The dogs are in their pen
We have a new video app where we can watch them
We look into Joe’s cell phone at their usual places
No dogs
Did they escape?
I turn the video camera to the gate
Long sigh as I realize it is still bungee corded shut
Buddy is tall; I see his back walk past the camera
Is that a deer? My husband asks, looking over me
Maybe It’s a dog, I suggest
I look closer
Whatever he sees, I do not see
Nothing gets clearer with age
Momo blended in well with the trees
moved fast considering he was walking in brush
we followed this big-foot-like-creature down the Missouri River
It was 1971, we knew he was an anomaly.
Tried to tell people.
They thought we had been smoking pot.
I have never smoked pot
But I have seen Momo, so I know he is real
He appeared taller than other men,
his coverings were made of leaves
he blended in with the trees
we think we found his camp
it was a horrible smelling place
I sense you lurking and searching, just hanging in the backdrop.
Waiting, anticipating a spiritual eavesdrop.
My vision is clear, as I only need my first eye. The other two only serve as confirmation of the presence of a spiritual spy.
My spidey senses are tingling; the detection alert is on "Red." A schematic reconnaissance is in motion; the subject is carefully read.
There's nonstop monitoring and spiritual gazing.
With spies listening and peering,
For intel and character smearing.
Their mission is clear: to steal, destroy, and kill.
My! What a baneful bastille.
But salvation and freedom of sovereignty reside deep inside.
And there is a mighty fight against evil tides.
Free will is bestowed by the most high,
Meanwhile, dark spirits still lurk and spy.
I am sitting on
the mountaintop
looking at the terrain
the clouds are moving
and the wind is blowing
it seems dense covering terrain
it never stops wind blows
the tree waving sources
cascading clouds
manipulating humidity turn to rain
In tuned to my surroundings
I Sitting here atop the mountain top
Spying the terrain
7/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
fanciest binoculars I have ever seen
spying on neighbors, so far unseen
love seeing that Daddy kick out his screen
hiding now, not as keen
SPYING FULL MOON
everywhere I went, she was there—full moon peeking through the blinds at me…
There was a gang of ringtail weasels living down in the holler.
My mama knew it and said she would pay me a dollar
If I would go down and spy on them to find out their intent.
I told her I would do it if she paid me an additional percent.
A percent of the gold up in the attic? She asked.
I assured her this is what I meant, as I was masked.
I hid in the corner and heard those weasels chewing and burping.
They devoured rabbits, rodents, lizards, and now were slurping.
Their nests were in piles of rock piles, and one lived under the barn.
He was the biggest one, and scary, and I must say this is not a yarn.
He turned on his kin, and began to eat them one by one.
Watching this horrified me, and I was soon on the run.
A ringtail weasel has a keen sense of smell, and his sight is good.
He chased me home, as only a diabolical ringtail could.
I was scared to death and refused to leave the house after that.
I still have nightmares about it, at the drop of a hat.
I saw red reflecting off flakes of snow;
as I stared out my window on tiptoe.
And I'm pretty sure I saw Rudolph's nose:
though it could have been a plane, I suppose.
I couldn't see his sleigh amidst the shadows:
but I knew that Santa Claus always shows.
And then, I heard bells jiggling, and I froze:
I'm spying on Santa; what if he knows?
I flew across the room in my bedclothes:
and closing my eyes, I pretend to doze.
What happened next, I can't rightly disclose:
let's just say spying's best left to the pros.
Roots surfing over the soil
Whether to spy?
The noses and tongues of lives
To tell roots gone deep
How best fruits to bring tastes?
How small,small flowers to smell?
Wearing green at full moons height
Singing the song of fairy spite
As faeries dance in a ring
And as they sing their dreadful spell
My head starts to nod,eyes heavy with sleep of the dead
My thoughts filled with the music of hell
I hear the shadows whisper beguiling words
Meant to drop me and take me under
The flames dance high as I watch my fears made real.
So beware the beautiful song of rage on a midnight clear
Sung by creatures fearful
This is the court of death.
While they do their snazzy dance
I sit quietly, holding my breath, enraptured.
Marveling at their poise and their daintiness.
The forest is quiet, the slow pop of the embers the only sound.
It would be a great night to hear an owl.
The queen senses someone is about.
I am a secret watcher, uninvited to this campfire dance.
I hold my breath, and remain hidden behind a felled giant oak.
The queen has stopped dancing.
Her opalescent wings show themselves.
I take off on a run, listening to my footsteps
Crunching against dried leaves on the forest floor.
Pursued by a faerie.
Spying On Other Poets
On other poets, I am spying,
Politicians seem to be trying;
Must surmise,
Perceive lies;
Like telling stories and lying.
Trump Is Denying Trying and Spying
There are many new things Trump is trying,
That at the same time he is always denying;
Sit in sun;
Nothing done,
And wonder who next on he shall be spying.
Jim Horn
I am sitting at the secretary’s desk, the biggest conference score.
I am a voyeur today, thirteen screens, show the playgrounds and the door.
Thirteen screens showing parental visitors moving to and fro,
Screens that feature students with their moms, a great big picture show.
I watch them in the hallways, I watch them down the stairs.
I watch them twist and shout, I watch them flip their hairs.
Thirteen screens. Movie popcorn is the only thing I lack.
So here I sit and watch, chuckling as I eat another snack.
I caught you creeping around
with your spying eyes
Quick, furtive glances
betray your silent, stealthy movements
Human satellite camouflaging black cloud,
always in passing tear bursts,
secretly scans through a purse in my closet
Your dubious, devious actions
speak loud
Such churning, internal accusations
would make any insecure man proud
Furthermore, you compounded your fidelity lies,
when you installed web cam spying eyes
Privacy invasion of the worst kind —
But, I caught you though,
looking through my bedroom window
with a telescope
I had a Philip Marlowe
reconnaissance pro trailing you ...
sweet turn of the table
Let my diamond stylus disgust skip to the end,
this relationship is over ...
It’s time for me to unfriend
Here is some advice I guilt-freely give you:
Your spying eyes
will never truly let you see inside
the heart of another person
Unconditional trust
is the only way to ever off-site remotely know
what lay beneath the quilted hidden covers
of someone else’s soul
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