FLASH
Frenzy flash of feelings forgotten
long lost, hidden, faded frozen
yet thawing slushing
crushing , blushing
on sudden sensation
of mystic exclamation!
Reminisces: Blurred vision.
Confusion or misconception.
Appeared instant !
Perceived significant.
Tried to place.
Vanished ! No trace.
Weird happenstance:
Far fetched fragrance
with faint redolence
Intuitive innocence,
flashed,
crashed !
Deja Vu ! Old view ?
Or new ? Review.
03/06/23
A Brian Strand Premiere no. 1202
Contest by Brian Strand.
vErY if often those of the Vogan after often:
Very variously visions mouth earrings on the feet;
Of the crushing ones;
ViCtoRy is never loss, trials won;
Various cillimeters away craning moduals restrains;
Vogan pass word is VU
cin-computerized tenure;
Of the slushing drones, Vvzzzzzrd, vzzzzzzzzzz
zzz
7/17/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
It is an impressive break up.
The maestro conducts a symphony that
crushes eardrums with locomotive rumbling,
thumping, bumping, and dumping
of large chunks of cracking, crackling
crystalline ice pushing down river.
Hundreds of tons of ice come together –
hopefully without devastation.
It is an environment of change.
In soto voce, soft rippling rivulets,
icicles dribbling, dripping droplets,
the slushing of crusted, melting snow.
Snowshoe hares, squirrels, and wolverine
emerge into full Spring activity.
Mush dogs’ serenades ride the winds,
yipping and campaigning for dinner.
Time to secure Winter’s store of firewood,
move boats and fish wheels to higher ground.
Time to hunt and gather fresh food for stores.
Time to begin restocking fresh meats of
muskrat, beaver, duck, goose, and swan.
Time to rebuild and repair.
Break up –
one of the best times of the year.
One Hundred And Fifty Eskimos.
.
A hundred and fifty Eskimos in town
It’s freezing cold and throwing it down
Hands in pockets heads down to the ground
The cars rush by with a slushing sound
.
The river is flowing a mucky brown
The tide is high
As trillions of tears
Fall from the sky
.
Oh boy
I’m getting wet through
And I’ve got so much shopping to do
While the Eskimos gather supplies
I’m wiping raindrops from my eyes
.
Little ponds grown
With ripples the naughty wind has blown
Get your Khak’s ready
And your wet suit
And your wader boots
.
It’s Friday it’s five to five
I’m so thankful
I’m still alive.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Prison Cohen Started To Head
Prison is where Cohen started to head,
Which is something that he does dread;
His teeth brushing;
Commode slushing;
Eating meals and spending nights in bed.
Jim Horn
Shoulder to sturdy shoulder
solid white workhorses
soak, whirl and twirl
water whooshing
suds slushing
Gleaming metal centrifuges
tumble, toss and turn stiff rags
their wild ride ended
~ soft now, they're tossed in a bag
For my muse, I choose the euphoric source
Of my most transcendent -
Lovely
- Muddy
Memories.
Perceptual flashes? slosh slushing
Approaching an untamed blue-green pond
Just your average amphibian gone blonde.
In sunshine or windward shower.
Loitering around the grassy brim,
On that one slick rock, I stood up
Catch a fish. oooooh, you swift ~
Let it back in?
Or you could...
Run screaming like the flaming river rumbling down the mountain.
To the lunulate lagoon?? in the front yard
Hop & stand
Fish in hand You. Have. To. Make. It.
But the gargantuan estate. . . it's too late.
That tiny t-rex gait, might just seal
That golden guppies fate.
Cause you sprung like spring
And set that little sucker free.
Harvey
I sit in my chair
Lovely music playing;
Afternoon sun shining;
Birds filling up to roost.
I look out my sliding doors;
The ferns are lush.
I hear a baby cry,
There is a sloshing sound,
Muscle sore boatmen
Never giving up.
Just a short way south,
Could I but see through the trees.
Last night fell.
Wet ladies from a nursing home,
May have to battle pneumonia.
Children’s new backpacks drowned.
Soon there will be silence and slushing,
Hovering people in shelters bewildered.
Families clinging.
No work today, except to survive.
When all is lost.
Politicians doing what they do.
And yet, Harvey has not died, nor does he sleep.
Soon again, it will be dark.
Distinctly extinct, the last mink is on the brink, toes curled round a spring board over an ice rink.. the warm blood of his family slushing the surface and resembling candy, no way out but down, or can he shuffle his limited vocabulary eloquently to achieve a level of adequacy resulting in he being allowed to see more days but the onlookers have retreated behind a soundproof pane, his cries in vain, years of torment, once congealed in his brain start to liquidize and flow down his face like heavy rain.. his clan below have stopped squirmin' , death has set in and now aims for his sternum, he still can't get a word in and it's so unnerving that his knees snap back and he feels the ice burnin'.
I thought of you but did not know how to write
All the things collecting dust inside a heart
Since the walls of boyhood crumbled, and we apart
No longer come slushing through the mud tonight.
I have kept naseberry seasons with juice sweet
As an old man's passion, running down the cheeks
I have chewed cold joints of sugarcane, the feet
Of old empires grown proud where new mercy seeks
My peace. And this different from the day's quiet
End when on beds of sand we woke our dreams, met
The coming of our hope in the eyes of girls yet
Blooming like mangoes in may. Life is today a diet
Of choices, and we are doom unless we obey; and I
Should obey those inner voices for seasons dry
Longing now: and that was when orange rind made
The only tears that two young extroverts displayed.
Where the cold winds come tramping through the woods
And leaves fall like dandruff from the woodland hair
Where memory retraced broken stems and seared buds
And white mist meanders more than mist upon the air
Where the roads have parted and never meet again
And what is so seldom is joy, and what might have been
Like a pendulum swings from moon to moon. The rain
Makes rivers in valleys along side the sniffling nose, keen
As birdsong, through the slushing heart, eyes wet still
With the wonder of all we take over the stubborn hill
All this, all this, the man, the child, clankering thought
Life is a promise, and love a wonder so little wrought.
Weather respite
Now just winds and minor flooding
SLUSH!
The human animal begins to believe
There is a God after all
Oil and dirt soaked snow outside doesn't look so bad
After all a spell indoors has restored
Pride in living
Floors swept
Everything meets the eye dusted
Hot tub after
Hot tub
So? gained a few pounds over
The holidays
Hell! One feels like walking
The mall
Grocery store
Yes!
Restore depleted stock
And more.....
After sales
And after after after
After maneuvering the aisles
After slushing through streets parking lots
After the impersonal experience renews
So?
What's new -
Same old adrenalin surge
Same rejection after
Same morbid insecurity
2009
Back in the hole again
Walking home, late at night
Heels clicking dully on the pavement, muted by the snow
Softly falling flakes, silent cold shroud
Even the passing cars are reduced to no more than a slushing sound
Pools of streelight serving only to remind one of remembered light
Then, an odd noise; a low dark growling
Pick up the pace, heart beating like a small frightened bird
Hurrying now, but something's faster
A flash of movement in the eye's corner
Blood, so bright against the softly falling snow
The softly falling snow
Sunken to the bottom in the snap of blue delight
to simply bathe in glittering and crystal slushing ice
Silt and streaks of sunlight blowing through the gills of fish
sneak their skin upon my lips to usher in a kiss
Winter wilts and stutters as I shine my surface eyes
bubbles slipping upward toward the warmth of summer skies
Hold my breath to silver while I listen to the flow
Giltter lake alive my pulse until I start to glow
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