Untimely was Hamilton Hicks
In making his basketball picks.
He knew it all well,
How each bracket fell,
But always too late with his clicks.
Sheryl had never been a fan of public affection.
Harry knew this, but he was hoping.
When they parted she had used the term “boy next door”.
He saw that as a brush off.
She had been attending college for four months.
He had offered to pick her up from the airport.
He was hoping her feelings had changed.
Sheryl’s heart slammed as soon as she saw Harry.
She had now dated many young men.
None of them compared to Harry.
Their eyes met, and he put out his hand for her bag.
She dove right into him, preparing him for the rest of his life.
Departed poems in a gray post-dated heaven
clatter wings together like hens in a jailers coop.
Words never die, they bury themselves in
heaps of dry leaves, distant laughter scatters
the sadly said.
Muse-makers wear plastic rainhats
that flutter like bats in the sunlight.
Words have to be tied together
or they sink alone in an empty fish bowl.
Japanese girls in designer Nike's
skip over words completely and we all hear.
Silk flowers in China teacups sail a deep blue ink.
The poets speak in tie-dyed riddles,
in dribbles between the loosely connected.
Atop a mountain, goats bray,
love-sick donkeys harken with their heavy hearts.
Legions of cock-hatted rhymers are born again
to confuse the world with their simplistic sounds.
Writing for all the long dead letters
is an art for baby fingers and painted opera singers.
Undertakers gather; their electronic ankle-beepers
sing within freshly dug sonnets and odes.
The deceased travel on, spinning a gray language,
they are silk moths weaving tinsel rainbows
that by chance
speak words still wet from closed lips.
There is an angry big-mouthed monster living in my room.
I tried to discourage him, chased him off with mop and broom.
He grinned his ugly broken teeth at me and gave me grief.
This story gets a lot worse, so I doubt I can be brief.
His name is Rufus Dufus and he eats up all my snacks.
He has ripped up my comforter and both of my back packs.
I am terrified of him and have begged my mother for some help.
She came into the room and he convinced her to buy kelp.
Now my room is smelly for he is eating kelp and onions too.
I am feeling discouraged, down, saddened and a bit blue.
My mother is dating this creature who is devouring my socks.
Hope she cannot find more creeps; maybe she will run out of rocks.
Spindly stretching brambles rebel from main form
Amused bending stems eject spikes of rhino horn
Thorns barely a repellent for birds resourceful
Tweezer glowing twilight globe, a bitter morsel
Fresh field alien green cone births berry's infant
Chantilly lace pale pink petticoat wraps nymphet
Confetti celebratory moult bulges her fertility
Eighty protruding bulbs shiver in vulnerability
Stern season carousel chastens scanty branches
Snow swallow, boggy terrain new tepid attaches
Saw edge foliage unfold, twitching fox ears
Clusters encombour limbs, absinthe adheres
Florid flocks tossle, augment midnight family babble
Morning dew melt sapor stains fingers which dabble
Outcast tongue teaser, lumpy rubber cleaved
Mauve motivate jaunty juice, mouth received
9th August 2022
Written for Contest:
Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor:
Matt Caliri
County country corn
Grown naturally from the farm
Picked and stock, shucked and plucked
Crop has been givin up
There’s a new plow spaced aged somehow
I’m sure hungry now farmers come git mi corn plowed
10/23/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2021©
Idyll (Idyl)
Yamamoto Miki has a face
That stands out in a crowd anyplace
She looks like the fairy
Who charms Londonderry
With visions of ethereal grace
She look down upon me
Chosen love filled eyes
She reached down beside me
Touched my thigh
She gently kissed me on my forehead
As she lowered her body toward me
She gently grasped me with her hands
Embrace me in her arms
She picked me up ever so touching
You think she was my lover
When in fact
In awe
All actuality
SHE WASN'T MY LOVER
I'm not an adult
I'm just a infant
And this woman is my...
Mother
4?7/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
God I have fallen from the sky,
Will you carry me
God I am hungry
Will you fill my soul
Lord, Father I'm lonely
Will you embrace me soley
O' Lord I'll walk strong elongated with my head high
Father I'll stand bold
I will hold, onto your hand
I appreciate you the great ALL I AM
My Lord, My God you who picks me up
12/24/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
PICKS OF LIFE
It is a sacred game of life
Sprinkle a hue and you are fine
It is a sacred game of life
Sprinkle a hue , gone is your shine
Who will sprinkle and on whom?
Its your own deeds that will choose
It is a tricky game of life
Enter a tunnel and light is there
It is a tricky game of life
Enter a tunnel , dark everywhere
Who will push to which tunnel?
Its your own thoughts that will lead
It is a wonderful game of life
When we expect more hurt arrives
It is a wonderful game of life
Selfless gesture brings happy vibes
How to expect less and serve?
Relies on how we steer the wheel of life!
© Anulaxmi Nayak,2019
Pucks and Picks two skinflints
Quietly and disdainfully blacken sequins
With their dour, disastrous ways.
Dorothy, one sequin got away.
She was the shiny blue one.
She happily quit running after realizing
How slow they were
Pucks and Picks sent the hounds to fetch her
But their skin was soaked by the time they arrived
And Dorothy was lying in the sun, laughing at them.
She had already shaped herself into a
Star, and was waiting for lightning shocks to come along
So she could be hurled into the night
where she could more readily laugh at Pucks and Picks efforts.
Those Who A Politician Picks
To vote for them Politician often picks,
What we have heard to be some hicks;
Lack knowledge,
With no college,
Who live some place out in the sticks.
Jim Horn
The Chinese diet, always on top picks,
Two grams of rice, which boiled in bucket water,
It should be eaten only by chopsticks.
But be a modest, eat this no more, than quarter!
She loops the carefully folded laundry
in the crook of her arm the way you would lift
a cat peacefully sleeping on a bed.
The need for neatness nestled in her like
noblesse oblige. Do cats dream? Do
dogs? The precious lion cub curled
in the warm fur of its mother's body. Well,
Yes... as in twitching, tail wagging, yowling;
reliving their day's experiences as
if once was not enough. 'Gamma activity,'
the brain behaving just as it did while wakeful.
Brainy, zany, grainy, waking the cat
from its blanketed bed, its nesting Nirvana.
God picks up the bad fish
And keeps the good one for me
"You may fall sick if you eat this bad one
So I pick the bad
So that you can pick the good"
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