she cannot get too warm; she is always cold
This granddaughter of mine, with hair so fine.
She is a little shy, introverted, not big and bold
Wearing knitted leg warmers that are mine.
She is bundled up in a sweater bulky and white
wrapped up in a comforter full of duck down too
Will she ever get warm? I wondered that night
The night that the pilot light went out in the flue.
Alert the authorities
Everybody properly dresses
Dependents are priorities
Pilot light distinguishes
Ready pets safe
Chemical fire extinguishes
Clear out exits
Examine any irregularities
Everybody out safe
'Tis not a question I've heard often asked:
"What is the working model of your love?"
Yet how can one set out with what they're tasked,
if they don't know the rules their dear thinks of?
Such strange query to pose, before she knows
you've opted to search through the maze for her.
But if there's no map, each choice that you've chose,
might do more harm than good to lovers pure.
My theory is this: there are many souls;
several pilot lights may wait within.
At any time, only one is fed coals;
one bonfire to grow or burn out again.
Pilot light to inferno ... if you chose.
So tell me, my dear, am I one of those?
14 April 2023
A chirp-chirp-chirping I find delightful
Echoing through my open hearth,
Chimney swifts have returned to nest
In the open flue, their usual berth.
Warmth from the pilot light drifts aloft
Keeping the nestlings nice and warm,
Nurturing parents flying back and forth
Capturing insects from spring’s swarm.
Feeding their voraciously hungry young
Who soon will fly skyward and take flight,
Then I hear no more chirp-chirp-chirping
As they soar through the square of light.
written April 10, 2022
submitted to Brian Strand's Premier Contest
Equation invasion pilot light;
Substance abuse out of sight;
Bargain donors Delight;
Quantum disturbance;
Humanity really hurting;
Relying on physical denying the spiritual;
Unmanageable
intangible
Spiritually ignorant
Disloyal spiritual immigrant;
Work and toil;
Loosen soil;
Help me Lord;
For I am more solid and spiritual;
Table mound of dirt and clay;
With the breath of God in Me;
Unimaginable
unmanageable
intangible
spiritually ignorant
I am chosen
I am a
Spiritual Immigrant
2/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
RIP Jim Baker
Here lies, old Jim Baker.
Drank like a fish, this dude was no Quaker.
Lighting a gas oven with no pilot light?
Jim was dispatched to heaven in a blazing,fiery flight!
4/19/2019
Why does the shroud of crisscrossed trees invade
this sunless *kitch..erode my soil of light?
The lukewarm milk tastes sour where I have laid.
Odd Winter rain does damp my winsome sight.
Arise these bones - reform this house of wax.
Restart the pilot light and pleasant fumes -
of peppermint and thyme, of all one lacks.
Excite with citrus blend - let petals bloom.
The curtain lace drawn back - I pen this leaf
upon bare naked branches and I blow
so the wind will restart in fresh belief
of kindness - trace of love, these seeds I sow.
Arrive anew — a baby born — this year.
Mature the steed! Charge on, deprived of fear!
1/2/2019
*shortened from kitchen
Everything is wet or damp
After last night's thunder storm
We've had rain and storms off and on
Never know when another will form
Reminds me of years in the past
Babies in diapers still
No sunshine to dry them after the wash
Even on the window sill
The furnace's pilot light helped some
Clothes upon a wooden rack
Waiting to be folded and put away
Some ironed in mending stack
Life has changed through the many years
An electric dryer hums
But the birds still sing in the morn
Spring into summer comes
This wet spring a pleasant delight
The dripping of spring rain
Doves' coos seem more intense and long
Roosters' crows echo again
The swallow has been joined in flight's dance
By another for the past few days
The young must be fed some fresh bugs
Thank goodness the bugs don't stay
Our love is like a pilot light
Burning long, burning bright
But if that light beomes erratic
And gas leaks out into my attic
The compresser on my fridge turns on
Bam! the relics of my life are gone
Drip
Drop
Water drop cascades under sapphire afterglow
Undoing 4 month deprivations
Muffled moans surround crimson fireplace
Crackling of fire
Thrusts of skin
Retinal vibrations shutter her pilot light deep within
She ascended to blue moon heights
As embers of his inferno
Bow in collective unison
Maddening grips
His fingertips draw triangular markings
Hugging curvature’s hip
Gentle bites on lower lip
He tackles her wanton hands against waterbed foundations
Her strengthened pupils reach out for 3rd eye clarity.
She asks for his dance under aggressive whisper
As he dips
Inside
Slow motion Salsa bends of her will
She crosses legs marking “X” against his spot
His relinquished hands
Slalom her vocal chords toward accentuated heavens
He exorcised her trembling inner thighs
From collapsing octaves
With eloquent, muted exhales
His hand reaches her cheek
His mouth descending towards her breast
“My lady, put that lighter down,
Let me be your cigarette.”
Drip
Drop
©11/19/2013
A Scorcher for Charlotte's contest. (Update: Tied for 2nd place. Nice!)
Sailing the airwaves
A pilot light and passengers
I sung a tune so sweet
Now I'll play it back to you
On through the aether
I spent a coin or two
With you and those friends
I can't pay it back to you
In a garden of cigarette buds
The rain touched my lips
Where you didn't kiss
I won't kiss you back
Back in this suburb of ours
With you left to the city
And all its changing rhythm
You will dance with them
The sun comes up
then too it goes down
usually it just hangs around
in order to light our daily travels.
At times its' hotter then we would like
then other times its' not
even though it shines daily
at times it seems someone forgot
to light up its' pilot light.
When its' hot we complain
when its' not, we complain
GO Figure!
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