I lost my mind today -
Oh boy -
and all the thoughts I had
just seemed to vanish
in the haze
surrounding my head
It seemed so wise -
so potent -
so infinitely dull -
complete with thought, effete with pomp
emblazoned on its skull.
An ounce of heart
a pound of spleen
a smattering of phlegm
A bit of code
a bunch of will
And a thick soup of memes:
All this was all mixed
and cut to bits
A chewy marble blend
From which I built
A vague relief
Of life that I intend:
Where has it gone, do tell me?
Where is my upscale mind?
I look without,
I look within,
But nothing can I find.
It seems the mind has melted
And I must build anew
Today's mind-melded structure
With but a quart of glue.
Background B.B King it
You'll get home alone
A Quartering as Jazz
As quart and liter
As meter and mile
Footage and reconcile
Irish Quartermasters Gaurd
Kevin J. O'Meadhra
Trace as feather
Low of ash
Bury of quill
Fide et amore
Nightingales Ergo
Send in rot
Further, borrow
Scottish wreathing
Entangled Britain
Relent
They of leave
Twined as lecture
Recital of yellow
Beckon brown
Revile of green
Tustled hearth
Baby babysit looks like
It's gonna hail
Jump and jive
As sent to the SAG
In tawdry spent
The war is lent
The establishment of thy own
A hate filled thrown
As crimes as thine
Tinkle and toast
In a entire
Only as pure
The picture as haunt
Plagiarism
Stores front
Sufferer as complaint
In stilled poverty
I law
Joan had little art
Lythed command
Hinde weeps rather as waltz
Herculean task
Wardrobe mantle black
Opening Suggestion of Betrothed
Learning what life had to offer
I came often, drank deep..
at the well with you,
fresh as spring snow melt.
Hear it echo - is it still
life with you at the well..
with you at the well-
is it still.
In cup or quart or teaspoon sampled..
best in life, some sour too, hear it echo,
is it true, surely so,
surely so.
Never sorry for memory of taste,
so sweet and bubbly, oh
nah dear-
lemon cherry fizz don't even come close.
Just wish I coulda stayed at the fountain
drinking you in,
effervescently refreshing you..
quinching my thirst,
gosh what a taste.
A poem read, right time nor place,
Be like ho-hum, phantom sans face,
In a conjugal bed
As if odd scriptures read,
A trump of ‘two’ tricking an ace!
But a lay piece at place and time
Is deemed proper, in place and prime.
As in a bridal quart,
To undress is rare art—
At public place a social crime.
_________________________________
Limericks |16.07.2023| place, time
I tried to the stop the climate change
I tried to stop the war
I tried to stop addiction
From my spot on the tavern floor
I used to fight the good fight
I don't do that anymore
'cause I'm powerless
And god dammit, I'm proud
I used to have opinions
That were of a certain ilk
My arguments, all polished
My reasoning, smooth as silk
You can drink your quart of Kool-Aid
And call it chocolate milk –
Me I'm powerless,
And God damnit, I'm proud
We like to think
Like to think we know the score
Screaming from our windows:
I won't take it anymore!
With the subtlety of billboards
And logic, bottom-drawer
When deep inside, we know
We're full of bull at the core
I saw placards, I heard slogans
Spouting in the market square
In the exurb of a suburb
Of affluent Montclair
The banality of platitudes
Rises from one's derriere
So be powerless
And God damnit, be proud
Lonely comes in three sizes
The pint is light and floats near you
The quart you must hold in your lap
But, the gallon is unliftable
and it blocks all sunny paths
Here I sat under a willow tree
With a cup of English Breakfast tea
Your smile and laugh - they comforted me until dark
Our initials carved into the bark
We held each others hand
Things were going exactly as we planned
I brought sandwiches and chips
Then I held you close as I kissed your lips
You smelled like coffee and strawberries
I asked what perfume you were wearing - you said "It varies."
You brought some cake, cookies, and a quart of ice cream
Being with you felt like it was something out of a dream
You brought me such joy
I was such a naive boy
I speak in past tense as you can see
Because now you are in Heaven watching over me
A pot of soup, a girl named Nell
Of mysteries, I'd like to tell
Nell made the soup, hard by the mill
Where men took lunch, so in came Bill
A strapping lad, with wavy hair
Best-looking buck, who came in there
The talk was loud, the time was short
Nell's soup was swallowed, by the quart
Though she was shy, Nell winked at Bill
(But) for him she was, 'another Jill' ...
The years went by, Nell made her soup
From loyalty, to worker groups
The men they liked Nell's soup so much
Bill also saw (!) her special touch...
Again time passed, Nell's hair turned gray
One winter's storm, Nell passed away
Next lunch the soup just had no taste
When told she died, white was Bill's face
He'd lost the only girl for him
All hope now gone, his future grim
So, men, make sure to wed your Nell
True love's heaven, why live in hell
The Mother Art
Outline in pencil to start,
Charcoal shading light & shadow,
Shaping, molding, sculpting heart,
Laughing, smiling, hugging then & now,
Creating a family volume quart!
Giving warmth & kindness,
Object lessons in daily living,
Courage to face fears a la Loch Ness,
Bravely squaring! Generously giving,
Never alone! In entourage defeat any mess!
I owe! How to repay my mother?
Pass it on! Use my parented potential,
To be kind, foster bonds to another,
Now it's my turn! Giving sequential,
Nurture a fellow's "hurture" or God's like none other!
Some people call it breakfast which makes me snicker and giggle
It might have been since it starts with a pancake or two
except then I add extra things to make it into a dessert.
At the very least I add a pacakage of vanilla pudding,
a teaspoon of cinammon, a quart of fat luscious blue berries
Then I lavishly sprinkle it with a cup of brown sugar.
Next I add.....
Bananas, chocolate syrup, maple syrup,
Caramel syrup, and of course I top it off
with half a spray can of whipping cream. When I eat
all of the whipping cream off, I use the rest of the can.
When my masterpiece is finished no one would suspect
it ever started out as a couple of simple pancakes.
Except my family who have started making their own
concoctions - each starting with two pancakes.
So amazed The cup is full of water but my hands in it
So amazed The pot is full of hair cause my head in it
I'm amazed My shoe is full of feet cause my toes are in it
can you imagine me-so amazed
walking down the street with a quart pot on my head
glasses of water in my hands
with to feet in my shoes so amazed?
12/2/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2020©
One pint of sherry wine
says the recipe
which finds me asking
can I substitute a gallon of Chablis
or even quarts of Scotch or Bourbon
pretend I am wallowing in my past
quelling my misery
while waving my alcoholism in Death’s face
One pound of macaroons
It says
They’ll place their calories under my nose
add pounds
more than the mere seventeen
I gained when the doctor told me not to walk
creating this newest morbidly overweight me
not trifling with death here either
One quart of cream whipped
will leave me more than sedentary
stiff
actually
and one whole egg flaunts current conventions
thumbs its nose against my clogged arteries
and helps me laugh at the second
or third
helping of those air saturated
cream calories
standing tall over that
custard basted, wine soaked,
pound of Lady Fingers.
Reality is never what it seems
when trifles say they serve 12.
Queen of Trifles, The Settlement House Cookbook, page 372
Come play mumbo jumbo mumblety peg,
To see who goes first, we spin a raw egg.
Come be a sport.
Free beer by the quart.
We’ll let you keep a finger and maybe a leg.
The coziness of domesticity
A shoulder to press a cheek to
Someone to come home to
after shedding a quart of sweat
slaving away at work.
A precious quality time to kill
with near and dear ones
that love me, and still will,
at my worst
Putting away the cell phone,
folding shut the laptop computer
in the gloaming in favor of
a much-needed human connection
Making time for a quiet reflection
and prolonged cogitation,
a conversation with God, for rest
and relaxation, for creativity
Someone with whom to share a laugh
Someone to walk with, arm in arm,
step by step among the fields of gold
despite all the madness in the world.
A skin to touch, a hand to hold when
Autumn leaves begin to fall.
Being emotionally available to people
I love and care about.
Most importantly, loving
and being loved in return.
What Matters Most To Me Poetry Contest (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Date written: 04/01/2020
In haunted woods she found her heart.
Feeling merged, nothing apart.
Dancing her dance, singing her song.
Melodic notes brought us along.
Inspired keenly, she found her art.
Living her truth, amazingly smart.
Path open, she followed no chart.
Following your bliss is never wrong.
In haunted woods.
Found wild violets by the quart.
Laughed wide open like a well-loved tart.
Woodland creatures to her belong.
Singing their own unique forest song.
Ethereal faerie, oh, so smart.
In haunted woods.
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