(cheeky p*ss take remake of Whitesnake)
So here we go again.. we all moan
Bazball mode is all this lot have ever known
Like a grifter now our Ashes chances blown
So we've made up our mind just stop wasting all our time
So here they go again…we all groan
Goad only on a road has Bazball ever flown
Need a bifter after tone of what they've shown
So far behind…the Aussies did easily find
Our boys got a pasting one more time
So here they go again.. we all moan
Seeds sowed but seems this team’s never grown
Need a snifter after Bazball so injury prone
Must be unkind coz you basting in your slime
So here we go again…we all groan
Bazball did implode time we forever did disown
Like a drifter seems born to walk alone
Bullsh*t been mined tasting something sublime?
So here we go again…we all moan
Going down like a load of convicts hasting their crime
Pain n' suffering each n' every day,
Pasting on a smile...
Just to push a disguise,
Never truly knowing the pain I actually go through...
Truly, unwise....
Pretending all is ok n' well,
Just never knowing the actual, is a shell...
Mostly... unwell,
Fully suffering in pain...
Not just my body,
Not just my head...
My heart, the constant ache of needing more...
Praying for others to just, "understand"
Begging for the higher powers,
To just "take it all away"...
No longer wanting to push through another day,
I truly don't know how to make it another way...
I sit n' cry,
Truly wondering... Why?
Permanently damaged...
Now I ask, how do I manage?
Solely the summer’s heat dissipates,
Temperatures at night cooling daily;
The promises of the ants to gather,
Gatherings awaits the time that so last
Tunneling burrows interphases space;
Burrowing systems of storage down, down,
down, down, down, burrowing storing livelihood;
Pasting all climate changes summer speaks
To fall amidst the season flow floating;
Flowing as summer turns to fall labor works
As the ants travel working autumns rush;
As the ants pack up preseason storage;
Rushing for soon summer’s autumn turns to winter call
As the ants pack up preseason storage
To fall amidst the season flow floating
Ant’s tunnels ready to hibernate food
As the ants pack up preseason storage ;
9/19/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
My thoughts seek companionship in substance
Substance of the five senses, yes
But mostly of conscience
Isn’t it torture to go on and on, days across
Pasting social norms over truth
Constantly barely pulling order out of chaos
Can we be serious and real
Or is it just me, or circumstance
To want to not try to feel
Fake
I witness so many shallow laughs
Thinking, save your breath, what’s so funny
Your miraculous brain isn’t such a dummy
I struggle to gasp
When the situation calls for it
but really I’m stronger and would need more of a rasp
Don’t want to seem numbed and awkward
But lately thinking it’s okay, even Zen
To not have to be another clucking hen,
trying for the “don’t ruffle my feathers” award
I can't find the words,
And even if I could, would there be enough words,
To describe,
To my scribe.
What I feel when I look at the news on my computer,
Before I become a commuter,
And find picture after picture
Pasted by reporters who need a lecture,
On how the reader can make sense,
When there seems to be no sense,
In pasting a picture that is totally unrelated
To the words in the story that is featured.
In my lecture I would be saying to these modern reporters,
And the editors,
To whom they are reporting,
Too many pictures you are importing,
At the expense of good reporting.
My heart goes out to those tasked with deciding,
Who gets an award for best reporting.
The only advice I can give them is to put their blinkers on,
As, with the pictures all gone,
They may find the list of reporters who can report, quite short,
And those whom to pictures, often resort,
Will find it less rewarding,
And we may see more words appearing,
With the odd picture we can see, as belonging.
A photograph may look cute,
And lead us to prosecute,
But if you want my advice,
Literacy to the truth will help us advance,
With questions to entice
Us to read between the lines,
And look between the pixels.
If we want productivity to rise,
We cannot look at a picture and surmise.
If we want productivity to rise,
Only literacy will make us wise,
To the time we are wasting,
With all the pictures we are pasting,
With no room for words that should be informing.
SUN SETS
Simmering Setting Sun scattering squashy rays kissing horizon
flashing golden glow on sapphire sky to blush
pasting soft shy patches in crimson hue
in zest and zeal with zephyr brush.
Sun sets and spreads displays spectacular rays !
Fantastic pictures shown on sky album.
Drastic dispersion in queue of rays at random !
Setting Sun rays in sober style
get reflected, refracted, diffracted
to paint on canvas of sky in multicolour patterns.
Weary bird to fly towards nest in slow moving dusk
Whimsy torn clouds welcoming eve on dusty mask.
Serene Sun bids bye, bows to sky.
Tranquil twilight turns pale periwinkle.
Hazy halcyon horizon in indigo border line.
Sublime solitude stepping soft following sundown.
RAINBOW
Through raindrops Sun rays at random
split in seven hues of spectrum
and pasting on the sky album.
Seven colours shine in rainbow.
Violet : Innermost arch to glow.
Then glazes the strip Indigo.
Next comes Blue bow followed by Green,
completing blue part , clean as seen.
Then Yellow hue gives golden touch
on the position of fifth arch.
Orange bow comes sixth : Brilliant !
Merges to Red arch, radiant .
Last three strips show red part, vibrant.
Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green ,Yellow, Red :
Term VIBGYOR as initials carried.
Sequence of Rainbow colours, as said.
05/27/23
It was supposed to be true love
so it was
I shared with you an enduring love
Somewhat
I would have made love to last evermore
~
It was supposed to be true love for sure
but our love was just a broken dream
it cuts me more than you could ever know, ever have seen
it cuts me truly as a knife
we are now just two lonely bodies crossing paths in the night
4/6/2022
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
It’s time to write of unnecessary things,
to imagine alternative endings to journeys not taken.
It’s time to write of bits of string,
one small fake discolored Swiss Army knife,
a lucky pebble that has brought me nothing but its own
preordained boredom.
However, string, knife, and stone
have had nothing good to say about me for years.
I could write of more back-of-the-draw stuff,
or redraw the landscape of my youth
snipping and pasting-in a cast of characters
that never existed,
for it is still true that every tale
needs to be repainted from time to time.
For the time being, I am these hands
wrapped around a muggy mug of coffee,
these thoughts scrimshawed
upon its unwashed rim.
LOVE SPECTRUM
My love emitting amorous ray
to split, pasting passionate spectrum
illuminating your heart album.
You may reciprocate or betray.
Hardly matters !
09/02/21
Re edited on 03\18\23
A Strand Premiere no.1200
Yo ! , there’s an old floppy disk
The tunes in it will make you frisk,
The only thing is you gotta be brisk,
To let the tunes let you have whisk ,
This disk is older than a jubilee,
Listening the tunes will be glee,
You will feel like u wanna flee,
Like a caged bird was set free,
The disk have memories everlasting,
In form of photos, videos all casting,
With moments that were so blasting,
Disk is not only about copy, pasting.
Disks are not only about storage,
It is too precious for a exchange,
If it corrupts it becomes garbage,
And you will face a huge damage.
RAINBOW
Rains
drizzle
under Sun.
Rays disperse, split
in seven colors
pasting rainbow on sky.
Spectrum of Sunray shines:
‘Glory of Nature’
Spectacular!
Beautiful.
Charming!
Nice.
08/17/21
'Merse'
Contest by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Come out it's raining",
I want to feel you and the breeze,
Just forget all diligent work,
Let me be in your arms please,
The sound of drops ,
Your fascinating soul,
I might sound absurd,
But what I dreamed you are whole,
We were damp from the rain,
I was pasting ..you were leading,
Felt like my favourite love story,
That Someone is loudly reading,
You are my Love,
You are my inspiration to poetry,
The day my peoms turns to reality,
that would be the best victory .
Memory-the artisan
pasting collage to the mind
a slideshow of
highlights
lowlights
blistered frames with no lights...
lives in speed-of-light review.
A foxtrot of realist- impressionist
the mad-mad artisan
kneading frantic distortions
horrors
marbled
with
slivers of bliss
funhouse deceptions
a lavender and piss checkered mix.
Good memories are nothing but escape
on a leaky life raft
bad memories are dorsal fins stripping
the last fleck of light from waves of black.
Nothing really matters but the moment
that cold kelp tide that grips the chest
until it's hammered back into a relief of memory.
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