ROBERT MUELLER GONE
TRUMP GLAD HE IS DONE
TRUMP A SCUMMY ONE
There is cancer surging through my veins
Leaving the most excruciating pain
I feel the decay
Taking away
All of the things
I wanted to claim
I can't explain
What it's like to be outside of sane
So lets use our brain
To try and maintain
The only thing
That makes us tame
We walk down the street
with a smile at full beam
that way we seem
like we can be a team
But the things I see
Are not really we
It’s I versus you versus the whole damn country
We are at the point where ICE versus immigration is like seasonal hunting
You find this funny?
God damn you’re a dummy
Your bloodline is scummy
How could you see this and not do something
His canvas boots still tell of the mountain,
yet Old Man River has changed, grown or dwindled -
hard to say.
Maybe the ragged winged carrion birds
have spirited him away?
The newly painted river towns
have dragged themselves from the water's edge.
Scummy ripples and fresh waves
mingle in the wake of the setting sun.
An ever-young river queen drowns her sorrows
on the floating bar and pizza barge moored tight
to the lingering mists of tears gone by.
Where the heron's haunt the cattails.
I got myself hitched to a sly-handed girl.
Most nights we row together, listening
to the ebony waves pulling bales of starlight
along rolling leagues of time.
"How about it daddy,"
show me the way,
how you roll that paper,
you make it slay.
"How about it daddy,"
you smell so funny,
is that the reason,
you look so crummy?
"How about it daddy,"
you sleep all day,
you seem so grumpy,
I think you should pray.
"How about it daddy,"
Is it true what mommy say,
that you love smoking,
more than you love yahwey.
the toads do not dive
they plop into the scummy pond
pale green bellies floating beneath them
like airbags
they paddle and back-stroke
through the weedy water
as slow as inflatable boats
when i visit them
i turn into a kid
lobbing pebbles into the spawny drink
to watch them scatter
they remind me of fat men
hastily departing a swimming pool
it is a joke i prank them with
i keep doing this
until they turn to glare at me
heads half-submerged
eyes bulging with indignation
once it began to rain heavily
raindrops crashed into the pond
like exploding peanut shells
.
the toads commenced to croak in unison
the noise almost drowning-out
the sound of the pelting rain
no doubt they were bidding me
to go drown somewhere
the toads do not dive
they plop into the scummy pond
pale green bellies floating beneath them
like airbags
they paddle and back-stroke
through the weedy water
as slow as inflatable boats
when i visit them
i turn into a kid
lobbing pebbles into the spawny drink
to watch them scatter
they remind me of fat men
hastily departing a swimming pool
it is a joke i prank them with
i keep doing this
until they turn to glare at me
heads half-submerged
eyes bulging with indignation
once it began to rain heavily
raindrops crashed into the pond
like exploding peanut shells
.
the toads commenced to croak in unison
the noise almost drowning-out
the sound of the pelting rain
no doubt they were bidding me
to go drown somewhere
(This is a parody of "Frankie and Johnny")
Charlie and Molly were playmates.
Golly, how they could play.
Mornings they'd meet at a corner
to plan how they'd spend summer days.
He was her pal, and she was his gal!
Molly ran down to their corner,
a melody filling her head.
The ice cream man was a-coming.
She searched for her Charlie instead.
He was her pal, and she was his gal.
She asked the ice cream vendor,
"Has my Charlie-boy been by?"
"I seen him with some cutie-pie
back there," was his reply.
He was her chum, but he was a bum!
Molly took off like a rocket,
for she knew who the "cutie-pie" was.
And sure enough she found him.
She lost it right there because
he was her chum, but he was a bum.
There by a scummy ditch
as he kissed her neighbor Grace,
Molly unwrapped her ice cream bar
and smeared it all over his face.
Then she kicked that bum into the scum!
"Pick me up and quick.
Pick me up from this ditch.
Now I've nothing," said Johnny
"when once I was so rich.
I was your pal . . . now I've lost my gal."
April 10, 2023
The egg is broke; the yoke scummy.
I speak of the mind and its mad belief in its thoughts.
The wind is mindless, it thinks not
and so it is more conscious than we.
The blind see better than the mind and the brains optical illusions.
The shell has cracked open -
give thanks for that opening, for out of it
the true essence of you
shall be born.
Scummy waters slow lap
an ill-defined edge.
Broken Spider-tangles
drift like torn wedding veils.
The surface of the pond
is thick with rot
bracken, slime soaked weeds,
the yellowing seep of decay
smears the turgid water.
Yet now a ray of sun
stabs through the detritus.
I watch as a circle blooms
within the crud
light dancing beneath.
Clear water smiles upward!
The heart of the pond
is still beating bright.
I holler 'Amen' to the sky
and don't ask why.
A skinny black girl, her torso submerged,
long neck holding her head up like a swimming Anhinga.
I should not know what a ‘snakebird’ is --- I am eleven years old
and have lived in the same dirty part of London all my life.
Florida is a missing piece in a school jigsaw,
while the British Empire is a scummy quarry basin pond
behind a brick factory.
My body feels rasped by cosmic sluice gates.
I could tell the girl wonderful things,
but my skull is an open hatch
jettisoning the rest of my life.
Small boys call to me in a trilling tongue,
a pictorial language made from sticks and stones.
Their faces familiar but their names
long drowned by decades.
I am recalling, falling through a time circle
in a rippling pond.
Anhinga-girl circles around,
eyes wide, waiting for me to say something.
I don't know how to speak to children from other places.
I gulp water and splutter from a faraway memory.
She grins and frog-legs away.
Same silly secret sin
novelty new spiffing slender sinner
same slow scummy sin
news single slippery sinner
same sin strong heart sinner
same stupid stunning sin
news secret sin choice
same sinner same voice
10/17/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
so cold, silly summer
a cold, smart, scummy summer
so cold, strong, sultry, sunny summer
Yet cold, cold, slow, smooth summer
such a cold,sad, soft, sweaty summer
cold,
just so sweet, scary cold, slimy, spiffing summer
single summer
it's cold, southern summer
8/5/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
it was a beautiful scene
her loyal imperfect heart
her spirit and soul was filled
with the love of God
it was a beautiful, smelly, scummy scene
it was a beautiful, super, stunning scene
it was a beautiful, spiffing, smooth scene
it was a beautiful, solemn, striking scene
her loyal imperfect heart
her spirit and soul was filled
with the love of God
it was a beautiful, slow, single scene
it was a beautiful, strange, soft scene
it was a beautiful, sad, sweaty scene
it was a beautiful, scary, strong scene
it was a beautiful, silly scene
it was a wonderful scene
it was a beautiful scene
it was my wonder, my dream
she’s my beautiful scene
12/12/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Kelso has a boat
smeared to the gunnels,
with cawk and greasy weeds.
At a prow of dawn
he hauls dripping lobster,
and their pots
up the scummy steps
of the silty stone harbor,
pushing a barrow
into the towns brick narrows.
Kelso barters claws and tails
to barkeeps, crab-mongers,
to fish wives and their
salty daughters.
At close of day
he returns
to the bight, the bitty harbor,
to eats mackerel
from a spray-seasoned skillet.
Then Kelso lays back
with his reeky brown dog
and smokes a care-free
funky blue fog.
VOICES ECHO THROUGHOUT THE AREA
THE SOUNDS OF LOVERS PAST
FROM PERSON TO PERSON
SHE SPEAK OF THEIR NAMES
SMILES ABOUT THE MEN IN HER PAST
SHE SPEAKS OF HER INTERVENTIONS
WHERE SHE OFFERED ADVICE TO UNDERMINE
SHE SPEAKS OF BEING UNTRUSTING AS A FREIND
AND BEING UNLOYAL AND UNKIND
SHE WISHES TO BE HONORED AS A WHORE
THE SCUMMY KIND OF PERSON PEOPLE FEAR
SHE LOVES TO MAKE WOMEN ANGRY
THEIR LACK OF TRUST: REFUSES TO ALLOW HER NEAR
SHE STANDS IN WINDOWS SINGING
FOR ONLY IN GOD THAT THIS WOMAN TRUST
HER DEEDS ARE ALWAYS UNDERMINING
SHE SPEAKS OF DOING SUCH
YET THE AUTHER OF UILLUSTRATED PAINTINGS
WILL ONE DAY SKETCH MY FACE
THEY WILL SPEAK ME AS A SINNER
AND WORSHIP ME AS A SAINT
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