Fruits ripe beneath summer’s soft glow~
as light rains fill streams with gentle flow.
O’ sweet the rain drops heavenly spaced
Amidst the glaze of sunlight kiss
I embrace the winds they surround me
O the visons of streams
Soars the aftermath
Soars the trees waving
Soars the birds leaving trees
Soars the air we kinded, kin we breathe
O sweet the air sore smells
O the sweet animals that dwell
O the visons of streams
O so solemn views we spy
O the cries of the lamb
Every way that is met
Every step that is step
O soars the cries of the wolf
O cries the screams of the lamb
O the visons of streams
Soars the aftermath
Soars the trees waving
Soars the birds leaving trees
Soars the air we kindred, kin we breathe
O the visons of streams
O’ sweet the rain drops heavenly spaced
Amidst the glaze of sunlight kiss
I embrace the winds they surround me
O the visons of streams
01/31/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
Avoiding earthquakes
on sidewalks,
hill climbing with blind moles,
trekking between
heaven and hell.
All this
while eating
an ice-cream cone
in a midnight furnace.
Lightly
we walk a tightrope
of visibility,
sliding through
an ever reborn
birth canal.
Streams flowing into a river
ebbing and flowing
rising and falling
The river separating them
back into streams
Many lives merging
into one lifeline
accounting for everything
and nothing
at the same time
Personalities rubbing, chafing
inexorably blending
in psychosomatic asynchrony
yet linked inextricably
with heaven
Streams flowing into a river
The river separating them out
back into streams…
live past 50 -the blows will commence in a cold and steady stream
My grandson asked me:
“What blessing would you seek
this morning?”
I was washing the dishes
of the previous night
without any wishes.
I sought, therefore, to continue as I was.
“Wash the dishes?” he laughed,
asked me to bend,
placed his hand on my head
and solemnly said, “So be it”.
What else could a man
nearing eighty want,
in his frail diabetic frame,
still able to move about
and watch beautiful sunsets?
Isn’t life great
with the hills outside
basking in ethereal sunshine?
Isn’t it a blessing
to listen to birds
singing melodious strains?
Stroke the plants and talk to them,
walk in rain, listen to streams,
all for free, look at the sky
leaning on a wayside tree,
knowing everything here
is a big ‘given’, well provided,
when wants are short
and the ego is laid to rest.
And who then worries
about the last breath
when the corporeal mass
that heaves sans rest
is a boon ‘given’
that just comes by
without asking
on an unending journey?
Two streams that converge
And flow inextricably
Are like two lovers
Meandering about who meet -
Not knowing anything of what
They were missing before
But now having full sight
Each of the other -
Who rejoice at the freshet
And meld and flow as one
Assured of their fate
And their continual love.
In a fantasyland
of their own creation
politicians spawn
Spreading their eggs of division
and lies
among bottom feeding pawns
Propagating treason
corruption and graft
to freely flow downstream
Carrying our destiny
over the falls
— of shattered broken dreams
(The New Room: February, 2024)
ravish so the hooks unleash
the fish from it's scales as such anchor hoist
rods and nets overhang the breach deck
gatherings of the bounty fins fish aplenty
fish for food yet man for God
disciples of men bringing forth unto Jesus
sailors and common man delight
abundance fish feed shall be incorporated this night
...purposed be we're all fishermen of the lake, rivers, oceans and streams
12/21/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
A flood of thoughts
I find myself thinking them over
Rather religiously
They get caught up in the flood sometimes
And spill out without a warning sign
And it all rains down in piles
Like an ocean brought to life
And since when is being sober
Just not worth our time?
We're putting in the miles
Without a statement to return with
And we're practicing the lies
In which we'll tell
to blur the line
Between intuition and confusion
Are we making forward progress
To a proper state of mind?
I feel as though we're backtracking
Is this our warning sign?
And it all rains down in piles
Down there where life flows
as a river to sail on,
the rich valley emerges with
its beauty to be contemplated
in all the different ways.
Huge prairies to feed mouths,
large woods to listen to
the music of the invisible ones.
Small streams of clear waters
for children to play in.
Up there in the mountains,
you can watch the valley
changing with the light.
As when we close our eyes
to look for peace.
We can see that big valley
to make us stronger inside.
04/19/2023
Constance La France
Writing Challenge - 'V' Words Poetry Contest
Stealing away to the woods
Longing for forest’s best goods
Pines, oaks, with the gentlest streams
Flowing with beautiful dreams
Glistening like the night’s stars
Sighing praise for life’s memoirs
Perfect blessings to amaze
Enchanting the soul always
Whispers of light fall in prose
Trusting the faith God controls
Silence breathes passions so clear
Kindness rains down to endear
Through forest’s grace comes stirring
Feelings the heart’s preferring
Wonders of grace start on trails
Where tunes of gladness prevails
Thickets and timbers conspire
Assuring faith grows higher
Dawdling in the stars of night
Reflections of awe so bright
Taking nature so stunning
Nothing is quite as cunning
It tempts the spirit to smile
In spite of it’s hardest mile
Write A Jueju-Qijue Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
I used rhymezone and howmanysyllables.com
April 5, 2023
It’s hit or miss, or so it seems:
a stroll beside well-watered streams,
then all about, a parching drought.
Some days, cavorting in the sun;
on others, nary see a one,
producing doubt when they’ll be out.
But when it seems that things are worse,
sunlight breaks through, the clouds disperse,
and tender verses start to sprout.
—————
A Nove Otto, 9 lines, 8 syllables per line,
with a rhyme scheme of aabccbddb
"Precious water--the elixir of life,
yet we still its sources with blase' knife."
A town in the desert awaits rescue from thirst.
Water supply gone, result of a twenty-year drought
that's worsening
Gifts from nature are for us to revere
They have life spans and deserve our care
yet we abuse
Industry pours poison into streams, ending them.
Discarded plastics suffocate the oceans
Fresh air--words
Forests burning or drowning
Wildlife and sea creatures are dying
we're killing
Mother Nature gave hints; now she is yelling
We didn't listen when she told us
she was in peril
Her endowments will last forever, we tell ourselves
Start visualizing chasing tumbleweeds, languishing
in a cactus shade
January 17,2023
for "Quote This" poetry contest
by Rick Parise
You are a magnetic salt for my tongue.
Your valleys unleash my electric soul,
death illuminates us, feeds us life
through a speaking flesh.
I did not find you, you did not find me,
we were introduced by storm clouds
and the shifting earth beneath highways.
Our parents are dead, yet they branch still
as the arms of Alder and Yew,
we call them to our campfire
sup a druidic wine together
one mulled from the spreading roots
of our ancient bloodlines.
Today floats over invisible mountain tops,
they are stepping stones for our rivering
peaks between our heartbeats.
We meet where the water deeply churns
all that we were
into what we are now.
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