I doubt that death
will silence me – really,
I do! Too aware of my
sleep walking and
forgotten dreams, tacit
residuals of restless nights --
I sense that I have traveled
both day and by night
from light into dark, when
my body prone then did my
spirit embark --
life requires no full memory
record, vivid enough if
times, as many of mine, illusive
yet stark --
At the dark intersection of convergent shadows
There lies an orphan thumb tack,
A silent menace to unshod feet,
Waiting to jolt me awake from the dream.
And it wouldn’t come as an unwelcome surprise.
I’ve been experiencing life in syndication.
Living off the residuals of tired plots
And oft quoted tag lines:
"To the moon, Alice!"
“Lucy, I’m home!”
“Son of a gun!”
“Dyno-mite!”
How many re-runs does it take
Till you run out of reasons for watching?
My publicist was admitted to rehab.
My agent never returns my calls.
The last time I walked the red carpet
Was in a black and white photograph.
But I did look stunning!
Have I ever wasted words on lower-cases and capitals?
Laying beneath cool ground spring, waiting in its vestibules
Happiness can be found loving this Earth for its residuals
Toothpicks of this stand; reaching for heaven in tones, sepia
'Til they're filled with what's beneath me; green colors plethora
Flowers soon will be dancing on this bed; just as they have before
One cool soft rain from nature's mother; this landscape will live once more
Against sky-blue tapestry; worthy of a majuscule
A moment infrangible; in my record, no-way minuscule
midsummer midnightand sweet dreams
orchestra of crickets
a steady snore
blades spinning overhead
moon tapping the blinds
midsummer midnight
eyes darting back & forth
between fantasias
and goosebumps, nebulosity
between reality
and surrealism
midsummer midnight
the court of inside & out
each one, unknown
to the other - a cup of joe
extracts the residuals
fog lifts with cream and a pour
A good mote,
something to imagine upon
with sin in mind.
Near strangers in the same office,
clothed only by levels and walls.
From two floors up
she let her dark hair down.
Hour after hour
he running fingers through strands,
twisting ropes of sensuality.
A married mote,
a thought made flesh
that grew too large for eyes.
A bad mote,
a succubus in the den of being,
a succulence of dark desires.
Time-worn, and weary it waned,
it cooled
leaving only residuals,
flavors good and bad.
A clearer youth
un-imagined her utterly out,
deleted that mote,
gone and forgot forever,
until now.
thinking of the snow
so white so pure
God sparkledust
He sprinkles down on us
Frozen raindrops from 7 fallen demons tears
of those angels who have fallen
Falling in judgment spheres
snowflakes residuals blizzards
justice freezes
only the thawed out
and those preserved reserved warm bodies
being engulf in flames of raging fire
Snowblind by the blizzard quarter flakes accumulate covering the lands and grounds so I need more than the shovel to find my way out
2/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2021©
Through the raging winds blows the wind that breathes
God's breath motions polarized residuals Alpha inhale Omega exhale
God just kissed us
Life
Live
Breathe
11/7/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Dampen seas as the wind mist my wet voyage;
Blemish are the marks on the boats waters;
Pernicious as the deep blue seas falters;
Traverse rekindling of it's sentry;
Visage horizons long in front of us;
Astral passages moves visuals;
Enterprise tapestries floating by yonder seas;
Through the raging winds blown horizon leaves;
Motion twixt polarized motions residuals;
Come, come sail on, sail with me sail yonder breeze;
11/5/20
Eight word challenge 11 poetry contest
Free verse poetry form only
Sponsored by John Hamilton
It was a beautifully laid path of moram stones
minuscule ice dust seated on my pink hands
holding yours covered with a three-quarter
thick cotton high neck navy blue t-shirt
Our lips forgot their role as the eyes
got hooked in looking at rows of
the orange yellow pyramids lined
on both sides of the reddish brown path
In a dazzling grandeur autumn in a pose
mild fragrance wafting in the flowing wind
That the tragic hues could be so loud
one wouldn't believe without witnessing
Used gourd skins with Halloween residuals
sunlight seated on a pile of harvested straw
dimples on our cheeks we exchanged our eyes
two bodies rested for a while in a soul
Flapping wings in their southern flight
We look for a charcoal glow from each other
____________________________________________________
October 22, 2020
Still-Life Autumn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Plenary consorts
Reticent ripe residuals
Neanderthals wake
Linear highways with oblique life constructs sometimes permeable or literal pathways impartial tell takes of present pasts and future presents unknown unfolding counter pleasureyours mysterious unknowings and prisonmatic poignant priors yielding gravid pessimistic postures where then is that supreme supine like stupor sense un categorized non filtered ill fettered cosmic puredom wading in its most reliant form residuals accurate essentials calming the melodic mirror maladaptives that make us Nones in plenty pious pastures forever un pronouncing, maligno rama inert mix eccentricities fomenting an anti formatting F flat favorings sentient beings astride that unwaveringly inhibithabit our once authentic Selvery hidden all under a morbid barrage of daily concentrates careful castrations dumb downs via everything except that simple truth the hollow struggle
Amidst the Barbaric heathen hordes
Mordacious majesty’s scrofulous swords
Corroding cathedrals in the morning mist
Rampageous residuals that we must resist
In the valleys of darkness, my soul savors still
For the bloodstained moon begins her spill
The ruffled red rains down upon the tombstones
As the Kings and Queens sit upon their thrones
The lecherous Lords satisfyingly seduce
The mawkish women that are on the loose
Marauding minstrels that strangle the streets
In the valley of shadows where the darkness meets.
May.12.2017
MAYTIME PREMIER CONTEST -any theme any form max of 25 lines...
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Shadows remind of you
These grey black deep shallow hues
Beneath the eaves beside the big trees
They almost silently whisper
As I want to kiss her
She disappears
As we come and go here and there
Red or green or blue or grey or a combination
Shadows always roam with us everywhere every time
Sometimes latent some other time
Eloquently reminding
‘We were’
We shudder
Some men and women all on a sudden
Turn shadowy, tall short huge slender shadows
Time robs them of their existence
Just the shadows wander
Man makes friend with man
Shadow-person makes friends with shadow-person
By the side of your smiling face
Beside your crimson and golden fireplace
The shadows appear and sadden our thoughts
Apples turn pale damp and rot
In our lonely reverie
Assembly of dark spots
We cannot do without
Our dear shadows
Today or tomorrow
Residuals of our bone marrow
Look there at the two fondling larks
Do they know
One may be shadow tomorrow
Fondling is life
Shadow, a knife
_______________________________________
15/11/2016
excommunicated from the land
of colours
i am
swimming in the music of the words
silently
passionate indulgence of
orgasmic repression
who are we?
speck of infinite wisdom
cosmic dust sprinkled
lustrous coupling of the residuals
on exile
in the unending girth
of the deep black holes
smiling...
Laverne and Shirley
their fame in the main had come early
retiring at twenty
they had thought their residuals would have been plenty.
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