,
a child’s cry sobbed out
of an open window and then,
two houses along, raised voices
from down a dark passageway
spilling into the street
in angry throbs,
and way off,
clanging railway crossing bells
bridging the distance,
the growl of a truck
changing through its gears
and a siren rasped across
raw nerves, all this
finding a willing instrument
to work the evening
with all of its discordant notes
and sounds, into a single score
for an old busker to belt out
the tune on the steps
of his own front door.
The light in the passageway
Burns through the night.
You always put it off
Whenever you came home.
I stay up, waiting for your return.
Spirals downward ending in a platform
The end of the descent, the end of it all
A way to silence the eternal storm
Going out with one loud bang
A hush goes through the passageway
Not often one wanders through here
All alone as I ponder the many days
And which ones make it worth staying
Would I sleep restfully if I took the jump?
Or start everything all over again, and again
Looking over the edge, in my stomach a lump
Teetering over the rail, and back onto the floor
Maybe there will come a time
In the near, or distant future
Where I will make my final rhyme
As I stare down stairs for the last time
History sometimes heals wounds, but not always.
Each moment has to be properly placed and evaluated.
Answers can be found and resolved, but not always.
Reality must be faced head-on so that we can move on.
Thankfulness or gratitude is a passageway to tomorrow.
Building a future demands that we allow time to cure us.
Running away and denial do not give birth to healing.
Opportunities are bountiful, but we must boldly take them.
'Kicking cans' like children always leads to unintended places.
Eve was gifted by God with Adam and Eden, and she failed them both.
Never quit, give up, or out, because hope awaits those who embrace her.
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