L-5 and S-1—
Vertebrae pain is no fun;
Intense, searing burn,
And sharp electric shock zings—
Such unwanted, nasty things.
JULY SEARING SWELTERING
Heated hot placement boils torrid;
Desert a blazed atomic fire;
Summer hot breath balmy pungent;
Searing aromatic spiced boils;
~
Summery canicular toasty;
Seething is fervent fiery;
Heated hot placement boils torrid;
Summer hot breath balmy pungent;
~
In this muggy sizzling fervid
Scalding warm glowing July day
7/30/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
I can’t see the sun, but I know of it’s beauty,
a radiant presence, constant and true.
An Invisible warmth that gently touches my skin.
Much like the way I feel your presence around me.
I don’t feel its searing heat, yet it warms my face,
Its light reaching me even when it’s hidden from view.
A reminder of the subtle ways love can manifest,
in the quiet moments when I think of you.
This is not the entity that has been touted and written about
since the times before tamed fire
It is fire, it is malevolent and for that reason it entices me
Enveloped in a shroud of rage unrelenting
Uncaring in its timid posture, it sits patiently
light caressing its curves like a flamenco dancer
In the veins of a volcanic structure, streams of magma
flow slow and serene, effortless in its fervency
I see it staring back at me, and I must pay my dues
for such a crime to even think I could withstand it
My fingertips wavered within its presence, and yet
with daring stupidity I embraced it, the entity
I believe in the torments of Hell now, this is not of Earth’s soil
Lightning flailed like a wailing newborn within me
With every breath I took, every single one,
was a step towards inevitability
The bellows within my body were a searing forge, the sands
of my finite years turned to glass entering my airways
But oh what divine fruity ecstasy you are
Gehenna, this entity that offers me spiritual sustenance
in this experience of culinary S&M
The silky searing touch of sappy loving blood is all too much,
Milky stars melting into my murky mind as my body's red mud burns to the touch.
Make my hole riddled skin into astronomy,
Chart something pretty into my mortal flesh that holds too much within to be.
I see stars so let me be them,
Pressure building up into collapse to be the divinity of the friend they saw in him.
Dying, this body knows it to be raspberry meshed true.
Lying, I smile and laugh about the filth fleshed hue.
I wish not to be he who slithers in spite,
I wish not to be he who stares empty at his ceiling fast through the night.
But alas these eyes already a canvass for worlds to build,
Shedding and molding my mucked intent to be suicidally willed.
Alas it at last hurts too much to see,
So rather I pray for you to let me be astronomy.
-end-
I watched a man,
once, far away, long ago,
nameless, like a grain of sand,
in that humid, fertile land,
moustache, dark skin,
rough hands full,
of bleating flesh,
rough steel,
piercing the side,
of pink skin hidden,
under dirty wool.
Now, crimson stained,
a kick,
a bleat,
then releasing breath.
How like their pain,
that piercing moment,
that bleating,
the end,
that never ends.
Kicking on the blade,
of my traitor's mind.
Soon to turn on the rusted spit,
charring my soul,
turned by my hand.
I envy that goat,
feeling steel only once.
While I turn,
turn,
turn over flames,
of my searing thoughts.
searing pain reemerges
each time I pass the hospital
creeping up to burn my eyes
subsiding with time, but never forgotten
when the doctor gave his prognosis
all Dad’s children were there
blades of hopelessness hit my heart
cutting it into pieces
instructions came in his living will
we did as he requested
wishing I could take this last journey with him
but knowing he would want us to thrive
my hand on his, I bowed my head
the puddle beneath me grew with each tear
another loving memory
another agonizing drop
many minutes seemed to pass
after machines were disconnected
too many minutes
too many memories
August 4, 2020
For Constance’s “Dusty Old Memories” contest
seething hatred
in your heart
simmer in your soul
at the start
then rip your whole
being apart.
My heart stood still that first day past
When I met you in world so vast.
You did not see the searing flame
That torched my soul I could not tame.
For me evermore die’s been cast.
What puzzling thing makes me to love?
It’s not will but an inner shove.
Of secret hand that gently moves
Within my heart to make its grooves.
Hidden, working in velvet glove.
You left so easily,
for solid reason too,
I stopped seeking caress and love
Only harshness and brutality
Cold air and freezing rain
It makes me feel alive
I’m ****ed up gone
Blasted awake
I’m stoic Irish
And I’ll take it to the grave.
Night is my day
And I’m searching for a light
So far away
An ascetic dies in a shoe
spilling blood.
A surreal moon
wants to investigate –
a sectarian divide of
fraudulent sky.
And you want to be buried
under rose petals –
courting controversies
to clean the polluted river.
A lifeboat was needed
to take you for a quiz –
singing national anthem.
Emblematic,
You were sharpening
your nails.
Satish Verma
Lead me not into the fire
As damnation burns deeper
And my soul cannot bear
Another searing hot flame
Please do not scorch my life
I would die a horrible death
If you take me to burn by fire
Deep within my scalding heart
Russell Sivey
Autumn’s tortoiseshell sky
reclined across mountain’s chaise longue,
content to linger
while night stirred and rose.
A tangled weave of broken limbs
lay like nest for dragon’s sleep,
and they came, draped in woolen armour,
quilted masks pulled high
against flailing artic wind,
virgin warriors, wide eyed
tasting the wild adrenaline,
anticipating their conquests flesh
as it roasts in dying embers
of funeral pyre.
Now from the cart
frozen in fear, they carried our victim.
Alabaster skin reflecting flickering brands,
no sounds escaped his painted smile
when we placed him, like a king
upon his final throne.
A circle of stony stares
let murmurs slip,
“Remember, remember the fifth of November
gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
should ever be forgot... “
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