Short Jottings Poems

Under the pale pink rose trellis
Rose blossoms rained down  
The scent is awesome from petals
There upon the ground

There is a new neighbor
On this country road
For I saw him check out
Cedar cabin abode

Mockingbird did not like him
And tried to chase him away
Never heard such chirping
As the two did display...

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A laptop waits in its black nest.
I consider not writing anything,
ignoring the blood deep voices.

I wish I had a few ending words
to write, completing one story
and the beginning first lines of another.

If I look away, distract myself,
voices might remain un-excavated.
This house of windows and keys
may stay shut, silence pound 
on windows
I can no longer open....

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Adventure - A Didactic Cinquain

Adventure?
Imagined, GRAND...
Experimenting, traveling in space, total care giving?
Braver that I, perhaps?
Dangerous undertaking??

Astronaut?
Maybe not, GREAT...
Wonders of wondering, minds racing, embraced memories?
Jottings, DOWN, perhaps?
Whom am I writer or adventure ??


3/19/19

Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©...

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A new neighbor has moved in
On the country place
How do I know? I saw him
Check out his space

It is a small cedar cabin
Above the grassy lawn
There food is plentiful again
Each day a chorus at dawn

He is secretive and quiet
Slips in and out door
Gathers bugs for their diet
Dew for this water source  

Just some jottings from about 5 years ago in the spring...

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Each morning birds chatter and wake me from sleep
In avian society talk is cheep
**
A balding sheep who writes poems in the farmyard
Has written a sonnet and signed it, ‘The Baaahd’
**
The police came along and I’m locked up with felons
But I only admired the grocer girl’s melons
**
My Gran says respect the elderly or we all suffer
The thing is, she’s batty, the geriatric, old duffer...

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A fellow poet has passed away.
I did not know him in person,
in person he was a name
with a only a shallowly linked life
unknown to me.

Yet on an internet forum
we talked of poetry
gathering jottings of character
and personality. Picking-up
on the nuances of our persona's.

Don't know what he died of
but hope he was not alone,
death should be a last line in a poem
at least somebody overhears....

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in the dust
       of
           butterfly wings

short stories of 
      immortalised  era, 
a
              type cast   'pigeion holed'.

a history 
         as well as an
                entertainment,written
 to realise 
               the wherewithal
           to float  longer indulgences thus
    they become 
 a truer appraisal of giftings 
     and motifs of manners
 described in the prose...

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