Darling you’re a picture show
In the albums we possess
Are you resting there? I know
That you weren’t keen to rest
Couldn’t you somehow remind
What the spirits are about
Give a tip I fail to find
Deep within me, and without
Darling it’s the autumn wind
Blowing here, and leaves are flying
Unprepared for winter’s stint
Weeds and grass are slowly dying
With the first stroke of the frost
Summer ends, and we get older
Though we aren’t as old, as lost
In the eye of the beholder..
I woke inside a sphere
with no seasons...
a planet that forgot
how to turn.
Thoughts drift like pale spirits
with too many eyes,
gazing on the edges
of unfinished dreams.
I try to speak,
but my voice becomes vapor,
curling into symbols
that the air refuses to read.
Still, somewhere
a door made of thunder
waits to be opened
by a hand I have not grown yet.
I saw a grandma's eyes doze
In her walk she stumbled
She had a calm quiet stagger
See drunk of the firewater
Oh those spirit had her stumble
She would wave as she walked like a branch , a leaf in the wind
She drank the spirits
Now my grandma was the only one
Then I saw with mine, eye rassel lawn chair
Oh , it was rare to see this woman trying to get out of there
She drank the spirits
50%, calm and quiet 50%. stammering rage, quiet
Yet on the flip side of the coin
She screamed. rated and ranted like a roaring lion
It wasn't water, it wasn't KoolAid? It wasn't Coca-Cola, or Lipton tea
Grandma don't know if you was alcoholic, but you sure was close to being near it.
Ma, grandma drunk them spirit
Lo, them there ---"the spirit of "al co hol"
Those demented the liquid
Grandma drunk them spirits
8/9/26
Written wirds by James Edward Lee Sr
Their world comes alive at night
tainted spirits roaming free
concealed by darkness
breathlessly stalking you and me
Think you all is quiet, all is safe
Innocence! – Let
Nighttime's denizens pick off with ease
her targets of death and disease
I was there standing talking to you
A boldness to a new world of confidence and will
Gently pulling the secret strings of my heart
Each minute she speaks
Its as if with an angel s voice
She guards her disguise
Notes fall down like snowflakes
Melting on my nose ,cheeks and brow
Ill sleep well tonight
Hoping to dream of your playful ways
It may be love
Or just a bridge over a feeling
To get to a special place
Like a beautiful spot to picnic in nature
It rediscovers me as a kid
When I was happy to be alone
In a World I made up to explore
By now,the interest of attraction has become an art
Spent my money on gambles of loneliness and moments that smile back
Notes fall down like snowflakes
Melting on my nose,cheeks and brow
Ill sleep well tonight ,hoping to dream of your playful ways
It may be love or a bridge over a feeling
To get to a special place
All I have is my thanks
Even just to be my friend
Even when they do seem to know
that they are already truly free
It seems that the sacred doe below
will show them what the Fae see
The wildflowers will still bloom
and our local creatures will be
Happy on Earth where there's room
for Nature's full glory to be seen
I saw
the spirits of
the freedom fighters
rising from ashes
and addressing
the cowardice
countrymen:
Is this
for this
we had fought for
your freedom?
The tragic tyrants in power deny the truth
Bigotry and cruelty lie deep in their roots
Their souls will always be tainted with soot
He is too loud; we've already pressed mute
If we could sit on Gods throne, for just a day,
how many people, would we toss away.
In our own vengeance, would we spare no pain,
with fire from hell, would we make it rain.
Who would be left, who would we save,
and who might we bring back, from the grave.
The truth is this, we sit on a throne each day,
as we cast our judgements, people get tossed away.
In our own anger, hatred and pain,
our words of death, pour out like fiery rain.
As many as we’ve destroyed, there’s as many that we can save,
bringing love to the heart, bringing back their life from the grave
Take a look inside you, you know just how you feel,
when those words of death come at you, it’s the heart that they kill.
Good or bad, right or wrong, night or day, life or death you see,
we’re flesh, and bone, blood, and water, moved by the spirits, that we be.
Oh, tales of darkened spirits,
Memories of special loves
Pass me by and free my soul,
Purge my pain from me.
Thou with thy pleasure and dreams of delight
Hast thy reasons forgotten themselves?
Hast thy shadows darkened thy own soul
And taken to mark and score
The clean days yet to appear?
Poem first published in Withering Words Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
I collect kindred spirits . . .
friends who become like family
people congenial and compatible
honest, trustworthy, compassionate
people akin with me in many ways
bound and amalgamated in thinking
affiliated, unified in most things
we are stuck like glue . . .
think and feel things, emotional
though, at times have different viewpoints
which we each respect
we love the same things
birds, fauna, walking, nature
gardening, art, music, hearty debates, writing
and talking over coffee for hours
and thus we are forever
kindred spirits . .
KINDRED SPIRITS
alienation
in
absolute
isolation
with
impressions
drawing
enthusiastic
inspiration
in
ever growing
intellectual
inspiration
from
graphic
pseudonym
insights
of
diligently
familiar
resemblance
Evil spirits rotting thoughts
Evil spirit heard a happy thought going by
Trapped in the house where it departed
It twisted the joy into a jagged blade,
Dipped in shadows and pride.
It drove that spike through the victim’s ear,
And it nested deep in the brain.
The man thought he was losing his mind,
As he listened to the whispers of pain.
But it wasn't madness or a wandering wind,
That made his skin turn cold.
It was the spirit, feeding on his light,
Until the story was told.
Her tears of wildflowers ‘n whiskey,
Wistfully drifting thro’ the soothless air,
E’ermoor the pineful sobbing, ruefully;
Oft daring darling birds to wane the fair,
Chid not the girl for tears for boys for joy
Much lost upon the mirror, ‘eep tonight
Without the woes nor cares of youthful boys,
‘Eep sweetly from the tast’ of whiskey’s bite,
Ere long the dreams of wheat smoked barrels stir
Your deep slumbers keep, dream of many things,
The rye, the warming oak, caramel and myrrh,
And soon, much too soon, the nightingale sings.
Rest now, dear heart, let sorrow’s tempest cease;
For even broken wings may sleep in peace.
Carved from dawn's own breath,
two white swans glide,
their wings lifting the quiet
that once enveloped the world in wonder.
The lake, still holding the memory
of creation’s earliest shimmer,
opens to cradle their passing.
They slowly turn toward one another~
twin spirits recalling a venerable vow
spoken before time learned to count.
The reeds lean closer listening to
the ancient winds whisper,
love begins in gestures like this
silent, certain, older than the sky.
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