Short Somebodies Poems

It's not very nice to gloat
When anybody rocks somebodies boat,
But some people are bad
And I am glad,
When it's Trump's, a senile old goat!...

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Squealing tires could mean many things.
Somebody is chasing or being chased.
or somebodies just blowing off steam.
Sometimes screaming cherries and bullets
are the next thing.

Suddenly everything's quiet as a winters' nest.
Sometimes squealing tires are prophets of death....

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the first frost makes you wanna hug somebodies
standing out in the elements separate
the wet moist cold lips makes you wanna kiss
those brighten eyes lit so shines, there's no apologies
Come here my love let's be 
WARMTH


                                               12/8/22
                     Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©...

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Love and affection makes the world turn babe,
to go with out love, is, maybe  is a cold grey glove,
drab ending of days no direction, 
no point in being somebodies slave
which makes sad dull in perfection.
find and connect the one perfect love,
to give a sad life some connection.
Don

(I remember some old love movie where it went from colour to black n white on the Broken heart part}...

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You preferred the milestones of life
House, kids, somebodies wife
I preferred the simpleness of our mile markers

pitter-patter of running feet
1 mile 
then the beep

sweaty brow
Bright clear eyes
tip toes 
as you come in to celebrate
with a kiss
running with you is pure bliss

i preferred to celebrate
each mile with you
my love for you 
was simple and pure
I wish the immensity of it you knew....

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Only History
You name historical figures
And the  they endured
It’s almost you wanna be them
Named you a wannabe
Reliving your trauma
Making it mine to suffer
As they did and you do
But remember this dear victim
They were all somebodies
While you’re a nobody
Pain is pain trauma is trauma
Status is status a loser is a loser
Enough said there





from LIZARD SNAIL 124K
Nick Armbrister and other writers

out late 21 or early 22...

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I young,bearly talk.
Exploded head laying in my bed.
Worst sounds turns into the best.
Like listening to a heart beat in somebodies chest.
The rest of her life rest upon my hands and melts like snow.
Oh so cold.I cant feel my nose as my chin hits the floor.

I cant let go.
I lay her body down and watch her wings grow.
Stearing at her soul sore into the white smoke.
I try to hold on but these hands cant feel,these hands cant hold on.
To a man thats real....

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All 8 billion of us
have mental illness
some 
subtly 
so
others profound
its a matter of degree
of shade..

some reach out - adapt
become chefs-CEOS- presidents
others curl inward
cannibalize themselves
crapping out 
psychopaths  
creeping about
raking fangs along 
our plump peace cloud... 

We've emptied asylums
population at critical mass
somebodies gonna crack
lay twisted neck upon the tracks
derailing society
plucking lives
off the vine
before 
they're
ripe...

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Somebodies gathering dust, in the 
blue-grey twilight;  I see him, but
not his hidden face;  he stoops down,
like a father with his child, but he
has no busy rattle, 
but a dust-pan and a brush,
for scooping up the livid, fiery
dust

yes, I’ve seen him here before,
but more often, in parks with swings
and busy market floors

yet, today is not the same; no, no it’s not 
the same at all; and when  I ask him, why?
he slowly turned around and said, 
 ” I’ve come to gather you,”...

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