Not a Democrat
Is democracy good for individual freedom
a year when spring sprang early
he bought horse and cart and made a living
moving people's rubbish to the town's pit
He was not a man working from 9 to 5 in
a factory where underpaid workers slaved
putting macaroni in tomato sauce, into a tin
he had many children, but was not a pater
Familia, the children grew up with varied
success, some failed while others thrived
Besides, he liked gardening, in the poor
A section of the town people came to see his
display the beautiful flowers
In the night, people came picked the bloom
to give color to their meagre homes, that
It was what he had wanted
He lived a long life, and his wife loved him dearly
No, he was not a democrat
I sit on a throne of unfinished things,
wearing a crown of missed chances,
a robe of echoes and brittle stances,
stitched with the pull of quiet strings.
My mini palace is kept on my palm,
built from silent, paused goodbyes.
I spread my kingdom with quiet gaze,
ruled it with intent none could revise.
I am self-slaved by chosen remand,
My soldier thumb obeys each command
My courtier eyes chart where I land
Time kneels before my wordless stand.
I claimed the void they wouldn't dare
and named myself the nillionaire.
Wings that yearn to soar,
Confined bars steal open sky,
Songbird's spirit fades.
©bfa051725
Fifty years ago...the age of self-reflection
Hollow crumbs, shadows of proud vestiges
As minneapolis' jim crow vanished slowly,
Painfully, no longer admired at country club
Cocktail parties celebrating ribbon-cuttings
My family was inside and unaware of history
Working class achievement,
First deli in marble edifice
To corporate greed,
Connecting the longest Minneapolis
Skyway North to Washington Ave.
Dallas barons, puppet-masters
Guilding their empire on the backs
Of working class talent, eager to eat the
Crumbs of capitalism
Spoon (Mr Witherspoon) slaved to achieve the
Pinnacle of jim-crow "shoe-shine" stands in
Pillsbury's new world headquarters
Admired in his community
Proudly placed out front, then moved
To the back of a hair salon, ignoble-crushed
Under the weight of boardroom glare
jim-crow lost it's shine
Spoon
Lost
His
Leg
4-18-25
5:55am
I slaved for all of three minutes
To enter your last competition.
The finished product was brilliant,
It was sure to take first position.
And then I sat back and waited,
Eagerly checking each day.
The poems were only three minutes long,
So why the long delay?
At last the results are published,
The judging has been concluded.
But you’ve clearly got it all wrong,
For mine has not been included.
Perhaps I was being conceited,
And pride comes before a fall.
So I’ve decided to forgive you.
It’s Christmas after all
So, from birth we’re taught to aim high.
Not the height of the garden fence, the side wall, the house but for the stars in the sky.
So, we’re indoctrinated to believe that the acquisition of power and wealth is the meaning of life!
Slaved to the pound all our working lives.
So, the new car, the new house, the new kitchen reflects our success in this ‘life’!
My shoes cost £800 pounds you know and they fit just alright.
The killer instinct in business is the gold medal that’s needed to survive!
What about kindness and compassion… oh, I’m sorry those the spreadsheet does not a column or row provide!
Work hard, work fast, work harder, work faster and work until you die.
Good luck if that’s you, but for me that’s just not a life.
Capture by them sounds
I was caught up
Axed chained up beat
just dancing slave, dancin to tha beat
~
enthralled capture in retreat
peepers and rocks boulders
climbing hugging broad shoulders
just dancing slave, dancin to tha beat
~
I was captured caught
In slaved by the
...rhymes call a drum
~
drum beat away from
a tribal warring brawl
who am I chance
~
Why am I entranced
mid the entrance
I am movin
just dancing slave, dancin to tha beat
~
Sultry grovin
synchronization move or bust
move at best
just dancing slave, dancin to tha beat
~
I am captive to
the rhymes rhythm beat
Dancing slave
~
and I'm shackle to my feet
dancing to tha beat
we're just dancing slave, dancin to tha beat
It’s my graduation,
What an awesome day,
What can I say,
Up a few steps,
Then capped,
Then down a few,
Between me and you,
All of 90 seconds
No more,
No fuss, no trumpet,
No encore,
I studied, I slaved,
I cried,
I worked through
The night,
For 4 years,
For this honor,
My family hardly
Heard my name,
But this
Was for me,
My moment of fame.
Made all the
More special,
With the presence
Of my 13 year old son,
Homework all done,
Yodeling his admiration,
In true traditional
South African style.
Line of inquiry:
The ego within forced me to resist
But now I wish I had effused a love mist
With aplomb and flair, just kind of left it there
For self-aware souls passing by, who choose to pair
Long ago I was not the girl I am today
lost in wounds and self inflicted sorrow
I was a worldly ghost in a a sea of pain
with no recourse to love, no not at all
Merely existing in a fast track Universe
I worked and slaved all day and night
never seeing the lantern light of God
that beamed towards my wounded heart
Then one day the good Lord found me
in a lost and found box of mere pity
Oh how I longed to exude love again,
the way I did when I was just a child
Dropping my ego like a ripened pear
I let go and clung to the only love I knew
a mist of compassion wrapped me softly
and I knew then, that I was healed.
The heart that beats does scream as my chest tightens,
A sound so sharp it bleeds from me, my every will.
Hath only the mind to break my faith and frightens,
My soul under deep now slaved shall ever be still.
The body does succumb to its own writhing,
I beg this moment cease, the play of such filth,
Like fertile field, every second upon me scything,
It reaps from ground the bounty that blood forth spilth.
The eyes spiral through with sight of mind distorted,
While blind despair does spread as thoughts afflict,
My world falls down, both shapeless and contorted,
I cannot break the grasp that chains constrict.
Into my every being it has pervaded,
The man who weeps as his soul degraded.
It’d been a long day at work
So he sat in the sun
Enjoying the beer he’d earned
The day finally done
Closing his eyes he relaxed
When a persistent peep
Interrupted his dreaming
And he started from sleep
A brown and grey sparrow
Was in a tree nearby
Twittering and fluttering
Darting round in the sky
He magnanimously
Heard the internal call
To build a home for his friend
It would take no time at all
He had wood he could use
Although it had a twist
And it was rotting too
So he added to a list
Along with a tape measure
And extra nails, in case
Also, the saw was rusty
Another thing to replace
An expensive trip later
He had all he required
In fact, he had more -
His card almost expired
Building the box began
He slaved under the sun
Then slapped on some paint
And at last it was done
The bird glanced at the box
And immediately sussed
It was substandard housing
It flew off in disgust
So he was left with the bird box
All wonky and empty
It had cost him $350 -
Bunnings had them for $20
i am the land of legend and dreams
billions of years ive been here its seems
a land of dreaming and ancient ways
i have survived for so many days
now my future is very unsure
a modern corruption is burning my core.
my ancient keepers killed and slaved
by the white masters that dig no grave
my oxygen lungs burnt to the ground
my forests are empty and void of sound
i sit in silence
as the the new owners cause violence.
stripping me of my valuable soul
to make money by drilling a hole
why cant they see
the real wealth is here in me
without me you are dust
so why destroy me ?why you must
modern owners with their chains
enslaving the land for their gains
here my voice
we all have a choice
i am gondwanna land
Wish you were never born
Wish you never came to be
Wish you were never came around
Wish you weren’t my father
All you are is just a ghost
In the backdrop.
You sleep in a coffin
Only to rise from the grave
Looking for a fresh meal
That was slaved over the stove.
You may do minor work
But that ain’t enough
Ladies got the world on their shoulder
While your scratching your ass in the corner.
You are a poison
That tries to kill slowly
But I reject the cocktail
Shoving it down your ungrateful throat
As you choke on your toxic gunk
Croaking like a frog with your hands on your neck.
You don’t spare time
With your loved ones
Too focused on your reflection
Thinking of yourself
While the world burns behind you.
Why were you even born?
Why would your parents conceive you?
Why did you bother having a family?
How do you sleep at night?
Do the universe a favor
Throw yourself in a black hole
Vanish into the void
Be erased from reality
Become nonexistent.
I was sleeping one mornin
The Lord awaken en said ta me
Risin said I was awoken to be a rich man
My Lord God said
I am a Richman
Rich in honor
Rich in His glory
Hallelujah
I was raised to be a rich man
I was blessed to be on top of this land
And I was first to see His righteousness
I wasn't cursed to be involved in any demonic mess
I was risen I wasn't slaved not serve
Devil git B hind me
Ain't no place here devil git out of here
Jesus in my heart now
Jesus was raised a rich man
O' how happy I am
10/27/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
We wear shoes
To protect our feet
Have to please them
With the right size
To keep healthy
To be comfortable
Go all the ways to please them
They will in return
Walk faster
With more stable steps
With more beautiful posture
Moreover some people may
Go further to please eyes
Hiding ugliness and handicaps
Building confidence
Showing off
Capturing admiration
And finally slaved their own selves
Hurting their feet
Forgetting to please
Their own hearts
Their inner souls
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