THE LONELY KNIFE
The lonely man grieving a lie,
a stranger to his life.
No one left to speak his name,
an undeserved strife.
His body tired, his mind replete,
remembering his wife.
Watching the news from dawn to dusk.
What keeps him from the knife?
A dutiful life without complaint,
content to love and live.
The lady was only interested
in what this man could give.
He loved her still despite each shot,
a rude, crude, one sided feud.
A patient placated pac mule
whose love was always skewed.
Manipulating affections,
habitation in his head.
Yet her diary sits unfiltered
on her side of the bed.
He wont invade her privacy
although she's long since gone.
For all of her indiscretions,
her last shot stays undrawn.
This cleuless, lonely, love lorn, man
his ignorance is bliss.
Tis character that just as much
saved him from the abyss.
Is it better that he should mourn
the lost love of his life,
or suffer the truth her betrayal?
Which ever stays the knife!
Recalling that day,
That she made me stay,
To hear her devastating staccato,
Sounding like the buzz of a mosquito.
I had to board the bus late,
That totally changed my fate.
I had gone home placated,
Just like someone forced to vacate.
As the bus moved down the street,
I continually felt a hit,
Telling me to alight,
Though in a life-threatening fright.
Ignoring the storm,
I continued my journey home.
Suddenly, the bus stopped to pick up a man—
OMG! It was that strange man.
A man who had been pronounced dead,
After being killed by the robot he made.
Screams rose from every direction,
Like a movie filled with action.
The man walked slowly toward me,
Holding a knife, pressured to be like a key—
Threatening to kill
Anyone who would not assure his will.
Fate was pronouncing me dead,
Each heartbeat skipping its thread.
For I was the only one
Who had never won
Any battle besides being born.
She was like a bull
in the sunshine—
angry one moment,
then happy the next.
That’s what Olivia was:
the way she was with
everyone.
A short series of well-
regulated emotional
stability, followed by
a long series of emotional
outbursts.
She was loved,
and she was hated.
She was kind, then she
was cruel.
But most of all, she
was confused—
confused about why people left her,
confused about why she couldn’t
stay happy, or calm, or
placated.
Olivia was like a bull
in the sunshine.
She wanted to love,
but she just couldn’t bring
herself to give it to
everyone.
roar of lioness
placated with tenderness
taming of the shrew
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The scuffling duo sparred in the park
Their screams and shouts so very marked
A bag was clutched in the woman's hand
A man had grabbed it while he harangued
"Let go!" He shrilled and tugged it more
"Tis mine, not yours!" The woman swore
The strap tore his hand, he released his grip
The woman fell back in one mighty trip
Another spoke out with voice strong and stern
"It belongs to her, so it must be returned."
The other placated the poor fallen lass
He showed her the bag with gold coloured hasp
The woman leapt up, grabbed the bag and was gone
"It belonged to my wife." Said the man all forlorn
"Oh I'm sorry." Said the other, watching her go
Laughing and jeering, bag firmly in tow
She headed toward a blue, murky pond
The path, alongside, was slippy beyond
Now her footing was lost to the slime and the mud
As she sallied forth into furthermore sludge
The man strode swiftly to view her demise
With a duck on her head holding its prize
The little red bag was firm in its beak
So the man took it back and the duck said quack quack.
As my soul heart has a door that is closed;
Noise speaks loudness of per encapsulates;
My vessel contrite I am breathing bruise;
Broke heart open door that I may embrace;
Tears drops down my chin, my cheek, my whole face;
Breaths distorts ultimately---placated;
My arms and hands grasp holds implicated;
Opening and shutting of my heart strings;
Serrated set heart strung constipated;
As my soul heart has a door that is closed;
2/8/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. © 2024
Interesting
how the same words once iterated
tend to flow, just a little differently
than ever before, now placated.
The rhyme pursued,
free verse deludes
standards not quite right
or good enough this night.
There lay a transition
new poetic positions
for the poets listening
intent of finding what is missing.
Who decides
what is poor or best
as a heart and mind abide
the poetics of poetry's tests.
attention internalised
thought flow rested
my heart was at peace
though earth life tested
I became a witness
motionless in vast space
doing nothing thus
I invoked God’s grace
fears and desires ebbed
bliss magnetism was activated
no demons then remained
needing to be placated
one night in vibrant stillness
debts of love were recalled
seeing misdeeds of my past
I was repentant and appalled
at that moment God appeared
in light soft white yet bright
He erased past transgressions
and said it is alright
God then gently held my hand
and said be joyous on this earth
live out your life span in peace
with heart bubbling in mirth
He revealed we too are as He
made in His image ~ living light
earth is a school to grow in wisdom
love taking us on a wingless flight
such was my encounter with God
He reveals Himself when it is time
however we always hear His voice
betwixt love’s bliss beat chime
Can you hear what I'm hearing?
I hear a cry, loud and clear,
blowing across the nation from sea
to shining sea; from the lowlands
and valleys in the east to the
highlands and mountains of the west.
It is the CRY OF THE SOUL!
From New York City to San Francisco,
Miss Liberty feels a threat. Her bell rings
out far less Bill of Rights. I hear cries
of agony dressed in fear and protest.
It is the CRY OF THE SOUL!
Such a cry can only be sounded by those who.
have tasted the sweetness of freedom and would
rather die than live without its liberty.
It is the CRY OF THE SOUL!
Such is not a cry encumbered with a thirst for
things material, but rather one from the soul,
bleeding red, white, and blue tears enough to
fill the nation's lakes, rivers, and reservoirs.
It is the CRY OF THE SOUL!
Hear ye well, every social class, rich or poor,
educated, elites, or commoners. We do well to listen
to the soul's cry. Such a cry cannot be bought or sold,
will never go on vacation, be placated, or evaded.
It is the CRY OF THE SOUL!
The voice is mine and yet not,
I have nurtured it, both goaded,
and placated it,
until its tongue is as liquid as molten
silver.
It is not human, never was.
It came to me as a stray dog would,
though it is more a bird than canine,
for it will fly up into my throat.
without any help from my mind.
Perhaps it is that fabled muse,
yet it is also,
a hag and a crone,
sometimes a sweet-faced harlot.
I cannot count its many faces.
It is a male wolf, a stag in the wilderness,
its call is a summons for my ghost to speak,
to feast upon the vapor
of a blood script.
Gentled am I, made meek and mild,
A mute angel roams my earth,
it hunts for white doves.
The captured birds are taught
to mark scratches upon a plasmid velum,
symbols that utter the un-utterable.
I have this strange-strangers voice,
I have a hollow stem
that rises up to pierce a deep inward sky,
what it will say next, what it has now said,
and what I am now,
only the voice knows.
HALLOWEEN
The Celtic festival called Samhain in ancient years
Noted Summer’s light to Winter’s dark, with tears
From JackO’Lantern hollowed pumpkins with a flame
To preserve harvested food and until the Spring came
When the living mingled with the Spirits of the dead
As Pagan events to be absorbed as Pope Gregory said
At least from 800 AD it was a Catholic Church event
But a thousand years later and with a modern bent
Trick n Treat with scary costumes and a candy fee
It placated the evil spirits with simple gifts, you see
So as a spirit, here I stand alone at your front door
You may guess what my evil toothy grin may be for
It isn’t coin that I need from you on this dark night
But a way into your soul to cause permanent fright
If you should ever think to refuse my one demand
Then across your eyelids will my name be darned
I spent a day with you,
gazing into your
sad green eyes—
I could see that
you were placated
with the thoughts
of death—with
being without—
with being
unheard.
I am afraid
of entering that
void alone too—
but we all must
and will.
But I
sit near you and listen
because I am alive
and we are ever more
alike.
Maybe I am scared
of the inevitable deterioration—
maybe I am terrified
to make you feel
rattled by my absence.
Because I know what it is like
to feel utterly alone—
to feel like everyone is
tired of trying and
fading around me.
I wish I can take
all that is lost within
you away and dry
those watery eyes
that have seen so
much and now so
little.
I wish I can take you
to where it all made sense
and everyone around you
breathed easy and laughed freely
and hoped truly.
But all I can do is
spend a day with you—
seeking to see some
trace of relief in those green eyes—
and remind myself that
this day will never again
return… and that we are all
one step closer to the edge
of the void among the
forgotten.
Let’s stay at Oinkington Inn the easily pleased relative said.
Her husband looked at brochure and said I’d rather be dead.
The pigs are lovely, she replied. There is nothing to dread.
He told her to go to her family reunion with her cousin Ned.
The sows and hogs were truly placated and fine.
We visited them near an old abandoned crystal mine.
You should come next time to the reunion, she said.
Best part is, a sow ran off with my mean cousin Ned.
Rising, a second ahead of stead, fine timing of executor
Horse gusto momentum, mortality a trot towards death
Tied up apple placated decades are dust obscured
Gallops a gamble heart squeeze mane clenched
Bridle left imprints jovial jockey rubs in virility
River pebble tossed prospect to become creek victor
Firm hooves with haphazard legs flail out of depth
Eyes which recognise primary desire, easily lured
Guile of reliance, combed gleamed pretense
Leads to forsaken stable of lollypop loyalty
Karat snap accusations on nonchalance don't register
Angry words inhaled in dawn fragile waking breath
Hat shade Sunday hums hymn worship conditional
Dictation praise from chapter of Shera Seven
Pampers offbeat imminent dog food frailty
Eleventh of May
Mercedes, Argument, Diamonds
Pretty pancake peacock pointedly persuaded powerhouse pig
To publicly plan porcupine’s playful pink planetary probability placement.
Pleasure palace princesses provided puny particulars providing big
Porky plebes who placated porcupines, poking peacock’s replacement.
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