I am dead to many, a few are dead to me.
I am forgotten
by girls in green silk sarongs
yet they still pour me out like tea.
The dead are drunk on themselves,
as I am.
I throw up
a timeworn rope of thought
they haul me up
just enough for me to see
the moon
caught in a teacup,
then I allow them,
let them breathe life
into my mouth
and I again remember.
It's almost half past three
time to cosy up for tea
kettle's on the boil to brew
tea for two me and you
with egg and cress or
cucumber sandwiches
with nary a single crust
(they were all donated
to the National Trust)
it's after forty to four
shall I be Mother and pour
I know you know Pekoe
the table's set quite daintily
two for tea you and me
and we can sing my song
'Lapsang Souchong'
I LONG
YOU LONG
WE ALL LONG
FOR OOLONG
unless you're feeling more Darjeeling
From a gentle sprinkling
That keeps the garden fresh and green
To a raging summer storm
Where lightening cracks and thunder roars
From a tiny little stream
Right up to an awesome flood
Constant is the flow of our Lord’s love!
Some might pray the Lord to bless
The desert’s heat and aridness.
Looking for the Savior’s pow’r
Their heart and soul to bloom and flow’r.
Nourishing their tiny seed
So, it grows and bears much fruit
Slaking every thirst with grace and truth.
Do not fear the darkened clouds
Or the distant thunder’s sound.
Nor the rain that you might hear
For it shows that our Lord’s grace is near.
While we wait to be refreshed
And be cleansed of every stain
His love already falls on us like rain…
God’s grace is falling from heaven above.
A precipitation of infinite love.
A gift undeserved but, God, grant us more!
Some might say, Lord, let it rain…
I say, let it pour!
I want to pour it out, I want to pour it!
Inhaling the scent of my grandchild's glee,
I dreamed of blooming, oh, how I longed to be.
Yet fate's script seems to bind me tight,
Why has my path been shrouded at night?
Endlessly entranced by my grandchild’s joy,
I hoped for abundance, like a carefree boy.
But Allah asks not what we seek or yearn,
What we gain or lose is not ours to discern.
I’m of the kind that believes in tomorrow,
I’ll still find my way, through joy or sorrow.
But for now, let my song softly ring,
I want to pour it out, I want to pour it!
Speak our language of love.
Lip sync--forever young,
Free fun, keep love alive,
Pour blessings on your delights,
Never give up your dreams,
Inner peace, now and always.
All good, enough said,
Smiles and happy cheers!
A strange experience though
Engulfed it anyhow
Your silence: a midnight forest
Piercing arrows, gruesome at the best
All the faculties of head had dried up but
You watered such
That it flooded
Good betrays in this world sometimes
You are given but worst reward; grapes and limes
Oh! That muse of poetry
Is it that you waited for
No! No to such inspiration
Such a cruel creation.
The dog days of summer, certainly here
Every half-hour, another shot of beer
Too lazy to move
I’m stuck in a groove
Glad my new car doesn’t need me to steer
June 4 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Job 16-18
Key Verse – Job 16:20 My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.
PRAISE BE TO GOD TO WHOM WE POUR OUT
OUR TEARS UNTO
Praise be to God to Whom we pour out our tears unto for:
Joy of no joke
Justice midst jesting
Joviality against jitters
Jubilation beyond jackpot
Job that jolts us to jolly journey
Job 17:15 Praise be to the Lord for assuring us hope in His:
Kingdom along His gracious kinship
Kindness with His granted knowledge
Kingship, governing us along our kneeling
Keenness, guarding us from being knocked-out
Keeping with His gloriousness beyond kindling kaleidoscope
Job 18:18 Praise be to the Saviour for His light:
Leading us to His love
Livening us by His lawful lessons
Liberating us against lamentations
Lengthening our lives for lovely legacy
Letting us listen to and laud His loftiness for our learning. Amen!
June 4, 2024
Attaches onto the trees and ground
Quicken waters falling down
From space it caresses mixes with air
Sunshine eyes glimpse glistens bare
~
Flashing droplets down pour dips
Dew point pressure magnificent
Clutching the brief clouds first burst
Inclement moisten shroud rainfall first
3/14/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Pour the seawater into a shell
and hear each sound of the ocean,
you can own some of it 'till it dries out;
would you become a captain
and sail away to seek adventures?
Tempestuous oceans frighten,
grit keeps brave sailors alive and alert...
who has ever survived with a feeble will?
Have you traveled by sea and felt distress:
were you serenaded by a lovely siren?
Pour the seawater into a shell,
many kids have done that
and felt cheer and thrill;
be as curious as them,
shred your boredom:
step out, voyages wait!
Word blindness shore maid my life hell
When righting two my buddy Mel
Ironic indeed
Butt wee both agreed
Dyslexia’s sew hard too spell!
Note: In 1976, Richard Clayderman (real name Philippe Pagès) received a telephone call from a well-known French record producer, who was looking for a pianist to record a gentle piano ballad. Paul had composed this ballad as a tribute to his newborn second daughter “Adeline”. The 23-year-old Philippe Pagès was auditioned along with 20 other hopefuls and, to his amazement, he got the job.
O sweet Adeline, born eyes open
And a smile on her small lips.
O delicious child I heard her gurgle
As if she had heeded a joke.
A tune raced in his mind and
He knew it was urgent to put it on paper.
The babe made noises of joy
And the music echoed its tune,
At times it was repetitive
At times it sounded soft and sweet.
But soon the babe raised her voice
A repetitive mellifluous melody
Lulling the babe to sleep.
Dream little child, dream on
Would that you have pleasant dreams,
And may the Good God bless you forever.
Idealism
versus
reality
In hope
that Quixote
prevails
Disappointed
again
reading the trends
Materiality
draining
the grail
Peer pressure
determines
what happens
Not some
high minded
value or tome
Greediness trumps
what our virtue
holds dear
Self interest
hitting
— closer to home
(Villanova University: January, 2024)
I don’t write for
you … or you … or you
— I write for YOU
(Dreamsleep: January, 2024)
People always say,
Pour your heart out.
Wear your heart on your sleeve.
Give me your heart.
I want to protect my heart,
I don’t want it to pour out or be given away.
A heart on a sleeve is vulnerable
Breakable
Prone to leaking.
It’s easier to stay quiet,
To protect.
Keep your mouth shut so your heart can’t spill out.
But it’s lonely
To have a caged heart and closed mouth.
It’s quiet.
Some days I wish I could pour my heart out.
Be loud,
Be free.
Maybe if I let it all out it would stay out.
Who needs a heart that can hurt you?
Who needs a weakness on their sleeve?
Who needs a heart prone to spilling?
I guess me.
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