MENTAL HEALTH ALONE
Once a party of aloneness;
Group together, with confinement;
Shatter for ego, trip, bliss;
The truth of the matter containment;
His selfishness
Construed mental health
Other diagnosis identifying
Step by step opinions, qualifying
Who deems alone a sickness?
soul ?
ALONE
1/12/26
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
I look myself in the mirror
Recognizing my every error.
The constant pressure
To reach pleasure
The satisfaction of hearing ‘I’m proud’
I'm cowed.
As I’ve grown older
I’ve become bolder.
The wonders of acceptance
Are now resistant.
All the overthinking
All the overachieving
Is slowly sinking.
My testimony shows
All my knows.
The knows of trying
The knows of crying
The fear of dying
In the qualifying
Of being accepted.
I’ve been deceived
By what I’ve achieved.
I now know where I belong,
All the people I walk among
Their silent voices are wrong.
I am enough
I am tough
I am enough.
Watching the futbol match between the national teams of Ireland and Slovakia. I managed to purchase a cheap seat and I am sitting up in the nosebleed section. We drank and cheered as the game wore on. The Irish national team emerged victorious 2-1. Suddenly I remembered my mother’s maiden name: McClay. A surge of ethnic pride surged through my being. I was hugging other fools in the stands. We emerged victorious in a qualifying match. I was hugging Celtic warriors and Joycean drunks alike in our victory
Moment of triumph
the true blood line emerges
ethnic memory
stirs up unwavering pride
party like an Irish Wake
Too many words..
Seems the condition
Of users of words..
Words qualifying words
Qualifying and confusing..
Wearying to the one
Seeking diligently to
End seeking..as the ending
Is hidden by words...
Some forty years back, in Time Magazine,
Saw I a narrow missing of bald head
By the bullets from Hinckley’s magazine
He had reserved for Ronald Reagan’s head,
Save that they had agreed about his ribs:
If Cowboy still lived, talk like babes with bibs…
The missed lucky skull that of a press man
I still remember bald, some kind of pan,
The Guy having bent down to catch his note,
Able to fast do so in a thick coat…
God! It must have been some sacred jotter
And this it proved against shorts that totter…
Either Satan forget his script and ways
Or God had sought to lengthen his days;
Still the jotter was his damned rescuer,
When Hinckley had wanted to heads skewer,
The jotter qualifying for the archives;
If you asked me: Deliverers’ Archives!
*Image of Quebec City by LNEWS.
Hawaiian Eskimos
Quacking lone duckling on a crystal lake,
Queerly hops a loon, faux pas not a mistake,
Quebec, dad's trunk roads for sightseers,
Quaint scene, an edgy dad seeks volunteers,
Qualifying mountie, Hawaiians, he indulges,
Quality time, the whole of Canada, he divulges.
2022 July 26
In the grand scheme of natural things that wane
time seems ever-elusive and eternally unchained
only mankind dares to give it a name;
it eeks through history and space
marking everything in place
never moving backward in its race;
only forward in slow and hectic rhapsodies,
undoing progress with its tragedies
as human ignorance embraces all its parodies;
qualifying distinctive moments of a human race
trying foolishly to control the seconds easily erased
millennia captured in human records of time and space;
time is only measurable and blind
by the random genius of the human mind
in its self-inspired sagacity destined to find
only God creates the persistence on this rock
seconds, hours, years, generations on the clock
ever on the run, in a lifetime fared
time is nowhere yet everywhere
neither here nor there,
a mere second spent in evening prayer.
for Chantelle Cook's Time Poetry
5/27/21
haiku olympics
i bench press
my pencil
Morning comes with a smack around the ear hole
Shaking me to the foundations of my sole
The morning meeting at 9 am
Is like the sound of a bell sent up from hell
As all parties take their seats
Competing as if they were in the Olympic qualifying heats
Musical chairs would be perhaps a better description
But at least half of the attendees would not understand the diction
The chairman calls for attention, we are about to begin
And pray to the Holy Father above to please forgive our sins
As we are about to enter into a fierce debate
As a result of these discussions we will open up the floodgate
I will not be held back in my opinions!
But they are valued the same as a one pound bag of onions
I hear what the other attendees say
And watch them scream to try and get their way
But I am just a no-one
A wanderer amongst the cow dung
The lowest of low
And to be honest, it show’s
That I don’t like going to the 9 am meeting
I would rather be sat by desk eating.
You are the beauty, I can't be with;
It is my duty, this I insist;
Heavenly bodies prevail;
Spiritually guiding me what to say;
The pleasure is God and I understand;
He created woman and man;
And it's not meant for man to be alone;
That is why I'm singing this song;
We were made for nothing else
At the dawn of creation, nothing else
We were bent on being heaven blessed
All we have to show for it.... is
So be a witness to the hopeless;
Be on duty for the homeless
Join hands with the widows and fatherless;
Together as man and wife
Pray together both day and night;
And when one falls the other one prays on. . .
So be a witness to the hopeless;
Be on duty for the homeless
Join hands with the widows and fatherless;
The pleasure is God and I understand;
He created woman and man;
And it's not meant for man to be alone;
That is why I'm singing this song;
You're that beauty, I will be with;
It is my duty, this I insist;
Heavenly bodies prevail;
Spiritually guiding me what to say;
I've prayed long and hard and you belong
I've chosen you've been chosen;
As my qualifying helpmate;
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
August 05 2017
Queen quilt was arguing with prince pillow over a diamante duvet. But diamantes are not difficult dreamers nor diagonal deprivation. In fact it is the elite of every ethos that speaks of a qualifying uneven road surface. And uneven road surfaces can be symbolised by a sign of camel humps. Great. Wonderful isn't it? But a crowd crowing is a clapping chaotic chapter chair brigade. And the interest levels of a queue and a polished but tarnished row of benches is merely apathetical and apathetical is quite pathetic and simply not formed from an array of alphabetically placed turbines. It is to remark that is remarkable but a mark on clothing needs to be erased so stand in a hail storm then. Good. Beetles bashing ball bushes bring baby Bollinger brilliant ballistic breaking bulls. How quite bionic! And the charge from a herd of ducks and minnows can be heard for many many miles. Ha the reached radius of a radish cake meets a pile of serviettes today. Ha the jus is jogging over the plates and bowls. Xxxxx physiological z z z z at forty three herons jiggling around a sun dial charm to twelve aerial prawn photographers playing pin striped positions. Z
Eclectic
Be mindful of the Logical Fallacies.
When enlisting proxy's honor yourself and qualify them.
If you ask direct questions respond in kind.
Qualifying ones self as obtuse will not excuse duplicity.
Choosing doesn't preclude choice.
Those who speak of omissions have omitted.
Don't speak if you don't want your words spoken.
Don't write if you don't want your words read.
When you ask for privacy expect an audience.
If you sue for peace expect war.
When you strive for humility it may be construed as vanity.
Suffer not bigotry even from within ones own.
Hate brings vengeance invest in neither.
Have faith in your convictions and speak them plainly.
Do not emulate that which you abhor.
The wisdom of the crowd isn't always wise...
© veritatem voluntatem 2016
Matt won his class of the 2008 Beijing Games,
In para-shooting R3 10m air rifle prone mixed,
He took home to Peterborough the gold jeans,
Because he started shooting aged 11, fixed.
He won a silver at the London Paralympics,
To transfix a crowd behind him in a huge mass,
Also won bronze in a different category, picks,
In the SH1 R6 5m air rifle prone mixed class.
He made a WR in Rio in the qualifying rounds,
For the final of the SH1 50m air rifle prone set,
He was born in 1984 with neat October sounds,
And by Stoke Mandeville each day he’s whet.
Along the urban stream at the end
of a perfect Saturday,
I sit and watch the sun go down.
I watch below me as a father and
his young son pick their way gingerly
along the rocks of a still fast flowing stream.
They are looking for treasures
brought downstream by the previous week's storms.
The father, tall, thin, and balding,
hair the red side of blond helps
the red haired son negotiate the rocks.
They are striking in the setting sun.
The father periodically points out some
hidden find in some rocky notch
or crevice.
I am thinking who could frame
such an idyllic theme in our present era,
or even care to?
It is a Norman Rockwell cover!
No one comparable or even close
in todays garish din.
He could stop a moment,
and celebrate ordinary folks
without sarcasm,
no qualifying mote,
no sugary note.
A cool breeze kicks up as the earth cools
and my dog and I leave the scene and
race the fading sunlight
home.
Each step reverberates...
There are no Norman Rockwell covers.
There are no Norman Rockwell covers.
Poetry Soup
It's imagery, movement, rhythm, and rhyme,
Composition of words that baffles the mind;
Art woven meticulously, lines by design,
Pleasing the senses soothes like fine wine.
It's calmness, excitement, free flowing words,
With qualifying beauty like the Peacock bird;
Musical interludes that rises and fall,
Like the waves against an ocean wall.
It’s a hodgepodge of homemade colloquialism,
That challenges our thoughts through aerobic athleticism;
On occasion, darkness sprinkles the pages,
Spoon fed mixture absorbed in small stages.
Poetry Soup, food for the soul,
A deliverance of warmth through written scrolls!
Written : © 11/12/15
Submitted for: Your Absolute Best II CONTEST
Sponsored by: The Seeker
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