You've outgrown your PJs,
the ones I bought a year ago
that seemed so big at the time,
and now here they are -
inches above your wrists and ankles,
worn through at your elbows and knees.
I feel that familiar pang,
the one that plunders my chest
each time I pack up your clothes,
each time I pack up our memories
and say a hasty goodbye
to another version of you -
the one who wore these faded PJs
for family movie nights and bedtime stories,
through good dreams and bad,
on lazy weekend mornings full of cuddles and cartoons,
and on the days you were too sick to change,
sleeping beside me all day.
Now here they are, outgrown,
full of memories... yet empty.
I think about the things I hope you never outgrow.
The innocence that gives you faith.
The imagination that gives you possibility.
The empathy that makes you kind.
The curiosity that makes you wonder.
And though I'll desperately miss this version of you,
the little person you've outgrown,
I can't wait to meet the next one.
Where are those green soils
That we used to dig
Waves in every pore
In soft moonlit hours
And plant sapling of choice
Ecstatic earth trembled
Do you remember
How soft earth it was
And that pond in the middle
We would plunge our bucket
And lift it filled with water
The clock yielding
cherry blossoms
Time is a dacoit
The Huns and Vandals
It robs us of our roses
It plunders our jewellery
Destructs our construction
Not just cruelly, ruthlessly
Time itself is ever present
With its indestructible two arrows
Aha, what a dense green it was
And what a tree it yielded
Sonnet under green light
Of the ephemeral glowworms
From Makhaleng’s stone, from Thames’ steady beat,
A single rhythm stirs, a pulse grows strong—
O Sisters of the Soil and Sisters of the Street,
Your hour is come to dismantle ancient wrong.
We know the weight: the gourd, the grinding stone,
The quiet ledger balanced late alone,
The branded scars empires refuse to own.
Shall we be silent while the market’s hand
Sells childhood short and plunders every shore?
While truth is buried in the poisoned sand
And justice knocks upon a bolted door?
No. Let the kgotla’s wisdom find the air,
Let Parliament’s cold vault with echoes ring—
Two streams now rising in a single dare
To strip the armour from the faltering king.
So blend the strength—the sereto and the sonnet’s fire,
The drummer’s call, the bell from Tower’s height.
Weave from two strengths one unassailable choir
To drag this shivering century to light.
Let every cry for right, an anthem be,
A towering Baobab, a Sovereign Tree.
Ardor feels are divine
Bodies erotically entwine
Caresses eagerly connect
Desires meet to intersect
Emotions feed passion
Fondlings sassy fashion
Gasps praise movement
Hearts pump excitement
Intimate whispers tingle
Joining lips mingle
Kisses feed desire
Loins share ardor’s fire
Moving hips enthuse
Needy bodies fuse
Outcries express zeal
Pleasure pulses appeal
Quenched libidos slake
Ravenous wants take
Silk sensuality grooves
Tantalize rhythm moves
Unleashed hunger plunders
Velvet kisses thunder
Waves ebb and flow pleasure
Xanadu houses flesh treasure
Yearnings flame with lust
Zing intensifies thrust
Asleep you turn and reach for me.
Your body stretches lithe and lean
I feel the warmth of your strong arms.
When captured in your fond embrace.
My deepest senses you awake?
Marshmallow melting in hot chocolate
Is my stomach when you are near.
A humming bird's wings, as it plunders a plant,
Is my heart, when you hold my hand.
Your presence assaults my very senses.
The sight, the sound and scent of you
fill me with desire.
The taste, and the touch of you, is my reward.
I am utterly under your spell.
Chirpy birds disturb my deep sleep.
Sky pastels reflect in a somber ashen tinge.
Sun seems to be lost in a floating mist,
cloaking wet slates and chimney smoke.
As lamp lights reflect upon puddles,
poured into uneven pavement slabs,
it seems like an abundance of angels,
wept like irritated insomniacs overnight.
In the backdrop of contemplation,
a trash truck thunders and plunders,
with boisterous waste collectors,
wheeling bins into its hungry mouth.
Sky paints in an apocalypse aura.
Mind is intrigued - pondering,
if only it wasn't just palpable garbage,
that was taken away and forgotten.
He shoulders his heavy mind,
hunched under a dripping umbrella
of anxieties.
Dogs avoid the puddles he makes,
minor ponds of sniffs and scuffles
that he takes with him always.
He has a pocket handkerchief
that blows his nose
when the laden air
plunders his sinus's.
His has become allergic
to himself.
Quite by chance
a new airy broom
sweeps away
the damp clogging's
of his fusty brain.
Polar bears appear
within his inner eye,
they bring oranges from Florida,
fruits that will not ripen
in his own dark and crusty world.
Folding the black saucer
of his umbrella,
he un-puckers his brow.
Head-up, he side-steps.
his musty mood.
Poodles and pugs
play in the pools of his former
bothersome drippings.
His arm never weakened when holding his sword.
His courage never vacillated on the battlefields.
The valorous king was victorious.
His soldiers were covered, as promised,
with honor and gold.
History will tell how strongly he deserved
his crown of ebony and bones.
His hand never failed when killing with his sword.
His ferocity never waned on the captives.
The vicious king was ambitious.
His soldiers were driven by promised
plunders and female slaves.
History won't tell how harshly he earned
his crown, with agony and moans.
A stupor born from a haze of deceit,
My longing is requisite and tasteless.
Redeem the worth of another fool’s charm,
Who am I to append fate and comprehension?
It’s been a long winter waiting for relief.
Warmth tempers in the shadows.
The composition of faith is a moral burden.
Spring’s fate is marked by time’s passage.
Emptiness is my willing chauffeur,
Pining is my method of fervor.
Commiseration is a matter of shame.
Emotional property cannot be pilfered.
Delusion’s apex plunders the might.
A blind sense battles the shameful wise.
Salvation seeps through the pores,
Forsaken dreams are means to abide.
Melodramatic flowers bloom in earnest.
Infected presence is a suit of despair.
The reality of life is uncertain,
If God can’t sin, why can I falter?
Bittersweet tunes and eroding melodies,
Floating fancies surround my head.
Introspective moves and tears of tragedy,
Swing me around the carousel of dread.
A white dress
a figure at rest
The grace of the west
A white dress
Elegant and built to impress
A white dress forlorn and driven apart
An empire in duress
Bold hold and driven apart
a white dress
Grow old and heaven holds
As man pulls asunder and driven apart
The hand grows bold
And driven apart
The rhythm of a heart beat
Grow cold as sleet
Drifts down to the face of man
Hands grow old
Rhythmic heart beat
Kill the king as lovers part
As man summons the dark
A white dress
Feel the duress
Systemic heart beat
Grow cold, driven afar
Love lost, heaven torn part
Bold hold the rhythm of heart
a white dress
a figure at rest
The grace of the white west
A white dress
An Elegant empress
A white dress forlorn, torn apart
empire in stress
Bold hold, driven apart
a white dress
Empress
Grow old, heaven holds
man plunders
driven apart
And empire ageless
Bold hold but driven apart
Kill the king
As lovers depart
A white dress
An Empire of Less
You are falling thunder
a blazing light turn on and off
Noonday plight
Darkness plunders
now out of sight
universal lights
The eyes of God~
6/16/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr ©
Deep rooted is our prejudice
Instinctively appraising all
What if God too did roll dice
Bestowed enablements recall
Jaundiced eye rapes and plunders
Deep rooted is our prejudice
Tarnishing Gods sublime wonders
Plunging soul into an abyss
Do pause awhile to reminisce
Why do we choose to judge and score
Deep rooted is our prejudice
Blocking divine bliss to in-pour
Drift aimless in stuporousness
Having forgotten our promise
Oblivious to That Oneness
Deep rooted is our prejudice
13-June-2021
Change is a coming for mankind.
Nature now must leave him behind.
To see his mess, he still is blind.
He plunders this precious planet,
driven forth by greed for profit.
His moral fabric is unfit.
Always clever and never wise,
but now events open his eyes.
Global disease: surprise, surprise.
He’s edgy now but shows no shame,
for he is sure he’s not to blame.
But he suspects, he played foul game.
Now he’s an inkling, oh so slight,
that soon is coming his dark night.
Or does he think he’ll rage and fight.
He’s had the warnings, time on time.
Still he commits his plunder crime
and thinks it all will work out fine.
What was his love; what was his need?
It seems he cherished nowt but greed
and went ahead with feed, feed, feed.
Change is a coming for mankind.
Nature now must leave him behind.
To see his mess, he still is blind.
With a kindness that needs no description
He kisses me gently and tenderly
Caressing me devoid of encryption
Filling my heart with thrills so splendidly
With a sense of insight that is so strong
Rousing faith that is alive with pleasure
He fills my spirit with a lovely song
Making me feel blessed by such treasure
With inspiring hope that wakens my joy
He stirs my feelings to sweetest wonders
Healing my pain in ways that won’t annoy
That this love lives without any plunders
Love like this only comes around one time
Without sincere grace, it dies in its prime
Love Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
October 4, 2020
Lava thoughts stream from my internal computer.
Some days she rests with no gumption;
today a seething volcanic monstrosity.
Muse has kicked into overdrive; she will have her feast.
Over worked, I am drained like a marathon runner.
Quivering and shaking; muse belches dream schemes.
Too many to count the numbers; on and on she plunders.
Mind can’t stop the flashing phantasmagorical imagery.
Why does she deny my needs?
The brutal taskmaster blows her top.
Again and again I plead; she just will not cease.
Dreams rise and fall; I can only save one.
Oh how I long for sleep, when her rant is finally done.
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