Short Skinless Poems

Peach
Ripe, skinless
Talking, pearling, tattling
Ever so overripe
Dish


7/10/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©...

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A bird has
changed its body,
downgraded to

a requiem of light bones,
a lost map of flight,
a bag of foreign coins.

Black as old water,
empty as a gutted fish,
still as a prayer,

skinless as the
crashed sky,
eyeless with dismay....

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How veracious this despair in my wretched hole;
A mass of rosy red once filled, emptied! Masticating me whole.
Collapsing within and imploding without. Skinless in icy cold.
Extinguishing my Sun, leaving me only in darkness so bold. Behold!

Fariq Yusoff
23rd September 2015...

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Extended bones of skinless hands
Reach out with tones of groaning man
They pull her out with growing fears
But she is different than her peers
The pumpkin queen with heart of seed
Makes skinless hands grow heavy with bleed
She dies unto our soul content
to smile no more as we descend...

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sucked out of denim and
cotton, half in running

flat over the bedroom floor
skinless like a cartoon cat

someone I knew the day before
an underarm stainer, a tracer

a schlepper of bad deeds,
hidden in layers, now magic and gone

as I sleep as a big filling
ready to meet myself
in the morning....

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“Beauty is skin deep...” – hmm...I guess
at times it is thus; but I have met beauty
seeming, through and through – and have
met beauty that was clearly skinless~a spirit 
radiating, outshining all exterior gloss! So,
what is beauty? Keats thought it truth. I think,
it is just Beauty...needing no other definition
beyond its presence~that is all.......

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Jensen plays to the skinless drum
Ten chocolate soldiers melt down
by the campside
Platitudes of the night
crimson altar affairs preside

I have forgotten your face
wish i was a pram
under full moon
grateful to be the new born
like a newly hatched larvae

An urbane man chased by 
bedraggled beagles
Forget the rest
cruelty at its own behest
treads to grey





...

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skinless in my suit
i leave my eyes 
within a box;
my tongue in a river.

Boiling heat and summer
where we smell all the
little ones burning
and i cannot speak.

Hell and Heaven are 
rebelling 
AND what youth we have
spent

Oh, Gabriel come
stand with me 
as you with God
"Man of God."

Yea, come.  With
Michael.  Come,
let us scare
the world into love.

:: 11-05-2017 ::...

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Sunday morning 
Sunday morning nice and calm 
Out comes the frying pan 
Skinless sausages turned slow
Toast and tea for me 
The gang come running down 
they smell the golden brown 
How many can I have my children
 say you can all have two today 
My children are all grown up 
No more do I hear the running down
no more the smell of the golden brown
Sunday morning calm why my lip is falling down...

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Most poets who on death obsess 
See white of bone through pale thin skin 
Aware men cold below sod wear 
A skinless face with lipless grin. 

Dark sockets deep instead of eyes 
Where daisy bulb instead of ball 
Replaces organs used for sight; 
While waiting on sweet rain to fall. 

Those poets know, in fact rely, 
On mysteries surrounding death; 
Inspired by it yet still possessed 
Until their final rale of breath....

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Golden Calf slew the secret lizard.
The injured man-fish boiled, blew & died:
A skinless Jew coiled like a snake,
Cold, nailed to a stake. Sad,
Its sinless flesh badly stewed & bled
Its stainless bones not one broken.
Child-god born to a nasty world
To tell slight morals to a pointless people,
Let your Sight
To the blind & sinful light
The mind of the simple to such senseless
Love as yours; such terrible genius you never chose!...

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1000 colorful shadows float around my head
rejoicing in the depths of solitude
they take no heed
singing to the skinless drum
Fate has a circular charm
Tin soldiers caught in the fire
with three madman awaiting their charge
The hounds in their hundreds chase the singular fox

Standing on the hill
dark giving in to light
I cried
kissed the cities outskirts
the abided moonlight
skirted the countryside












...

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I am not a man who loves superficially
When I eat a poem
I peel it skinless with my teeth
Bite and suck the juicy pulp
Lick the seed white before planting it again
I am the lion eating its meat
Don't ask me to gloat on dross
To secure the favor of popularity
Poetry is a sacred gift
Upon my altar it is a sacrifice of totality.
Melt, melt, melt into it
Ice into the ocean blue
Light into sky
Love into you
And let us sip and feast on words together....

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It might be the climate
Or maybe the heat
Which blasts our apartment
And will not retreat…

But every winter,
My skin starts to itch
And nothing relieves it.
(I’ve heard every pitch.)

I’ve tried every lotion
And many a cream
Yet still I’m so itchy
I just want to scream.

It’s not a disease
But a seasonal woe.
When spring rolls around,
It will vanish, I know.

Still, three months of scratching,
Which no one condones,
Will leave me near skinless,
A bucket of bones!...

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Sometimes
it feels like 
a mauling
these bits and pieces
you extract from me
like a parasite feeding 
sucking from my being
my life force without
permission or qualm-
this is my life,
my precious life
if you must feed from me
consume all of me
please, don't leave me 
grossly deformed
skinless, raw
pinked fleshed,
wet, sore and bleeding
open to infection
where yellow pus ooze
the scabby scabs scabbed over
and over and over again.
let me live whole
or let me die whole....

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