Yon rock you represent me, once dust a mark or character used as a conventional representation of an object
No, do I worship thee
your function, or process, I admire so easily
rock is a sign
rock is a character
rock is a mark
rock a letter
Hieroglyph, a ideogram a thing that represents or stands for something else
especially a material object representing something so abstract
you’re a symbol of solidness
you’re a symbol a stone without a face
you’re like me a rock yet without a soul
rock my emblem
rock my token
rock my sign
representation rock figure my image
you’re a symbol of solidness
you’re a symbol a stone without a face
you’re like me a rock yet without a soul
12/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Written for class December 24, 2019 assignment (WIPS)
North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
Hard is my sins;
Jesus mercies and forgiveness ;
His grace dismisses
He's my solidness;
And in Him, I'm extremely blessed
And I need do is trust in Him;
And all I need do is to trust in Him;
When I need a solid stand...
When I need a solid hand...
Trust in the Lord, trust in the Lord always;
Trust in the Lord always;
8/18/19
Isaiah 26:4
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Feel the stability of solidness under your feet.
We get accustomed to standing on concrete..
Firm and steady no thoughts of a quake.
Until the day it shakes you awake..
The cracks begin and we start falling.
Trying to stay up but some are crawling..
Rocks are rough and cutting us deep.
Maybe its a dream and I can go back to sleep.
Think, think I need to keep my head.
All around is nothing but red..
I need help but the anchor is no longer here.
Slowly you struggle to get out afraid you will disappear..
In the middle of the meadow she stands.
Majestically reaching toward Heaven.
Beautiful in her solidness,
Patient and serene.
From beneath her branches
Kisses are stolen between lovers,
Their initials etched within
Proclaiming immortal devotion.
She is an enduring sanctuary,
Absorbing the suffering.
Tears from broken hearts fall.
She comforts the forlorn.
Youngsters are tempted into her shelter,
A magical secret hideaway.
They clamber into her green haven,
An enchanting retreat.
Friends rendezvous beside her,
A sociable meeting place,
Intimacies are shared
Amid her familiarity.
For years she has stood proud,
Her roots firmly grip the ground,
So glorious and green.
She is so much more than just a tree.
Oh Death
My heart is breaking
I can't stand this aching
My heart drips with tears
Tears that will flow for years
Emptiness replaces the solidness
Solidness that was love in my mist
The mist that still lingers like a kiss
A kiss that lingers in my mind and soul
The Soul that now knows
Can only hold you like a rose..
Imaginary equivocates
Inquiring all along the states
In a silenced unreal fullness of Time
Necessity and Space, for a while
Forever unconsciuous of her mind
Inexistent demonstration of her exile
Our world, our dimension, our style
Decided all in one only night
Before the announced wreckship of mankind
Unnatural and delight
of our notes, dreams and lines
that were simple vovels of an infant cry
Above the sheet of shyness
And over the street of soleness
The tremble of a while
An electrified dumb image of dismay
As it looks from behind
It’s a simple algorithm
But with no way to retourn back again
For the eternal stage of fearless Fate
I have walked for a mile
in her footsteps.
She
offers a cooling balm
for the heat of my frustrations.
Leaning against that solidness gives pause,
to stop and drink in
the shade of her wisdom.
And I
marvel at the juxtaposition
of her willowy to my thick;
her smooth to my rough;
my prickly attitude to her leafy logic.
How she
lends a new perspective on
an idea ripening, dropping and withering;
a heart left in a mulch pile or
a dangerous flicker of doubt to be snuffed out.
Mirth crinkles in the corners of her eyes
as she too
carries faded battle gashes
where love has loped off
a once extended branch.
Her grove collectively offers comfort
for fruit born of loins,
falling and nestling
within rolling distance.
No more soothing a sound can be heard,
than rootsy laughter of womenfolk
of trees of magashi.
Copyright © Sandra Sealy, 1999
*First published as Guest Poet @ Poet Whispers
http://poetwhispers.wordpress.com
The blue, blue skies of Manhattan.
Scores of bird's going off for the night,
hoards of flightful fancies,
singing through the clouds,
flying tall and proud.
Sea breeze,
chills and the big freeze,
the solidness and frost bite in my toes,
my goodness I need to stop moaning.
He’s like my idol in today’s generation
the Holy Father who’s an answer
to the growing tensions in our religion.
Catholicism in its form and nature
Pope Benedict XVI, a real option.
his gifts are shared and given witness
that spark solidness in our foundation.
As excerpts from his Spe Salvi
which means On Christian Hope
I love to quote what St Paul says
“spe salvi facti sumus”
indeed, ‘in hope we were saved’
His openness to the melange of issues
his sadness over weaknesses in faith
those gospel cries of peoples across globe
are invitations to realign those values
that speak in the fullness of time.
Press me from behind
My back to your chest
Your flesh between my thighs
Exhilarate me
Watch my blush rise
From my breast
Up my long neck
My face glows
The solidness of you
Fills up the substance of me
I walk through a barren forest
I hear the thunderstorm coming
Raining my tears of sadness
I walk, crunching on the falling dead leaves
A forest fire burns in my mind
Taking with it all the hated people
Burnt grass scratches my feet
I feel cold and lost
Raining tears drop from my eyes
Wetting my bare feet
Thunder roars
Lightning crackles
My tears drop to the ground
But I keep walking
I step in the snow
It makes me fell colder
I keep walking
Frost bite paralyzes my toes
Hail falls
Kicking my head with its solidness
I walk into a pitch black night
Darkness surrounds me
When will I hear a bird song?
When will I see blooming trees?
When will the shining sun come out from hiding?
When will I see clear water?
When will I see green nature?
When will I see puffy white clouds?
When will I feel the touch of pure blue lakes?
When will I see a forest full of joy?
When will I know what it feels like to be happy?
When?
Love for you is such a pretty hope.
And when the airplane went up -
airplanes are such... most.
And they fly up in the sky
from met you's and get you's
and peace and courage and solidness
from the sky
and then when your weak bones
don't unwind
they weak in the heaven of your weakness
and then you don't fierceably tremor.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.