there are faceted sides
with the jewelers cut
an intuitive act – an empath’s work of refinement
that boasts mastery and natural symmetry
stolen from the roughness
commandeered from a fleck of carbon
embodied in 990,000,000 years of evolution
he endeavors to open and free its beauty
precisely the third eye reconnoiters
with tools representing intellect
impowered by skill and modern techniques
he strikes off chards of nature’s ancient creation
chiseling to remodel its perfection
he facets to release the light
shielded and tendered in millennial history
that has waited timelessly to be revealed
like the voice that creates the aria
each note given the precise clarity
birthing the song
he imbues the human element
melding with the majesty of this ancient stone
taking shape, becoming a source for his soul
he and the stone are one
with the wisdom of what eternity truly is
within the infinite human heart
a good handyman is a rare find
whatever he charges, you had better not mind
finding a man who can remodel and fix
gives you a phone number you’d best keep in the mix
I count the birds at my feeder,
watch them arrive only to disappear,
they are a happenstance,
they flicker in and out, die and return.
People overhear other lives,
I imagine where they go and why?
The flush of a toilet brings visuals
as if every wall
were an opaque plasma screen.
People have died in the close,
dead neighbors,
three, four, six times removed.
The living wait for the mail,
stay to become known,
remodel a restless silence.
Some sit on porches smoking,
without seeing I see them
the way a mother duck
sees her brood behind her back.
I'm happy to be inside this close,
as if I were a life inside a life,
something born each day
to be close.
"Finally my blood began to coagulate,"
the second stage of hemostasis -- how great!
First I applied pressure to the bleeding spot,
the platelets circulate to stop it (a "clot.")
Coagulation forms a more solid wall,
in other words: a scab (helps after a fall).
That tough thing is just a temporary patch;
could bleed again, like My Girl's "blood brothers" scratch.
The vocab: "hemo" means blood, "stasis"-- stands still;
this natural process shows God's powerful skill:
to keep flowing blood --in, and harmful germs --out,
the fibrous platelet plug closes the vein's spout.
Keep it clean, and with time, the skin looks like new;
(a scar may remind me the pain I went through).
The skin's remodel is "fibrinolysis,"
but what makes it ALL better-- is mother's kiss!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coagulation Starter Poetry Contest (just started with the first line provided by the contest assignment, and I went from there, putting myself in this situation, which I have manuevered before... scientific reference I drew from: "Hemostasis" -- a Cleveland Clinic article medically reviewed in 2021).
Running on fumes for too long
Ready to take on a transition
Downshifting out of high gear
Making a move to pole position
We all travel down different paths
Weaving through obstacles as we go
Steering our souls with purpose now
To remodel ourselves as we grow
The time has come to refill our tanks
Instead of always running on E
Navigation system set to discover
Who we are truly meant to be
Reserves no longer depleted
Actually the opposite is true
Swapped out effort for ease
Outdated parts left in the rearview
"Kansas, she says, is the name of the star"
as for my mom's place, it was Mira Mar :)
"When she fell out of Kansas, a miracle occurred"
after we moved, my grandma's house remodel deferred
A house so old and ruined even the ghost moved out
shutter and boarder with the roof caved no doubt
decay and desolate not a vagrant dare
seek shelter over there
Once a proud house indeed
gave many families the home they did need
repaired and remodel throughout the years
life and love within this house was shared
The neighborhood declined
the house grew empty in time
abandon and left to rot
an eyesore time forgot
People just moved way
to better places they worked and stayed
deteriorated inside and out
schedule to be demolished no doubt
Abandon house and abandon souls
if no one cares no one knows
an empty lot where the grass grows tall
lost memories no longer recalled.
You’re chock full of kingsize bull crap
Though female you are not a chap
A well-practiced liar
Whose pants are on fire
Your vitriol I’d love to zap
Just little things make you so ratty
You’ll spit venom, gee you’re darn catty
With a scowl and a frown
You will put good folk down
With hindsight I think you’re quite batty
Your language you need to remodel
I’m fed up of reading your twaddle
You can’t leave folk alone
Like a dog with a bone
Try using that brain in your noddle
May I offer a little advice
If you cannot say anything nice
Keep your mouth fully closed
Your bull crap’s been exposed
Go back to your fool’s paradise
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
01/05/22
Sixteen antique serpentine arced gingerbread corners
delighting the antique seeker who had dreamed of them for years
before they were eventually yet heartily found.
Her heart leaps with happiness as she purchases
the inspiration to finally build her Victorian dream porch.
She watches the clerk wrap these sigmoid-shaped beauties,
knowing they will be the inspiration for the rest of her house.
The complexity of her heart
Also doing part bleeding has stop
Her emotions were worth
Her tell tail heart
Has stopped
God has to remodel her
For you see she is heartbroken?
7/31/2@
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
scavenger hunt
sandy summer beach
welcomes a scavenger hunt ~
hot sand samba dance
lacy edged scallops
rippled shells like wind kissed surf ~
trim tidal ball gowns
fallen stars – starfish
through clear waters see the sky ~
starlets seeking fame
building spiral rooms
nautilus remodel grows ~
under construction
precious sand dollars
bear reminders of the cross ~
hidden doves seek sky
from many seashores
loves sandy, sheltered, beaches ~
cockle shells sea hearts
grazing the seabeds
cerith night hunter in swirls ~
aquarius shell
many alias
periwinkle and magpie ~
whelks create red dye
lazy summer days
tidal froth splashes through surf ~
shells decorate beach
if I turn left
i end up near my dead mother
she has a green mound
but there are lots of green mounds
there’s a street map in a fisherman’s pocket
a splashing sea has soaked its print
signs and roads melt
it could be Atlantis, or maybe
a bus route for north London.
mind-mice remodel the big picture
details defy interpretation until lost
appearance and disappearances
wash each other into new way signs
places once left
become a cardboard box in Baltimore
a cement maze in Ulan Batur
watermarks of places never seen
until you hold them up to the light
and embossed upon memory
is just another road to nowhere
Giver gave meals, desserts, gas money, love
Taker took them all gladly but demanded more
Giver tried to please. Gave a car and a home.
Taker made fun of giver for being a chump.
Giggling with friends about how easy giver was.
Giver heard but did not believe for she loved taker.
Taker claimed home was not good enough, hurting giver.
Giver helped taker paint and remodel the home.
Taker was pleased but not wholly satisfied. Wanted a better car.
Giver gave taker her own car. Taker loved it but could not afford insurance.
Giver could not afford it either thanks to giving too much to taker.
Asked taker to be really careful and always drive alone.
Yesterday taker drove past with six others, going way over the speed limit
Giver spoke to taker again, making taker really angry.
Taker wrecked the car to show Giver how angry she was.
Giver could not afford a replacement car so Taker has cut off ties
Looking now for a new giver as Giver stares at Taker’s photo
Lamenting the loss of her best friend.
I count the sparrows at my feeder,
watch them come and go.
The birds are a happenstance,
they flicker in and out, die and return,
but they themselves stay the same,
only their number records a difference,
creates a clock for the sun.
I sup my tea.
My father used to slurp tea from a saucer.
People hear other lives, they imagine how we
come and go. The flush of a toilet
brings with it visuals
as if every wall were a T.V.
People have died in the close,
dead neighbors,
three, four, six times removed.
The living wait for the mail,
stay to become known,
remodel a restless silence.
Some sit on porches, smoking cigarettes in the rain.
I see them the way a mother duck
sees her brood behind her back.
I'm happy to be inside this close,
as if I were a life inside a life.
I imagine that the sparrows will watch for me
when I'm not here.
The promise land doesn't come turnkey and move in ready
It's a self-assemble
New build: customize your own heaven or hell
Remodel: Pimp a dinosaur
Facelift a grand Dame
Restore a Hiroshima
An eyesore into a Picasso
For you can upcycle the pieces of your broken yesterdays
into vintage tomorrows
Your bitter blues into your giddiest bliss yet
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