You have a feeling, or a talk…
Neither, though, are what you want.
Or you see something, or you hear;
Still, doesn’t seem right…
Yet, you’d still wanna know,
What your mind, or heart, won’t show…
Anyway, carry on, but still keep the walls on.
At the end of the day, when you’ll try to listen either way,
Just… don’t listen, there’s no solution,
Do what either mind or heart say.
---
vol 3, Maybe Dark, or Not… Maybe…
Putting all our effort,
Into building ourselves a fort,
Will few problems sort,
If unlocking the gate does not seem worth the effort,
When others won't come out of their fort,
Afraid to trust anyone to guard their port,
When they leave their fort
To drink our port,
And toast another good sort.
his mockery was vermin that the smuggler forcibly humming sharksucker
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 24–30, 2026)
Tissues found where shadows begin
Orts of sorts and a bobby pin
Gem clip slipped under hutch nearby
Dust accumulating by and by
Under the couch, as far as I know
A lost sock — hey, that’s where they go!
Leaves leaving trees that somehow sneaked in
Relics of bygone years that cause us to grin
Watching the World Cup with guests on the floor
I’m so glad I vacuumed — I’ll say it once more!
Good Sorts,
Of all colors and creeds,
Give cause for others with humbleness
to bleed.
Should by all be agreed.
Now being seen and believed,
So, we can meet the need,,
To judge more by deed,
And less by color or creed,
Which is all that is needed for
for peace to succeed,
With sharing with those in need,
Becoming such a common deed,
That to comment there is no need,
As at the same trough we all now feed.
Some say I have OCD
or unbridled paranoia,
but I have a PhD
in edible flora.
They don't know what it means
to be a man who sorts his beans.
some loves bout lost come go almost all sorts
motives remain true pure until find not
list least cain hope fewer no good reports
still life like love moves backing forth cold hot
back outing again own each such sigh wish
loss lasts long gone fast run use eye oui next
stuff split rough two there one bright here blue dish
but still be same unself self sans pretext
wait patient fourth floor first ready confess
one day then now was dreamed real life unfold
four most seven great death comes not success
some would telling kisses end life untold
try may believe yes if not near reverse
mind conceives lives another universe
The wind rose early with the busying dawn;
And, rushing into the long avenue of beech -
Laid down years ago to accommodate labouring feet -
Began to scatter over neatly cut verge and lawns
With its own inimitable unruly gust, blow and fuss...
Within a cascading maelstrom of vivid bright yellowness.
Against strong trunks, held firm by steadfast roots,
Groans from creaking boughs as they upwardly heaved
Upon frantically thrashing branches showering
rusted, golden leaves;
Carpeting the rough stones below my trampling boots.
A mad kaleidoscope of leaping, swirling, skipping
colour
Where, as a child, I had once rediscovered...
Two green sandstone gate pillars sat well back
That ushered me under this arched, canopied track.
rattlesnake scales locomotive them around
scales are needed when you make a musical sound
when you weigh food, you mean a tiny numbered scale
larger one needed to measure a dog or a Yak in Vail
on the memory scale, some days I do quite well
Other days I am lost in my own thoughts, here in the dale
My exam is over and everyone is plugged in on phones
earbuds in, except for him, who sleeps, slumped on desk, bag in front
with me the only one who can hear him snoring.
I just feel disappointed
with the answers that you give,
I sit and wait patiently
Whilst you go out and live.
I just feel fed up
With the way you’re acting now,
I want to let ‘us’ go
But really don’t know how?.
As annoying as you are
I will sit and wait,
For reasons unbeknownst to me
Which is something that I hate…
I feel out of sorts and don’t lie
When I say that I can’t explain why,
Or rather I could
But nobody would
Make sense of it, though they might try.
I have some decisions to make,
Though nothing important’s at stake.
Yet, still I am stuck
And not having much luck;
Fear of change is a trait I can’t shake.
Such an anxiousness often conceals
Other issues, although it reveals
Things I cannot express
That are causing me stress;
Lots of people know just how that feels.
i am listening to this song
there will never be another you
tears roll down my face slowly
i remember the look on her face
i recall the eerie quiet
i will never forget wishing that she could have died peacefully and painlessly
i am listening to to this song
there will never be another you
the rain begins to fall
the wind begins to cry
the sky cannot contain her dark emotions
things will never be the same in this frigid world of monotony
i am listening to this song
there will never be another you
a trip sounds so good right now
reality and the situation within is speaking way louder
instead, i decide to go and park someplace quiet and undisturbed
this is the only place i feel like being a seeker of today
We all wear masks of sorts...
the politician more comfortable
than most of us – his/hers made
of latex – easier to contort into
whatever image more advantageous;
driven by public opinion...or which of the
puppet makers will pay more; the Democrat
nose now, sword length
into the heart of Freedom....
The doors of the harvest are open;
Gathering the crops of our hearts;
The living waters nourishing are ever distant parts;
We see abundantly the newness starts;
I am a reoccurring flower;
And I am budding a loaf;
For I am grown and created by the Father;
All my sweet bending art;
just I a sweet bending flower of sorts-
6/21/21
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2021©
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