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?
I've come to accept
I'll never do laundry
without losing a sock
I'll never know how
to fold a fitted sheet
or...
...even the face in the mirror
I just don't know why
after having never done so
no more than once or twice
I still believe I can fly
I want to be
one of those pretty birds
who
effortlessly sings
spreads its wings
and pierces the sky
but why try I think sometimes
I might be
I 'm just another broken butterfly
after all
I'm always the white knight
trying to love one
like Jesus
I'm good with things on the ground
like beer, whiskey, and pool
drugs, thugs
what walks the street
the darkness
doesn't consume me
it's just comfortable
but
not
my best happy
what?
do I have to die to fly?
you know how I try
sending words to the sky
believing they'll lift me
well
laugh out loud
I'm just another one
in the
deluded crowd
or
maybe
nobody gets me
yeah
the transformer truck beeps
and backs down the street
it forgets to pick up my garbage
that's okay
it's just another day
I lost a sock
tried to fold a fitted sheet
and
accepted the face in the mirror
Your song sheet on my nightstand,
the soundtrack to lucid dreams.
His fits, in a fitted, offend
With a top sheet, he made his amend
So he opened a store
And he drank a bit more
And now he’s three sheets to the wind
H/T, 2nd verse for Daisy Ward's The Mind
The sheet of glass, akin to space
Is clear and transparent
It yet is a veil, blocking grace
Although not apparent
Likewise for our ego
We are loathe to forgo
Until we bend down low
Love cannot pass
The sheet of glass
07-May-2022
Quietus
“Tee is tard to under-tand,” she tells me.
She is a bit difficult to understand herself.
I suspect she might need speech services.
“T’s married to my gandma; t’s my gandpa-in-law.”
It is really difficult for me to keep my face straight now.
But I do. I have had decades of experience doing it.
Her front teeth are missing, perfectly okay for age six.
I smile at her. She gives me that big double gap grin.
I wonder what other family business she will be telling me.
Okay, here it comes.
A story about Uncle Willy the fee-loader.
This is getting good.
I hand her a new coloring sheet.
This is the key to unlocking the rest of the story.
“Tee takes and takes and takes,” she says.
I smile.
She has stopped crying now.
That was the goal of sending her to me.
I am the elementary school counselor.
On the white sheet,
I love writing...
On occasion I'm rude
when I hit her with
atrocities...
simply i'm crazy
cursing nonsense...
But in general I'm loving
when I draw tenderness,
I am playful, doodling it,
touching her with bulk
horny and sweetness... !
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