Green youth, a new leaf,
The world calls with wide eyes—
Time to leave the nest.
Whispers of the past,
Ancient customs guide the way,
New life starts today.
A child in the sun,
Faces etched with wonder’s dew,
Future now unfolds.
The old self fades out,
Stepping into the unknown,
A new journey starts.
Scars become my map,
Lessons learned, the pain subsides,
Stronger than before.
Across the threshold,
Promises of what’s to come,
A new path is set.
It’s in the rites of passage
That we learn from
It’s in the rites of passage
That we grow
It’s in the rites of passage
That our soul becomes our own
I remember a time when life was innocent
Where we all got on and life was pure
But as the years passed by I soon realised
That life was what I had to endure
It’s in the rites of passage
That we learn from
It’s in the rites of passage
That we grow
It’s in the rites of passage
That our soul becomes our own
At this juncture in my life
I can’t help but look back
Wondering if the Whys and Wherefore
Were worth the payback
Living with never ending questions
Whirring in my brain
Knowing the answers to these questions
Were impossible to obtain
Learning through every hardship
Losing battles but not the war
And many times I’m left broken
And crying ‘what was it all for?’
It’s in the rites of passage …….
Generations have come and gone
Knowledge and wisdom as treasures passed down
Sacred rites and rituals immortalized
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
Empyrean drops,
Monument of July,
The pluvial chapter of life...
O July of enfeebled yolk,
Dispenser of splendour of sempervirence,
God has watered your tongue.
Therefore, pour, July, pour
The essence of life,
The grit of living
Unto the bosom of the
Seventh month and other
Months of parturition.
Let us conceive in July,
To bear in good season,
Sons of courage...
Wearing festal garments
And adorning our heads with sepia cloths,
This shall reinforce hope.
In front of the monument of July,
(A slouching image of sleepy rain)
Right on its wet feet,
Shall we bless the earth abundantly.
O July,
Bearer of thirty-one offspring,
Male and female, dew and fog,
So full of grains of years,
Frenzied and dancing your rites
Together with the age of insistent youth!
Middle age is when neither youth nor old age
Finds you worthy...
They sing:
The perception of the pristine green
Aroma of July
Is often the first of the rites
Of the seventh month.
I saw the bending stems of lively green—
Where stalked a little sun of yellow bright.
Should love be like a flow’r, a sweet nineteen,
And May, a month so dry and passing rites.
Of fondest dearing names I say and tell,
Adoring in ways never thought I’d say.
Alas a wind of chill and heat did fell,
A sign for flight to wait, o’er skies of fray.
Oh, sweet Dandelion love, winds will come
And take My love, my soft yellow embrace.
Dandelion love, rites cannot break from.
When wind do carry you, swiftly I chase
When May again come, be adored by me.
Then gone should winds blow, L’amour de ma vie.
I don't just write in feel.' I preffer it also to be real.' From
Observation of actions taken' allowing that some fancy is not forsaken'
>center>LAST RITES (MIXED)
I’ve been having thoughts, a bit macabre,
About my funeral day.
I’m not getting any younger,
So it might not be far away.
How many folk will turn up
To see my final act?
Will it be just the family,
Or will the place be packed?
Will they say nice things about me,
And will they be sincere?
Have I deserved any compliments
For what I’ve achieved while I’m here?
I’ve told them I want no religion.
I believe that’s all old hat.
I think that, when you pass away,
You die and that is that.
When they close the final curtain;
As they sing the final song.
Could that be the moment
I find out I was wrong?
The Rites of Spring
8/8/2023
It’s Spring, and all of humanity sings!
As large pinwheels dance in her winds
And lovers lips blossom into roses.
Hearts beat faster, new love in view.
Time. silences our will to win.
Enchanted, carefree, sail sunlit boats.
Observing beating veins in lovers throats
Racked with sensual desire to fulfill
Nature’s call, to honor holy Spring’s will.
Goal
attained
while learning
quest shows progress
midst sign language bliss…
Our special child received
excellence medal with mirth
proving triumph despite ailment
as loving care and patience work well
in life-building along God’s grace* that reigns.
*2Peter 3:18 But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him [be] glory both now and for ever. Amen.
July 12, 2023
3rd place, "A July Etheree" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 7/27/2023.
3rd Heaven's Rites
You will not
bring me down
I am high in the 3rd heaven
in and with my God
bring me down
a Phoenix in the skies
in and with my God
I am will that's is I speak so life unto death
a Phoenix in the skies
I am high in the 3rd heaven
I am will that's is I speak so life unto death
You will not
6/9/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Fresh writes or fresh rites?
Dare I ask?
Is a death involved?
Would asking be insensitive?
I have been known to be less than subtle.
Did you say that Ross has fresh writes?
Ross who? She asks, sounding suspicious.
I am not sure, I reply, hesitantly.
Now she knows I do not fully listen to her.
Do you mean Rocks?
Maybe.
What are you trying to say?
Her voice is raised, on the verge of meanness.
I wish I knew.
I really do.
The sideburns of the Maples
Turned another color in early October
I look in my Roman bathroom mirror
Person reflected is a stranger to me
The green children
No more than sprouts finding their blossoms
Are impossibly older than me
More ancient than the planet’s lore
Poor last good kids
Hunched over and limping
Faithfully lacing duty to their boots
Strapping chores across their shoulders
They walk the cobblestone Earth
Knowing the truth
As a crown of thorns upon their heads
Anxiously crying
Father
Do not forgive them
For they knew
Exactly what they were doing.
Down the hot sun,
I crumble down the snowflakes,
One minute,
One tribute,
Let's have a wintry solitude,
Wrapped in a flesher's heartbrokenness,
I derelict this relict calf love,
Squall on this spur,
Am peel in peals...
Scuttle the fondle,
Dottle the dawdle,
Harbouring an everlasting embosom...
angry clouds crying
over freshly-prepared grave
soldier is home now
written July 8, 2021
My wife always hated holiday feasts
It seemed every year her hatred increased
This year she stuffed the turkey
With hard sticks of beef jerky
And smiled when my relatives called the priest
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