the
ice skater
twirled like
a
blue crystal
spinning top
while
she
flowed
above
the
ice ring
like
a
cloud
skater
making
her
signature
soft landing
upon
the
ice floor
The bad news is that time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.” — Michael Altshuler
The sun spills like heavy honey over cliffs,
Drowning the clocks in a sea of amber light.
I pluck a ripe second from the abundant air,
Feeling its pulse throb against my palm today.
Shadows stretch long limbs across the quiet grass,
Tasting the wind before it turns to a ghost.
The sky is a bruised plum, leaking its juice,
Staining the edges of our fleeting breath now.
Forget the iron gates of the cold tomorrows;
They are only echoes in a hollow jar.
Drink the salt spray from the lip of the moment,
While the waves carve runes into the shifting sand.
Mountains dissolve into a purple smoke ring,
As we dance on the blade of a golden spark.
Stars are just pinpricks in a heavy curtain,
Waiting for a hand that will never arrive.
The earth is a spinning top of green silk thread,
Unraveling softly beneath our bare feet.
Hold the burning coal of this hour closely,
Until the light becomes the only thing real.
I was a twirly whirly dancing girl
But not alone, for there was another spinning top
She looked like me, had my face and my smile
We laughed the same, an excited giggle really
Sometimes we laughed so hard, we went into silent laugh mode
Staring at each other as happy tears ran down our face
It looked like we were laughing like hyenas and loons
We were but no noise was coming out
Our childhood was fun; we liked most of it.
Everyone in our small Iowa town seemed to know us
We did not have individual names.
We were both called “Stone Twin” or “Twin” or “Twinsey”
We did not care; life was carefree and fun and wonderful.
We loved playing games, acting out Peter Pan, and making friends.
Being an identical twin was so much fun when I was a child.
Curtains, at Grandma’s house,
hide the inner sanctum -
memories remodeled.
—Quote by Poet
I Recall Curtains
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Village without curtains; and lace.
One bow on a pine, lopsided star.
Intricate lace is snow white.
Many pines in the mountain skies,
the chimney and post office spire
pointing at the twinkling stars, all
hover over the curtainless village.
Rocking horse and spinning top, highlight
the two-storied “Toys and Games.”
I wonder who lives upstairs at the “Bakery.”
Such a teeny tiny village offering, yet
the daintiness embellishes a Winter wall;
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
The world is round,
Never pause playground
Turns round and round,
Our feet on the ground
We never fall-off
We never fly off
A spinning top,
Doesn't wobble, never stop.
12/17/2024
Mental health.
We have the radio on our side.
Then the song creates a curtain.
We all have commercial breaks on our mind.
But for now, we have some random song.
Mental health.
Scraps are constantly being sewn into us.
Stitches being torn.
We don’t even realize.
Mental health.
Toys with us.
A spinning top.
On top of the planet Neptune.
Feels far away.
But planets always circle back.
Mental health, health, health…
Churning. Rambling.
Waiting.
Lying in bed.
As if there’s nothing at all.
I might be mentally ill.
A bird on the window sill.
Tapping the glass.
Eyes that pass.
Or I might just be…
Strange.
Mental health…
Wavers.
when the lord pores holy water
upon the ground
I get the Holy Ghost inside of me
then, I float like a butterfly on the Ferris wheel
I flap my wings and float like a monarch butterfly
The holy ghost moves inside of me
I chirp like a bird in the spring
I clap my hands like a tambourine
I move around like a blue windmill
I spin swiftly like a red spinning top
I cluck like a crazy duck
With its head chopped off
So right now
I want to thank you, lord
for blessing me
while you pore the sweet holy water
all around me
Panther calling Kestrel-- over
No response
Panther calling Kestrel-- over
No response
Panther calling Kestrel, time is critical--over
No response
Kestrel calling Panther, break in comms, big spinning top is taking us into wintertime, you are among friends, sending new coordinates-- over
No response
Kestrel calling Panther--over
No response
Panther this is Kestrel, data coming in now, need immediate sitrep-- over
Panther, calling Kestrel, 19 confirmed, 4 casualties, 4 walking-- over
Kestrel to Panther, go silent--over. (F**K)
Kestrel, calling Panther-- over
Panther -- over
They were friendlies, need to put this down to a bad day at the office, it happens, passing upstairs to hats. Wait out.
Kestrel calling Panther— over.
Panther-- over
Status has now changed, this is no longer a friendly country.
Repeat this is no longer a friendly country, previous sitrep reads, 27 confirmed. Is this correct-- over
Panther–- correct-- over
OK Panther– suggest immediate sabbatical. The big bus is waiting.
Kestrel to Panther__ out.
I pirouette, a spinning-top
poised repugnant, on precipitous,
of vanity's stumbling tumble,
to land humbled, defaced.
The devil’s dry fields
dirt farm, not much yields
damn sun
one forlorn tree shields
Texas battlefields
the one
recline that appeals
low water reveals
not done
no reprieve day’s sun
no wind, land barren
poor crop
windmill slow to run
water still and dun
well drop
worn clothes overdone
unbleached and homespun
no fop
dry, dingy sweatshop
broken fence post prop
damn sun
blind heat nonstop
a silent eavesdrop
poor crop
bleeding fingers mop
hellish spinning top
Grandma
I’m like a spinning top
A wound up broken clock;
What’s the spring comment bling?
My pockets full of loose change;
Spinning around…
I found I’m spinning over top storms and rains
1/18/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
The world is not in pause;
It turns round and round,
Our feet on the ground.
A spinning top,
It doesn't wobble and stop,
A gifted miracle we don't fly off.
4/24/2022
I should like to think that some spark of a watcher
slips away at night to observe our crazy dreams.
Some part of the self attached only to the whirring brain
by umbilical coils of recognition
of what we are when the brain rambles
and stutters along all by itself.
I should like to be outside
watching that drunken twirling sailor
totter and flop through
its flabbergasting counter-realities,
un-meshed moving parts that demand to be
decoded into loosely knit prophesy
or the dyslexic fortune-telling
of all kinds of flash-fiction.
Perhaps better though to leave the brain alone
allow it space to exhaust its madcap maladies,
while the stars call us out to be
what a brain can never be or see.
To be then, an awareness of that greater part of self
watching the brains mechanical spinning-top
dream itself into realms of evermore loopy unlikeliness,
while we explore a self-lit luminous universe
beyond the ken of the brain-locked sleep
of mice and men.
My head is spinning so fast it will not stop,
It's whizzing around like a spinning top.
My brain is buzzing like a bee,
I'm going so fast I cannot see.
I feel so tired I want to drop.
What Has Happened
What has happend to us
we don't know.
No-one understands anyone ,
Never try to understand too.
Noboby tolerates anybody
Almost,we loss tolerance.
All seem to be right
On their feelings,
All 're running on their
Own circumference of life circle.
We Smile like a robot,
We cry like a ruddy shelduck,
We sing the song of progress
Spreading venom in air.
Are we Bhosmasur?
Being red and black ants
we are moving on the
Spinning top,
How can we get down to the earth?
On the mass of rumour and slender
The earth is shivering,
It's time now,
It is high time to stop
The daily practice of
Attacking with arrow of slangs.
The word is Truth
The word is Brahman,
we 're the son of God,
we are epochal.
Why we don't know
What has happened to us?
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