The cardboard cylinder begins
to peek,
The prognosis is grim, the
outlook is bleak.
Only three sheets left on this
spinning white wheel,
And I'm starting to think about
how I should feel.
The plush, quilted days of my
youth have all passed,
When I unrolled with abandon
and lived life as fast.
Now the perforations are
marking the clock,
As I desperately downsize my
remaining stock.
Will I go out on glory, a two-ply
embrace?
Or be wiped from existence
with no saving grace?
The roll spins much faster the
closer it gets
To the end of the tube and a pile
of regrets.
I am down to the glue on the
very last square,
Just a ghost of a tissue, a
whisper of air.
So remember me kindly,
unspoiled and undone,
It was a beautiful, two-ply,
magnificent run.
One- Liner
Like the last square of paper
on a spinning brown roll,
we're all just clinging to the
cardboard at the end of the
bowl.
A toilet is my peaceful place,
Where I can just sit and hide my face,
I can sit and relax and read my news paper,
Sit and read about the recent news capers.
Then when I finished my business I realize there is only one sheet,
So I sit there thinking on that cold hard seat,
Then finally it comes to me, I'll use the sports page from my daily news sheet!!
Corrugated sheet
Pock marked with hammer craters
Bronzed at the summit
A porcupine named Prickly Pete
Did doze in his condo in Crete.
When slumber turned sour,
Unleashing his power,
He skewered both a ghost and his sheet.
He bought a steel building
Someone told him to use
Ancient technology to create
A pro founded dwelling
He bought. the building
he decided a rammed earth center
wall would complete the design
Where the garage door is a cobbled
Wall would installate us that in most
Wintered seasons we are due the
Coldness that winter owed
He drilled holes
And installed rebar
And use cobb to create thick walls
Interioral to buffer the coldest season
The Ancients, the Ancients he
Taught and preached to benifet the
Extremes of the seasons
Both ancient and modern
Cause it ain't she-it and my darn
There is chill to ward-way
To winters cold to spay
Might we benifet for natures negagence
And the thermal mass to ease
and not make task
Oh the Ancients he spoke
to be taken serious and be a joke
that man and family should prosper
And benifet not to chore ah-rah-la-ah
The Ancients both modern and sound
Techs broad and ah bound
Cheapest to material these mortals sound
Oh the Ancients!
Every room in Scotland,
Whether inn or a hotel,
Had a comforter upon the bed
To serve most people well.
It was always white and fluffy,
Meant for coziness, I guess,
And at first, when snuggled under it,
I liked it, I confess.
But I always woke up feeling
Way too warm and yanked it free.
Then I had no means of cover,
Which just doesn’t work for me.
So each night I fought that blanket,
Sometimes off and sometimes on,
Thinking if I’d had a top sheet,
All those problems would be gone.
Now I’m sleeping in my own bed,
Comfy underneath the sheet
And if I’m a little warm, I simply
Kick it off my feet.
The leech boasts he ends many wars
With each speech Trump’s truce total soars
His confused amount
And White House account
Are summed-up trysts with Epstein's whores
Reconciling
life’s ledger
hoping
it’s in black
Every deed
and every need
accountable
in fact
Debits
fighting credits
to balance
in the end
The jist of life
through joy and strife
where numbers
— will portend
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
Where there's a will
there's a funeral
death is a fact of life
a grave undertaking
for a mortician
and one day some day
you and I
will wake up dead
hopefully the lifetime led
was of our own making
too late for looking back
no regrets and yet
it's appalling
when we wind up
in a winding sheet
waiting on that beir
aside from six feet under
where do we go
from here?
Some say, 'Heaven,'
some say, 'Hell,' oh well,
by then our goose is cooked, wagon fixed,
and we'll never know 'til it's too late
as they've punched our ticket,
cleaned our clock and wiped our slate.
When we were young and the world was a blank sheet of paper,
the fields stretched green under the infinite blue sky,
each morning was a magic we were just beginning to discover,
our waking hours were an endless play under the sun.
We were overwhelmed by each new day, like an unexpected gift,
each moment brought us a universe of adventures and dreams,
so much to see, so much to do in the garden of time,
and our joy grew with every smile and every step.
We ran through fields, raced with the wind like two old friends,
bathed in rivers and let ourselves be carried by the currents of life,
we surrendered to each morning until dusk enveloped us,
trusting every day like an old and dear friend.
We discovered new pleasures, games, and laughter all day long,
when we were young and the world was a newly born dream,
each second a story, each glance a new adventure,
when we were young, and the universe was a song of beginnings.
What is it about fitted sheets
They don’t seem to stay fitting
Is it the dryer overly drying
When I pull the corners go flying
It looks great for about a day
Till I get in bed and it’s a waste
Fighting the sheet for my fate
Hugging my feet and gripping face
How to fold them I’ll never know
Saw it once on a YouTube video
Before I can learn I’d have to grow
Patience to even want it to fold
So fitted sheet just do you
I do not pretend to have a clue
As to how to force you in place
I’ll buy new sheets throw you away
Spread Sheet comes again
goes around up and more down
his smells are so known
ANGEL OF DEATH
He went to check
up on the cat
tripped over a
crooked vine table
tried to get up
smashed its circular
glass in half
moon shapes
Street silent in
obedience
Angel was waiting in
right hand ceiling corner
said “Look here”
He turned his grey
head neck swirling
eyes like saucers
Angel swiftly drew
outgoing breath
body surrendered
Soul flew into another
Light pod without
a goodbye
Neighbour said
fetch a sheet
a week before
Dad grimaced
“Alles vir Niks”
(All for Nothing)
His wisdom words
he did not fully
comprehend
Angel of Death
knew he was
more than ready
for his Light
pod lessons
He is washing his
hands with his
Mother
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2025
Attached segregated I touched his warm skin yet
Deceased He was asleep he was non awaken
He was hidden he was asleep under the sheet he slept
His chest no longer rose I placed the side of my face contemplating
Down by his nose his eyes were shut closed
No breath his soul a spirit risen he was in death
Detached segregated I touched his cool cold skin yet
No breath his soul a spirit risen he was in death
1/5/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
he used his seat
or keyboard keys feat
or has he used his sheet?
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