Each Sunday night my family watched TV.
“Bonanza” was the favorite show for me.
It came on after Disney, at around eight,
a time so great that I could hardly wait.
My mom and dad and we 8 kids would sit
in the living room enjoying it.
Before it started, Mom would always pop
a huge tub-full of popcorn, butter atop.
When commercials came, we’d each go dip our bowl
into that container; I’d not even get full
despite my many refilled bowls of it,
for once I start with popcorn, I can’t quit!
This was one custom I really lived for
since TV watching with some snacks I adore.
It was the one night that we all together sat
bewitched by Bonanza. Nothing for fun beat that.
Here there is no time
All is instantaneous in love
ETERNAL
Here there is no anxiety
All is blessedness and peace
UNCHANGING
Here there is no need
All is thanksgiving and fullness
STILL
This is your heritage
You were created here
Although born there
Within the error of generations
Generated through error
Find your way back here
Stay here within
THE MOTION OF LOVE
It will carry and keep you here
You have returned to your Father
Emptied and refilled with God
Liberated from error’s Dis-grace
Surrenderd into Divine Love and Grace
We tip with easy hands, folded monetary grace
a gratuity for servers bearing plates through crowded rooms;
their labor seen, their weary, waiting face
a quiet plea our gratitude easily assumes.
Why is it then that the offering plate in Sunday’s space
moves down the pew, our giving often blooms
into reluctance — guarded, slow, displaced?
For God asks softly, hidden from our sight;
no apron, no refilled glass, no hurried pace ~
just love received, too vast to name or trace.
And so we clutch the gift meant to be given,
forgetting open hands are how we live in grace.
Restless nights made of pixels and stardust
Alt 29
I watch him halting between left and right
No-signal TV looms in a distant dark corner
Boisterous music befriends a stealthy black stereo
Olympic games run on the PC
Winner title appearing on the screen
Nothing fulfills him more than a cyber marathon
Ecstasy rushing through his veins
Refilled with unending virtual noises
Dumbfounded by countless choices
Tiny, my precious one-eyed ball of fluff --
with oh so sharp teeth and claws --
is disarmingly warm and cuddly but
often still quite skittish,
and stand-offish.
She purrs non-stop, contented,
when safely protected, on my lap
while being stroked. Her food and her water
bowls are clean and full
and her litter box is mostly promptly
emptied, refilled, odorless
and sanitized.
So what if she nips playfully
at my aged paper-thin skin?
Also she may snag my dressy
seldom-donned attire with those
sharp claws. But
she over-pays her board, her daily care,
with fond head nudges, and with her
unabashed preference for me
above all others, even now,
when I may no longer be,
to others, what I was.
To her, still, this outer shell
is precious, is safe,
Is reciprocated love,
is home,
is everything.
To the one who runs off points with puzzle,
Who never give head to a racing mind,
At the silence of a night but guzzle
Words... more than check could balance doubting kind.
To the one who feel sad after words' treats,
Who never make legs strong to walk boldly...
At the faces of buzzing yet calm streets,
Words can not champion through deceit coldly.
To the one who fear defeating words' chants,
Who never was built for one to man lot...
At the peace of reigning beast's loyal grants,
Words- foaming up sheep to kill raging plot.
I gave silence to a mouth jogger's tongue;
Old refilled blank words of swollen loud lung.
As the pencil is being sharpened
And the ink is being refilled
The pieces are coming together
As the memories are being emphasized
And the truth is being revisited
The picture is showing itself
What a poem?,
It is man
Who had capabilities
A life full of possibilities
It is a father
Who had dreams
A life full of accomplishments
The seed,
As the writing becomes writable
And the writer acknowledges her writings
The pieces are showing an individual
As the recollection of events are coming under the surface
And the thoughts are being revisited
The picture is showing the owner
What a poem?
Today, surrounded by family, I felt alone.
As I looked upon the faces of my loved ones,
I realised I was loved, yet still alone.
This may be the onset of depression,
But it might as well be my first reality check.
The sturdiness of the crate doesn't guarantee the safety of its contents.
The eggs will still fall, one by one, leaving only empty depressions.
Then the crate is refilled, only to be emptied again,
and the cycle continues.
See how the sunlight
comes across the table,
touching my hand
and the paisley coffee cup
I emptied earlier, is refilled
with a pouring
of the same anointing light.
I am enamored
by ordinary things
like that spoon catching
a reflection,
the blue bowl holding
a few pieces of fruit
and a smear
of strawberry jam
I have left on a plate.
Even the fridge
in the corner
gurgling as if
its stomach was empty,
is in communion with me.
Each morning
I begin with this modest feast,
give thanks,
catalog the pieces
in my poetry.
like an empty jar
discarded by the wayside
thrown into space
waiting to be recycled
by a kind soul
the label has weathered
apart from the bit stating
the best before date
which seems long in the past
while the future is undecipherable
and yet it contains
weary promise and hope
to be refilled and
put to good purpose and meaning
through meditation and prayer
in order to obtain mindfulness
slowly he retrieves himself
from gloom and oblivion
as he wakes up it dawns on him
that he had been dreaming
but at least now he
resides in the jar
21st November 2023
Laura returned in a dream tonight
to remind me of who I was
Leading me toward a waxing moon
she sang of hope and love
Pulling me close she kissed my lips
as her breath refilled my soul
Giving me back unto myself
—with a joy that time had stole
( To My Muse — Laura Nyro: September, 2023)
OK, I never liked you guys
But now we're drinking buddies
To my great surprise
That giant Texas heat lamp
Brought us together
Because the drought you couldn't weather
I set up bird baths, just not for you
You ran 'em off, and squirrels, too
I was afraid of what you might do
The birds were flighty, the squirrels wily
But you guys stuck together spryly
I admired your intelligence highly
I sensed you'd let me refill the water
As the Texas heat lamp grew ever hotter
No need for the fly swatter
Gentlemen you were as I refilled the drink
You landed on me and tickled me pink
Hmmm, Honey Bees, I need to rethink
Now I've spoiled you with cubes of ice
Cooling the drink to make it nice
Providing a small dose of paradise
I swore you off, but friends I now avow
You like me, too, I sense it somehow
Yes, we're drinking buddies forever now
Honey, I got to go water the bees...
our paths crossed
at the old lake
now all dried up
it was such a wonderful
feeling to see her smile
again
still as beautiful as ever
our conversation inspired
the rain
the lord refilled the
overly thirsty lake
the stars were in abundance
the moon was in her best mood
her natural beauty was still unmatched
in my eyes
against my best wishes
she told me she had to leave
her husband called and said he
and the kids were starving something
awful
i wanted to say something (more),
but i had no choice but to respect
reality's expression of the truth
that most wonderful night was the last
time that i saw and spoke with her
the next time i saw her, she was laying
in a coffin on her 48th birthday
rest easy, Precious Angel
i will always cherish our
shared memories together
It seems I was stuffed with some wool and some foam
And then I was sent to this ‘in between’ home
My purpose is now to give heartstrings a tug
Alas that’s not easy… because I’m a slug
I feel like I’ve been here forever and ever
For I don’t recall being sewn together
I didn’t get long to hang out with the boys
For this is a shop that sells soft cuddly toys
When I first got here I wasn’t alone
With bunnies and bears and a dog with a bone
There was a cat and that thing from Loch Ness
And there was a rag doll whose hair was a mess
Whoever came up with a cuddly slug
Why not a butterfly or lady bug
Just as expected, my friends sold out fast
I’ll give you one guess who was left here till last
Of course that was me sitting here by myself
Until someone came… and they refilled the shelf
But one by one all those new friends went as well
Even the tortoise… hey… I need a shell
I need to be loved as it’s good for one’s health
But shells don’t come cheap and I’m lacking in wealth
A young girl approaches; I’m likely to fail
“Mum,” she says, “I want the poor homeless snail.”
2 November 2022
Contest: Be Creative
Sponsor: Eve Roper
God says draw ever closer to me and be royalty, refilled , redeemed always
9/8/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
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