War and only war
Many flags are raised with pride
You can only die
Dorothy Lee dresses like a street urchin from London town
She is not a frilly frothy girl, you’ll never see her in a gown
Her brother’s oversized boots are good enough for Dorothy Lee
Does she wear socks inside them? No this you’ll never see.
She is the youngest daughter of a family with eighteen kids.
Seventeen older brothers, one of them on the skids.
She dresses like she’s homeless, though they have lots of money.
Her mama left a long time ago, which truly was not funny.
She wanted to take Dorothy Lee, but she refused to go.
She loves her older brothers Terry, Tom, Timmy, Dick and Danny so.
Her daddy never had a girl, so is raising her like a boy.
This, says Dorothy Lee, is my biggest joy.
The Man Who Raised Me
They say you lose people as you grow
but I lost you before I even understood
what losing meant.
You were there from the very beginning.
Before I had memories,
before I had words,
before I knew how to be anything on my own.
You carried me when I couldn’t walk,
taught me the world in ways I didn’t even notice then.
You weren’t just my grandad—
you were everything.
The one who showed up,
every time without question,
without fail.
And then one day… you didn’t.
I was seven.
Too young to understand why the person
who had always been there suddenly wasn’t.
Too young to realise that losing you
would shape everything that came after.
I don’t remember everything—
that’s the part that hurts the most.
Just pieces.
Moments.
Feelings I can’t fully place.
But I know this:
the love you gave me never really left.
It just stayed—
quiet, unfinished,
growing with me in ways you never got to see.
And I think a part of me is still that child,
waiting for you to walk back through the door
like you always did.
I wasn't entrusted soul;
Bartering to be whole;
The leaf of my arms;
My hands in prayer mode;
Liken a squirrel nibbling holding his food;
Lo' and behold;
I am resonating;
Hands raised in praise celebrating;
4/26/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
they travel from house to house
two car links behind the Amazon driver
picking up each package seconds after he drops it off
they are often captured on video
sometimes news people play this and ask for an identity
are their relatives laughing as they open their presents?
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
No longer a staple of school lunches.
Too many children with allergies.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
RAISED AND SQUARED WITH GOD
Laying parallel,
Pleased and thankful for today:-
Perpendicular:
Squaring my service to God,
With love labors to others:-
Do I fear you, thank you,
or hate you for hanging round.
I fear I'd been somebody else
who stood on solid ground.
I thank you, cause you made me this,
but I hate the reasons why.
I fear it might just free my soul
when you finally say goodbye.
I hate you for staying here this long.
Thank you for being stable.
I fear the day you leave,
Kane's time, I'm not Abel.
Goodbye, it's time,
at least I hope,
I pray that you'll go quietly.
My greatest loss,
the quietest piece
the part that hopes you'll fight me.
I’ll say this truth,
Là Je M’amuse,
I feel it’s almost over.
That murder smile,
the haunting fact
a grin that’s Grimm, all over.
Absurd to see
to sink so deep,
and disappearing tears.
That day and night unfiltered rot
goodbye, forever, cheers.
Being raised without a father is like living with one ear and one eye
Disabled is the way the child would feel leaving him to wish he would die
Where are the fathers that are making the babies these days
Being a father isn't a game or just a short phase
It's a gift, a privilege and a responsibility
You can't disappear then reappear when that child is a teen
They need you because most things come in pairs
Do you really think the child would turn out right with you not being there
From day one it needs to hear the sound of your voice
Being made and brought into the world wasn't that child's choice
Child support won't cut it to view your problem solved
Being there financially isn't the only thing involved
The judge forced you to do that to make up the time away from me
It's better to be there for your child than to be called "Father Deadbeat
Deep in the forest where various monster beast abode
The hunter dares himself to enter the dangerous zone
To hunt for games that is rich for gains
Under the big Iroko tree lies the little animal
Having a soft and fluffy coat designed with bright colors
A bright orange and white color patterned with black stripes
They call it a tiger
"No it's a cub"
The hunter allured by its beauty
Smiled and have a deal with the forest god
He took the cub to his home and decided to foster it
At first, the cub shares little part of games with it's owner
Gradually the share begin to increase
And a pint of discomfort found a room in the hunter's heart
"Treat an animal like human for thousand years, animal will still be animal"
The cub grows big as the clouds shifts
And soon turn to a tiger
A day came that the hunter couldn't narrate
It was the day of his death
The tiger turned to a monster overnight
At a bright dawn, the sun shines brightly at the hunter's pool of blood
The monster had teared it's owner into pieces
Pieces that wouldn't have a chance to rest in peace.
I was built like the old oak table—
steady, bearing the weight
of voices heavier than mine.
They spoke of storms I didn't start,
left me to sweep the broken glass
as if my hands weren't small,
as if they hadn't splintered already.
They stitched a story from my silence,
painted me in wildfire shades,
called it defense when they fanned the
flames.
I learned early to bite my tongue,
to carry the years like a second spine.
The house rattled with its ghosts,
whispering of what I owed.
Gratitude, obedience, a softer voice—
but never a door of my own to close.
And it I ask for air, for space,
the walls moan in sorrow,
sagging beneath their own weight,
as if I had built them.
Spring Sonnet
The microscopic lifeforms in my soil
Sense the rising in degrees Celsius.
Old Summer’s red wiggler worms now uncoil,
While hungry birds look down most odious.
Most showers now done, the weeds envelope
The surviving herbs, flowers, plus veggies.
Like the weeds, slimy molluscs interlope,
Quitting the shadows with their progenies.
Scooping composted chicken & steer
Into my orange Home Depot buckets;
Troweling in costly mineral grit -
Then turning the soils, crushing silt nuggets.
The difficult tasks done, seeds in the grounds –
October pumpkins will surround the mounds.
I dance in my mind
glass slippers trail behind
Twirling pirouettes
tea and crepe suzettes
The angel of death kissed my lips each time,
and I felt since a child that I was doomed;
yet, his touch upon my cheek was sublime,
with his heaven aura sweetly perfumed.
And I felt since a child that I was doomed,
I wondered why did death pause just for me;
with his heaven aura sweetly perfumed,
on wings rising up- yet, I did not flee.
I wondered why did death pause just for me,
sometimes he would stroke my hair with such love;
on wings rising up- yet, I did not flee,
knowing that he would soon take me above.
Sometimes he would stroke my hair with such love,
but God whispered turn away from death child;
knowing that he would soon take me above,
stand on my shoulders and live this life wild.
But God whispered turn away from death child,
yet, his touch upon my cheek was sublime;
stand on my shoulders and live this life wild,
the angel of death kissed my lips each time.
A push-button blood alarm
scans the receptivity of softly ticking ears.
It is the ever-wakening
never snoozing
internet jungle calling.
Fasting birds as large as velociraptors
insist on being called parrots,
a raucous conversation hardly heard
as it filters through
3-D printed flugelhorns.
A cell awakes vibrates within an ear socket
demanding its early morning diaper change.
Little silver bells are clanging,
A sub-audial cacophony of eager voices
discharging their erotically-charged salvos
Devices cry to be fed.
Now subliminal texts tattoo
a finger pulsing moment.
Thumbs are itching to be mugged, in-plugged,
abused in a bath of warmed-over news.
The scaly parrots are now too loud to hear,
we are near
our minds nailed to a printing block
and tapping impatiently
as reality is swiped this way and that.
The racetrack is galloping,
white rabbits are being
yanked out of top hats so rapidly
we can only blink our replies
in a hand-held, wide-eyed chameleon sky.
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