Pickets Poems

Where Are They Now?

In this country

	Politicians line their pockets from back-door deals
	Sports figures kneel with raised fist, and protest our flag
	Hollywood celebrities exclaim they will leave our country
	Silicon Valley tramples on free-speech norms
	Corporate elites rig systems to transfer wealth

and live more royally than kings of yore, while

Children hunger
	for food
	for love
	for protection from abuse

Where are the marchers,
the protesters with cardboard placards
funded by big money,

Declaring that these,
the youngest of us
have a right to a life?

That simply being born
is not enough?

	Where are those God-fearing pickets?

An Odd Thief

There’s an odd thief in our neighborhood
Who steals stuff that he must think is good
Beginning with my small bushes and trees
Which at the start, made no sense to me

Then parts of my fence suddenly disappeared
And a pile of firewood was totally cleared
Yet when most of my porch pickets were gone
It was time to dispense some fighting brawn

By taking some sort of drastic action
For our family needed some satisfaction
Yet the next day he stole lawn sport’s equipment
And a stack of pallets fresh from a shipment

The following day when I got home from work
My front door was ajar; from that crooked jerk
Who oddly took walking sticks and umbrellas
Which confirmed this thief was a strange fella

Since I was so ticked, I left to ponder the scam
Then I saw on a side road a new beaver dam
Amidst the prairie sits this cobbled-up dome
Built with those good things smuggled from our home

Our prairie was treeless, devoid of beaver
Until this thieving one, which was a great weaver
And to top it off, I was totally floored
Coz its lodge was crowned with our head board!

Forest

In the mists of the giant bark beneath
  rise old growth saplings out of crag and earth,
where tumbles an ancient evergreen leaf
  from that marvel of great and splendid girth.
That footing seed, that pod, that budding shoot 
  to spread its shedding crown in fulsome yield,
when ringed trunk buttressed by conifer root
  in furrowed skin wraps its tubular shield.
High on sky perch over forest thickets
  the sylvan canopy the clouds do climb -
to fell, to log, to mill into pickets
  and trusses tempers not this heart of mine.
It does me good (those sap bathed arms bended)
to see your mighty scaffold extended.


               Written: May 1992

Luneta

On this landmark an image stands...
  statue of a man.
Man of honor and talent,
  admiration of any man.
Born with great love for country
Died with one heart of chivalry.

Studied in different schools,
  aced all subjects in drools.
A man gifted with excellence.
Shared great works in pickets,
Cured many patients without wickets.

A man of great stature,
No man may be able to equalize.
A man of great sorrow,
Sacrificed himself for tomorrow.
Fellowmen freed to visualize.

So much more can be said
About a man of enviable skills
Young and old have all laid
Heroism of a small man...
Bigger, higher than hills.

Leave It At That

7/31/22

Can't get time back
Regardless if I tip my hat
Going down a different path
I'll leave it at that

No matter if it's been a rotten day
They always got a lot to say
Then towards god they pray
I go my own way and walk away
I overdo it at times I gotta pay
The process is drawn out or occurs andale`

With a quickness
Spreading like a sickness
Always trying to stick their nose in my business
You've no idea, because for you everyday is Christmas
One wrong move, you write me up and give me tickets
Even though you were the only witness
I don't need anyone's forgiveness
Listen, I want to hear the sound of crickets
Own a home and land with a fence made of pickets

Another stupid verbal assault
Trying to make it seem like I'm all at fault
I take it with a grain of salt
Then continue on, such matters can't cause me to halt
As I travel across the asphalt
At night often drinking liquor with or without Malt

He bluffs and she sucks
All these cheap f***s
So surprised when I speak up
It's been ongoing for more than three months

Leopards Loose in the Domain

Out of a neon jungle the big cats prowl
  the wind in the willows unrecovered,
for when the cats and wind begin to howl
  I am stoned and the boys truly mothered!
So I rip in and bowl an inswinger 
  and rap ‘em on the pads…”howzat?” I shout,
pivoting to see a pointing finger,
  but the bastard umpire says “Not Out!”.
Behold the shot, the call of “no, yes, no”…
  a sledge and slog on the concrete wickets
and puffs of stupefying herb billow
  the post-match bar in the oak tree pickets.
For a play and a prey the big cats reign
when the Leopards are loose in The Domain.


          Written: November 1992

    Pic above is of Auckland Domain.

*The Leopards are a cricket team.
*Cricket bats are made from willow trees.
*Mothered is slang for extremely drunk.
*Inswinger is a type of bowling delivery.
*If a bowler appeals to an umpire for a
  dismissal and he agrees the batsman is 
  out he points and raises his finger.
*Sledge is a cutting insulting remark.

Picket Fences

I am offended;
That you've placed me here;
Nailed upon two-by-fours;
Tacked up by metal spores;
Attached to this space;
Adhered to this place;
Picket Fence

What sense does it make;
Surrounded by natures landscape;
I walk around in pickets;
3 inches to 8 inches wide;
While in statue 6 foot to 10 foot high;
Surrounding my privacy-protecting all that be;
Picket Fence

Spiritually connected
Spiritually nail to a post
I'm attached to a host
At surrounding space
I'm in this space a fence
Surrounded by the nature of God
I'm a picket fence surrunded by Christ  


7/3/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©

Disenchanted Sandcastles

Disenchanted sandcastles

Alone on a silent shoreline,
sea breeze emotions paint my skin
Sands of time slip away as I count the stars
wondering why so many seem to smile,
when I don’t

Storm fence pickets stand straight,
weathered of years watching
Holding at bay the impending dunes
where my footprints once shared these moments
with another

Salt water teardrops fall,
meeting the beach in sorrow’d pools,
lonely silhouettes of my heart shaped shadows
empty and vacant, longing for that one
to forgive

Disenchanted sandcastles disappear with the tide
as do these words we compiled together
never to be written again, on paper or in the sand
Now I only watch my dreams fade into the horizon,
vanishing forever

Sansar

I can't deny the allure of stability.

A red-brick house with a front porch and wooden pickets,
A mango tree with summer-drooping branches, 
A spice garden in pitchers and pots.
The long corridor that runs to the living room,
The stairs that lead up to the worldly roof.
Chiming winds curling the curtains on the windows, 
Darkness receding from south to north.
Where Your steps will echo in the rhythm of the rain, 
And where I will be, drenched in your scent,
Reciting Tagore.

Ah! 
What a life it'll be! 
You, me and eternity.

I want it all and I want the road,
Sunsets, gasoline and upcoming bends.
My greed has never known bounds, 
My hubris to get to you and get away.



---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 19 / 12 / 2016

'Sansar' means family microcosmical, while in a broader sense it denotes the physical world.

Night of the Owl

Winds cry
Shiny slimies 
I see you
A fuzz fringe fizzing 
Across peek-a-boo moon
Croo croo night 
I love you too

Heart thumps with the 
Crickety crickets on the
Brown fence pickets
Pounds with the sounds 
Of warm, neighborly chatter
Dishes clatter

Here we go
A B-22 coming' in 
Out of the black
I am gorgeous
Cry the winds

2/6/16

Snow

It's cold, and I don't belong here.
Around me everyone is laid out.
None resemble me, and I am a stranger
In this whitewashed world.

The wind picks up and so do I.
Energized to skip through the crowd.
At last, a few others rise to the occasion
And we make a game drifting about.

We settle, stacked high
Trees forming an unwelcoming winter wall
Characterized by peeling paint and uneven pickets.
Menacing in its countenance.

As the others begin to settle and rest
I notice a change in the scene.
Imperfections have been primed
By our frigid fineness; peace restored.

I am a tiny speck of white.
Alone, I can hardly be seen;
Certainly not appreciated or useful.
You would not hear me if I called.

But when I come together
With brothers and sisters, connected or not;
The landscape not only changes,
But gets a fresh start.

The Heart of a Snow Fence

The pretense of her heart's wants could only beckon of those from faraway and lonely streets
Longing for these, and yet, her conscience begins to weep

Not unlike the sad song, long endured of a summer's snow fence 
A sounding, laden with its own aired season mired in consequence

When it's an empty autumn wind that rushes through and past its weathered pickets
There starts a howling for this same cold, cold company soon to keep
The icy hold of a winter's snow, each yet to reap





Sent from my iPad

A Really Bad Love Poem

when you're in love
you write really bad love poetry
when you love a woman
you want to relive with her
every great moment you ever had

both of them.

clouds look like hearts, and a few look like ducks
you know, quack, quack ducks.

if you love someone,
you walk into the wrong house
you stain your tie during lunch
you walk into people
(a big guy peoples, he's not happy
you run...really fast)

to a man in love
roses look perfect
even if they're tulips
...sorry honey.

you build a white picket fence
with the pickets wrong side up
when you love someone
you take out the trash
from someone else's house

when you love someone
you quit your job as a superhero
you get rid of your trusty sidekick
you give away your bat mobile
you give your arch nemesis the bad news.

you write goofy stuff,
and mickey stuff too.

i'm in love
so i write really bad love poetry

really?

really!

really?

really,
i'm  in love,
so sue me!

Take Me Seriously

Take me seriously
and walk with your grassy mad footsteps
over the downstream of my river.
Chant as the rumbling river never 
chant my funereal tale before .

Chant and lessen the death exultation
which as a sober guest
hides in his pockets my darkness.
Chant and let your poetry, wandering at night 
to attract around it spacious light in exile right here.

Chant since a long time 
I had never been ran orthograde 
in the gloomy darkness while flows;
ripple and rising above the ah of the human cry,
above my arms, and my vows, 
above a thousand of thousands of pickets 
crucified sinless on it , my body.

Take me seriously oh my companion and
shout and erase the unlighted signs,
which planted in the history page,and
chant as the rumbling river never
chant the funereal tale before .

Abra-Cadaver

Drip, drip
Drip, drip
Melts the soiled soul onto
A dusty field of abandon

Fenced in by human limbed pickets
Yanked from the graves
Of broken hearts

Skeletal branched silhouettes
Clatter above the bloodless
Hole in the ground

The Ravens hide in the shadows
The shadows hide behind stone crops
The crops provide bountiful skulls

What is the illusion without a live audience?
Who, or what heard the solemn incantation of
Abra-Cadaver?

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