Her Impression imprints and invites
Delightfully smiles
Seductively replies
Her reflection reflects that night
Aspiration desires to be right
Whether the notion seems a bit bright
Souls reunite and excite
Sprinkle the sparkles and penlight
Strangers strike
And rewrite what’s inside
Devotion defines
Inclination inclines
When coherence collides
And faith decides
Emotions swiftly guide
Her Impression imprints and invites
Wondrously Wonders
Mystically twists
Gloomy shadow fades away
And her brightness circulates and portray
Thoughts replay
Imagines convey
Her Impression imprints and invites
She survives and is alive
Thrust of hope will describe
Beauty designs
Emotion divines
Her Impression imprints and invites.
Words get lodged in teeth.
A dental hygienist
has actually extracted a few.
Like bats words hang
from the roof of my mouth,
their subsonic squeaks
jiggle its epiglottis
like a witch doctor’s rattle.
The optometrist wears her glasses
over the bridge of her nose
like intimate lingerie,
she moves in seductively
fishes into my eyes;
her searching is a shadow-dance
on the back of an exposed skull.
Once her bright penlight
stumbled over a word
that should never have been out
on its own.
Immediately, a startled brain
put on thick rubber goggles,
I looked back at her like a deep sea fish,
caught unawares by a naked mermaid.
Words get lodged in my teeth,
a dentist has actually extracted a few.
My optometrist
wears her glasses like lingerie,
invitingly, and for a reason
known only to my libido - most sensually.
She goes fishing in my eyes.
with her bright penlight.
Once she stumbled over a word
she had never seen before.
My brain quickly put on its blindfold,
caught unawares.
When I set the sound mode up on stage core,
Just a banal torch lit up as I swayed on a dance floor;
I jigged, shook and turned round and round,
A light on focus was remote until it was found.
I knew, I only used a single tone of penlight that glow,
But some ravens dropped by with a baneful blow;
I remained on stage shivering with tears in my eyes,
Groping around with a frozen body, I just thought twice.
I reset the sound mode with led disco ball light,
It revolved to emit various colors by laser bright!
I stood again on stage to dance and explore,
Lemon, crimson and lavender were in large down pour.
I continued performing my dance steps in variations,
Along with flashes of lilac, tangerine, coral and watermelon;
Overwhelmed by aquamarine, chartreuse and saffron,
Led disco ball light may’ve diverted to others the ravens’ attention.
April 19, 2021 3.26pm
Changing Colors Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Note: When I set the tag of italics other words followed. Sorry.
Words lodge in my teeth.
My dental hygienist
has actually extracted a few.
They hang like bats
from the roof of my mouth.
Their sub-sonic squeaks
jiggle my epiglottis
like a witch doctors rattle.
My optometrist
wears her glasses like lingerie
low on the bridge of her nose.
She fishes into my eyes.
Her searching
a shadow-dance on back of my skull.
Once her bright penlight
stumbled over a word
she had never heard before.
Immediately, my brain
put on thick rubber goggles,
I looked back at her
like a deep sea fish,
caught unawares.
sitting in my easy chair
just relaxing in my recliner
just adjacent to the wall
there inches away a stem fall
a stream of light lasers in
a penlight shown through the blackness fins
I rise and get up open the curtains and blinds
and with my hands, mind and eyes I peer at my surroundings
as the sun and nature calling through this shows
the...
OPEN WINDOW
5/5/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Copyright © 2018
From anthology “Sound Track For My Life” 2018©
Poetry’s a piece of the Puzzle.
Poetry’s a part of the Plan.
Poetry’s a passion un-muzzled.
Poetry’s the pain in a man.
Poetry’s a probe and a penlight.
Poetry’s a pin-prick to pride.
Poetry’s a prayer in the moonlight.
Poetry’s a pony to ride.
Poetry’s a place for the moment.
Poetry’s a person just met.
Poetry’s a plot in an instant.
Poetry’s a punch-line to get.
Poetry’s a palette and paintbrush.
Poetry’s a sweet pastoral tune.
Poetry’s a palpable night-hush.
Poetry’s a picnic in June.
Poetry’s the pleasure of motion.
Poetry’s a pendulum dance.
Poetry’s a pint of the ocean.
Poetry’s a pressing romance.
Poetry’s a pine-scented north-wood.
Poetry’s a piece of a wing.
Poetry’s a prophet of some good.
Poetry’s the pluck still to sing.
Poetry’s the passing of season.
Poetry’s a pathway once trod.
Poetry’s the piercing of reason.
Poetry’s the prospect of God.
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