Short Wringer Poems

Hortense was an Opera singer,
Who thought she was a humdinger.
Every breath that she took,
Screamed like a strangulated chook,
The audience put Hortense through the wringer....

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Those migratory storks,
will not come
this year.
The lake was burning.

The secret kill
of the wringer
was metastasizing.
Make the tether-

small for the macabre
end. I am not yet
frozen. The stalker

will not leave the
flame. Outside a tribute
was ready for
an uprooted tree.

My shadow moves ahead
to catch a cage bird,
in the parrot green sky.



Satish Verma...

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If this world were a film?
And people were watching
If there were no cut scenes
And none supervising
If all events were real
And you choose your acting

What role would you play?
Which genre would apt
How long will it take
How short will it slack
Think before you say

Drama? Action?
Science friction?
Play? Comedy? 
Crime? Tragedy?

Amend now
Don't forget
It is now

Stop BAD
Rise GOOD

START!...

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The days of May were wrapped around my finger.
Love settled in as though it meant to stay,
Exacting joy as if pressed through a wringer.
The days of May.

In June and July love went a bit astray,
Living as a strolling minstrel singer.
Gone was the sweet contentment of our May.

Then as the cold winter days would linger
Love sought the warmth of that sweet early day
Before it tried that reckless time as swinger.
The days of May....

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Disbarred from the encompassing
Travesty...
Color TVs and refrigerator
Combined together makes ice pictures
Filled with yellow ketchup mustard

Contemplating something
Distorted glass melting diamond rings
Frozen displaced clutter
Washing machine wringer
Dolphins laughing there're such singers
Lastingly...
Encompassing from disbanded
Travesty disbarred

8/21/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr  2019©...

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