Soft grey veils descend on the plains,
The world grows quiet, hushed and blurred;
I stroll back home amidst the fog
Without a sense of direction.
My breath makes cold and hazy clouds,
Lost in this murky frosty shroud,
My thoughts start to roam far and wide
Where worries waltz and fade away.
On plains where dreams stretch like silk in the moonlight,
Beyond branches weaving tales in the silver of the cold night,
A mysterious path opens, like a gateway to unknown worlds,
And upon it, memories dance like butterflies in the starlight.
Beneath the earth's crust, hearts beat to the rhythm of a forgotten dream,
At the edge of an enchanted well, where time seems suspended,
Ancestral spirits await us with stories from other realms,
And your hand, illuminated by constellations, guides me through the labyrinth of night.
In this dreamlike world, the echo of forgetfulness sings an ancient song,
Disturbing the harmony between dream and reality, between sky and earth.
At my bedside, dreams gather, forming a bridge to infinity,
And he who loses himself in his own dream finds himself in the heart of the universe.
In this kingdom of sleep, where stars weave their destinies,
Our shadows merge in a waltz of eternity,
And even if our steps are lost in the depths of night,
Our hearts will remain united in a never-ending dream.
Amidst thy grassy sea,
Stands a lone cottonwood tree.
A man of red–
His many feathers
Scatter like dust–
Away in the wind.
Amidst thy cottonwood tree,
Lies a man who once was free.
A man of blue–
My musket, aflush
A sacred scarlet–
Stricken with iron.
‘Thy brother’s blood crieth unto me.’
My blank canvas,
Suspends in time–
For I – I
Hath begotten flames–
Unto this rich plain
Of gold.
My brother in red–
He is dead–
And my sin hath killed him.
In shaking tears,
I run out into the sky–
Chasing his feathers.
If I ever visited Cameroon
I'll aimlessly wander in its vast lands
Savouring every moment of its beauty
And marvel at the mysterious work of God's hand
If I ever visited Cameroon
I'll make friends with the grassfields of Bamenda
So I'll let to wander around its vast vegetations
Savour the green wonders of nature
I'll draw the last stroke on that portrait
In my dream I drew of Douala
Of the smiling little hills
Of which the power of the sun yields.
If I ever visited Cameroon
The last piece in that puzzle solved
For I will meet the true Savannah
A home to elephants, lions and hyenas.
They thundered across the fertile plains,
Those hardened hooves, those tangled manes,
But now the Buffalo can't be found.
They thundered across the fertile plains.
The long grass has vanished from the ground
Where cities and highways now abound.
They thundered across the fertile plains,
Those hardened hooves, those tangled manes.
Desert crevices
Hills and Mountain plain
Desert Winds wins the brisk water
so drains flash flood doesn't measure up
to the dirt and heated sands
yet Rises up the waters flood
Come around of winding River Lakes streams
So screams the drought of the grounds
hillside and mountain plains
3/16/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Perhaps you hail from verdant coastlands,
or from rolling hills blanketed by trees,
or from the lofty perches of the mountains,
or from the banks of some strong river.
And though I was born in marshy coastland,
and have known the comfort of swaddling trees,
and felt my heart surge at the glories of the mountains,
and been hypnotized by the hidden tongue of the river,
my heart was forged in the plains.
Naked to the sky,
daunting and inviting,
stark and raw.
A soul can grow strong there,
where there's nowhere to hide.
Where truth burns like the shadeless beams of sunlight.
The eye that roves the horizon
and finds little there,
must turn instead to the contours within.
Such beautiful, dangerous features
to be found
in the heart.
27 November 2022
A cowboy rode high on his steed;
a bad case of munchies, indeed.
Those chips on the flame
just might be to blame;
the cows have been hitting the weed.
I stand on a railway platform,
As two black trains come rolling in,
Roaring rapidly o’er the plains.
Braking in clouds of steam and smoke
They stop as if for me to choose.
One has come from out of the East.
I’d ride could it outpace the sun
To fresh faces and youthful places.
One has come from out of the West.
I’d ride could it outrace the dark
To past faces and former places.
I recall my youth, now long past,
And of the future down the tracks.
But for my route across the plains,
The train I pick will not matter:
Either will move me where I’m bound.
As the sun turns blood Red in a dark empty sky, on the plains of Megiddo 4 horsemen ride by,
Of biblical proportions much blood to be spilled, revelations played out and prophecies fulfilled,
Then along the horizon God's angels I seen, as mankind wished that somehow the slate they could clean,
But the Earth's being flooded by the tears angels cried, as the dead and the living they stand side by side,
And the falsest of prophets does rise from the East, and he carries three sixes, the mark of the beast,
As to deal with the carnage all mankind does try, on the plains of Megiddo 4 horsemen ride by,
So the battlefield's set and the war will be waged, the season finale of life to be staged,
All the major contenders are playing their part, Armageddon loom's closer,the fights set to start,
As the good and the wicked they fight for their worth, the mother of all battles begins on the Earth,
And the rivers rum red with the blood of the slain, as brother fight's brother like Abel & Cain,
And as fire & brimstone rains down from the sky, on the plains of Megiddo 4 horsemen ride by.
Painted ponies
across the plains;
splashes of color
against an azure sky;
an equine convention
in the clouds.
Stratospheric
abstracts meet
with colors to produce
ecstatic paintings.
Nature’s canvas
is everywhere and
She paints life
with vigorous
enthusiasm.
Mountains are higher than the plains;
Plainly seen are the distance and present skies;
Skiing those things than presently seen;
Peaks the visage horizon stains;
~
Oceans seas sink the table water streams;
Streaming is the voltage reefs;
Cave caverns distance beams;
Cobber stone pebble marbled feet;
~
Mountains are higher than the plains;
Plainly seen are the distance and present skies;
Skiing those things than presently seen;
Peaks the visage horizon stains;
10/16/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Chasing the golden sun across America,
Expressing wonderment at the vastness
Of the Great Plains, distant farmhouses
Dwarfed by gigantic silos awaiting harvest.
Four lines from "Across the Great Plains"
Written August 24, 2021
Abstracted August 30, 2021
Submitted to "Liberum Divisa 7" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory Richard Barden
Racing toward the deep blue horizon,
Chasing the golden sun across America
Expressing wonderment at the vastness
Of the Great Plains, distant farmhouses
Dwarfed by gigantic silos awaiting harvest
Tall soldier-like windmills standing guard
While cattle graze, tails twitching like metronomes
To the beat of the clackity-clack road noises.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written August 24, 2021
Brian Strand "Verse Freed" Poetry Contest
March 4, 2022
I set myself down upon this green grassy hill
Above the clouds that bring the cold rain
And I think to myself what a thrill
It would be to roll down and leave a green stain
All over my the back of me. How it would fill
My heart with great joy. I wouldn’t even complain.
The fields sing to me. This is my home,
the place my soul was conceived and born.
The golden and green fields that let creatures roam
As they discover their place in this worn
Out, overly busy, world. This loam
Soil gives birth to the true riches. It’s death we will mourn.
I leave my body firmly planted
With the grass tickling my bare feet.
I stare across the valley and am enchanted
By the rolling hills, the cattle, the wheat.
I wonder how I ever took this land for granted.
All the blessings left to me, the memories so sweet.
Sitting here on this green grassy hill
I make a promise to myself to remember the rains
falling on the land, and my face giving me such thrill.
The ache of having left this life behind pains
Me to my core. So I close my eyes. Hold still.
Burn into memory every emotion of these Kansas plains.
23 August 2021
Imagism Poetry Contest - Emile Pinet
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