DAWN'S FIRST LIGHT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silence at daybreak.
sacred encounter with the Divine,
a conference of heart and soul.
beyond form, beyond language
heart beats, an echo,
a pulse vibrating through the silence.
wordless intent,
unvoiced
yet profoundly clear~
a stirring,
a flicker of grace
captures the dawn.
my soul meets God's pulse
I am led
I am unbound.
soul ascends
Poem written for Prior to Intent Poetry Content, Unseeking Seeker, sponsor, July 30, 2025
From darkened forms of little thought
a fog of unknown dreams
desire a feeling
A fleeting thought begins to focus
a dream, a plan, a scheme unfolds
Did the subconscious create intent
Or did past knowledge weave a dream
Did experience create intent
Or did the mind's unknowing dream explode
Line of inquiry:
"hearts set up a vibration
echoing as wordless intent
mind translates in symbols
flight of our soul’s ascent
is intent then a stirring
of soul with God conferring"
My one heart as a part of humanity's great heart,
spiritually holds the indwelling God presence as sought.
A human hold shiftily slants and grows knots tied fraught
with false-held, gloomy feels that egos and fears impart.
Divine truths dawn in our souls thru imagination,
not from human workings but graces gifts in-working.
Imagination can stop fears from falsely out-working
and foil mankind's believed limits of false accreditation.
In still solitude, spiritual truths as held in our being
meet our consciousness, our divinity's hidden place
in which our indwelling Christ gives ALL with God's grace
and intellect joins intuition too seek a soul's true freeing.
Through spiritually held faith one is belief aligned
in God's power, greater than any fear episode
man may encounter or engineer to earth upload.
No one or thing can malign what our Father designed.
My faith would never crumble feeble as styrofoam
when the worst that could happen is I'd get to go home.
Was a warm glowing field.
I remembered it by scent.
Holographic thoughts formed
Like liquid beneath me, and I drifted
Through a blizzard of desires,
Impulses, and intuitions.
I was a knave, naive every time.
I sat there and got dizzy over
Ways to make spinach
So my kids would one day eat it.
her presence at first sight
an illumination
something I didn’t understand
she stirred imagination
a current ran through my body
and whatever stirred
was beyond comprehension
an angel, perhaps
I watched
as she checked into my life
and disappeared without a word
but she lingered in my mind
a constant stirring
until the next time
when I said hello
hovering in limbo
ideas strewn about
lacking sense or reason
images suspended in mid air
notions and impressions
floating and colliding
vague feelings in the raw
idly drifting meet their match
simmering a stance
before long ...
thoughts are forming notions
interpreting and framing
and a plan's laid out for action
AP: 3rd place 2025
Before thought–the heart: a struck bell's hum,
in the chest's dark chapel. No word. Only thrum
that echoes the void where meaningwill climb.
Is this the soul's raw conference? A draft.
of prayer–unwritten–lifting like a raft
on some deep tide. Not speech. Not yet. But chime
of nerve and grace. Mind fumbles, blind, to trace
this pulse–intent–before it wears time's face.
The vibration: God's fingerprint, half-dreamed,
still tuning the harp of the unsung.
Pen prepares its blood with quiet intent,
Flowing with words that embrace no cliche;
Its spirit starts to pump the heart's content,
Beginning with inner insights to say.
The ink's voice shouts with neither sound nor noise,
Creating calmness inside the bold mind;
The soul's silent scream still seems its best choice,
For the right meanings hiding there to find.
Shrouded images sprout in clarity,
Springing with fragrant flowers of wisdom;
Brightly bringing beauty to pure poetry,
As the author asserts his true kingdom.
Golden goal greatly gains its priceless prize,
As wonder wakes up the sweet sleeping eyes.
Due depart and so, desire
The rose does not befit the choir
I live in hell, because I was given a choice,
who ever on earth had the sweetest voice -
Maddy Prior, Sandy Denny, or Jacqui McShee?
The demons rejoice
as in hell, I am bound to forever dangle
deciding,
Steeleye Span, Fairport Convention or Pentangle?
The ceiling sparkled;
I saw the big dipper, then the little one.
The painters needed a bigger tip for their creative execution.
Without a warning to prepare, a requiem played.
The symphony corned all aspects of a so-called classic; muffled screams, vulgar tongues and your tears –
Silence doesn’t come fast and
I begged for forgiveness and solidarity whilst connecting the dots of Orion.
As you are my love beneath a full moon
a rendered silhouette in splayed light
our arms are empty as our eyes consume
in wondrous dreams that lay before the night
the scent of fragrant love shares its rapture
fills the senses with our sensual glance
when emotion overtakes and capture
we treasure the heart of our jeweled romance
how quiet and naked is our desire
how tenderly warm our hands are when held
closer to the edge of moments prior
when lips softly touch and begin to meld
as the mouth of lover's drip nectared bliss
slowly their lips will part from their first kiss
Lo, Oh poet of mine admire;
Speak to the fire;
Converse open flame thine heart dire;
Arch-poet, ballad maker compose lovely lyric rhyme unto me prior;
Ballad singer, balladeer voice still cry;
I ballad monger, idolize beat poet, bucoliast, elegist shy;
Fair epic poet, folk singer gleeman, journey lands,
Idyllist speak unto me emerald skies;
Imagist, jongleur, laureate recite toss the voice bell righteous ringer;
Librettist, major poet, maker, Meistersinger, minnesinger;
Best-loved favored treasured vocal
closest to one's heart preferred chosen
Sightseer mishear appeal reveal wordsmith zeal
Mimic speak life Celtic minstrel bard of Avon, Shakespeare!
12/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Bard Poetry
Friday, three days prior;
The Son was scourged and bleeding.
Sunday, when He rose again-
A spotless Lamb proceeded.
Friday, three days prior;
The Son had cried: “forsaken?”
Sunday, when He rose again-
The keys of hell were taken.
Friday, three days prior;
The Son of God was dead.
Sunday, when He rose again-
Trembling demons fled.
Friday, three days prior;
The Son was laid to rest.
Sunday, when He rose again-
He bore a Royal Crest.
Friday, three days prior;
The Son was in a tomb.
Sunday, when He rose again-
The Rose of Sharon bloomed.
Friday, three days prior;
The Son was set in stone.
Sunday, when He rose again-
He claimed His rightful throne.
I am feeling watched again
Nothing ominous
A nurturing spirit
She wants to guide me
I sense that she is not allowed
A sigh comes from my heart
most of my spirit guides are children
male children
this one is a female; I sense a grandmother figure
She comes prior to danger
I look at my car keys
hesitate to drive
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