The wind is blowing softly like words spoken
in ancient temples built of stone, sharply hewn
from quarries dug in highland hills made barren
by creatures come to claim the woodland cedars,
for sacrifice and beauty they were chosen
to entrance us in the tapestry of weavers,
the goddesses of destiny and devotion
to the patterns of the silken threads, attuned~
the Fates decree, and who are we to question?
Listen to the wind as it swirls around decayed
headstones, hear it laughing like a ghost of yore,
or is it stirring trouble like a goblin crazed,
come to torment those awaiting somber tidings
of life once colored joyful, but now unglazed
by pale spectors and surly death's grim reapers,
and so the seasons tumble onward through decades,
dumb to pleasure, love or laughter, ever after
in a place where hopeless drudgery remains~
Listen to the wind now wailing winter's warning.
morning went all wrong
sideways and inside out
there was a cat hiding somewhere
possibly in the coffee pot
a goldfish slid up through the drain
landing in the sink face up,
I could not find a wristwatch
and Daddy’s pocket watch had stopped
One shoe? That’s all you got? I asked myself
I was snarly and surly and not happy about school
You don’t have to be said my mother
It is Saturday
I went back to bed
Randall the Rat, had fangs so pearly.
But, his bad temper, sang so surly.
Cat caged, spit out his food!
The Rat raged, shouted...Dude!
Just bite me!...and don't call me Squirrely!
From inside these closed doors.
I sail away from these old shores.
And walk on down those streets of gold.
Pretending I’m still young and not too old.
But when tomorrow takes away today.
It leaves you finding it hard to stray.
With air too still to fill your lungs.
And no backup band to get the song sung.
And if someone would see your thoughts.
They’d surly in the twisted wires get caught.
At least that’s how it’s been in past tense.
Misconstrued, it just doesn’t make any sense.
Am I so removed that my opinion’s disproved?
Lost in the void of an unrealistic existence approved.
Looking back into a past review’d.
Longing for a chance to make things renewed.
"Oh King Charles Philip Arthur George,
how do I see thee?
Let me count the ways...
Tho' beauty is only skin deep,
and in the eye of the beholder,
or so we have been told,
yours is more, it goes to the bone,
a sore sight for eyes to behold,
now you have acceded to the throne.
As, like diarrhoea, it seems,
it runs in the genes,
and, if POTUS is President of the USA,
would you be he, KOTUK,
King Of The UK?"
'Surely you jest,' quoth he in dour reply.
Tho', not joking nor feeling surly,
"Some things you simply can't deny,
ours not to reason why," said I,
"and please don't call me Shirley!"
Oh poets!
Some of them may love Iran,
Some of them may love Israel,
Some of them surly love Ukraine,
Some of them surly love Russia,
All may praise of weapons,
All may like wars to be happened
But you, Oh ! Poets,
The soul of universe,
The sound of earth,
Please stand by the earth,
Stand by the Universe,
Oh poets!
you are broad minded,
To understand,
All nations
Are son to the earth,
All earths are daughters to
Universe,
So, Oh! Poets Stand by
The earth to save the nations,
Save Earths to save the universe,
Oh! Poets raise your voice,
Against "weapon bring the peace"
The war culture, being nurture,
By the world leaders
When handed a stuffed pullet
looks like a stunned mullet
should I turn surly
in high dudgeon
please don't bludgeon
this old curmudgeon
and not to be outdone
altho' I am an only son
blame my parents
by all means
as I'm the result
of their poor genes
which run the gamut
of the spectrum
but I don't care one bit
not a jot nor give a sh*t
more politely put
I really couldn't render
a rodent's rectum
I wonder where, oh boulders and sand,
Your spirit or heart truly stands.
To you, of Stone with worn heart in your chest
Surly you were once like the rest.
Once A boulder perfect and formed,
From the day you fell from mountain top, born.
Down the slope you came and lay,
To rest near a peaceful lake one day.
And there you stood from boulder to stone,
A little smaller in your new home.
You peacefully lie until one day you find,
The rain had swept you toward the tide.
Rubble and tumble you find yourself, Stone
Bottom of the bank, and all alone.
Once a boulder, now grind down,
Washed back to the sandy beaches around.
On a mountain top once you stood,
Stone now turned to sand did the best he could.
But grain so small, hold your head high,
Within your chest your heart always lies.
Dark red, luscious apples felled from her own tree long ago
Under the beaming sun plummeted with a soft, aching blow
The sweat drips and plops, scruple over a furrowed brow
Upon the discovery of rot that blackened her plow
“Has the wind gone mad–or am I the one insane?
Dirt and grime, high dry–surely the only way to explain”
Denial among hatred, she could not face–but under the murk, bits
Beneath, the snakes–surly and shabby—placed high their bids
The heat danced faster as the days passed far less paced
Her blonde hair bleached and pruned, but left one space
The temple on her right seemed blank and bruised
As a failed blow far too long past was nearly used
The magazine fell as she begins filtering the rot past her mind
She screams, shouts, yelps and cries, sobs of an animal forgotten by time
“I never meant for this to go–go and blow up like this!
I never meant. . . I never meant for me to hurt our kids.”
Too far from gone she was, behind silken white bars and drenched in ammonia
“I know, my love, but I must leave and forget you—may heaven forbid us, Aurora”
how long and sourly sobs the lonely heart
depends on how grave the weight which grieves the tears
pouring from the despondent spirit’s pores.—
a witness, too, will know the surly sort
of rain that beats down harshly on the court
called Sorrow Drive.—sure seems like nothing cheers
up the—nor nothing soothes the—nasty fears
nesting in somber nooks.—no, only art
comes close to curing spiritual sores.—
but even it leaves quite untouched the cause.—
able only to act as numbing gauze,
art is the first of many guarded doors,—
engraved on its threshold,—and colorfast—:
“seek you now to enter your wounded past?”
A dictum that no mortal may impeach:
abundance is the concubine of dearth.
You soar above the surly clouds which wreathe
around us: you’ve enabled us to reach
beyond our matter-patrimony, earth:
your gift to humankind is to bequeath
ability to master thought and speech,
and know that death is but another birth.
Beauty Beloved
Promised to Father Our God
Selah
Those windows near your crown, pearls white new day shine
Those the windows to your soul and heart, surly beautifully shine
Tender ears shaped like and newly formed embryo
Heartbeats flutters like worms running in moist dirt
O’ melanin covers you golden, darken tanned skin
Naked in HIM showing HIS glowing
His glory shines from your soul up to your crown
Hallelujah
Amen
3/10/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
As autumn leaves turn crimson and red, ready to fall
I lie here exhausted, waiting for my final call.
I stare into the approaching ferocious night,
And fear the fiend coming to strangle me tight.
As my final moments on earth begin to show,
My breath becomes shallow, my heartbeats grow slow
I feel, the clock ticks faster than ever before
And it is time for me to leave this earthly shore.
As the last ember of life is about to die out,
And the grim reaper has come from his hideout,
God, be on my side to give me peace,
And make my final journey one of ease.
I feel, He is staying close to me at this crucial hour,
Telling me- “Don’t fear! I shall be with you for ever.
I will be by your side to grant you a peaceful sleep
And angels shall be deployed for vigil to keep”
When I leave the surly bounds of this earth
To Heaven, I will ascend to enjoy perpetual mirth.
I am sure, He will carry me in His arms as angels sing,
And I will be welcomed by the Heavenly throng.
I stopped for a cup at the local all-nighter
I'm a regular there. I'm the "poetry writer".
You'll always find the occasional hack,
The delinquents, the addicts, that hang in the back.
A drifter, a grifter, disenchanted and surly
All nameless faces, except the waitress named Shirley
I throw her a line, she throws me a sign
Our usual "Hi, how are you?"
Then step to the bar, put a ten in her jar,
She's divorced and the mother of two.
She looks out of place with her ribbons and lace
She's polite, friendly and kind
But make no mistake, she bites like a snake
With a switchblade tongue, razor fine.
They're busy tonight and I need to write
She brings my black coffee to go
Says, "I'll give you this, you give me a kiss
And that will be all that you owe."
A kiss on the lips for ten dollar tips
That sounds fair enough to me
Besides, she's pretty, got big titties
And gives me my coffee for free.
Daniel Turner
One thought, igniting the dream,
Seven bold souls, steady as they seem.
Ten missions past, Challenger soared,
Twenty-five flights, the program roared.
Tick-tick.
A countdown clear.
The world leans close.
The clock draws near.
Thirty-six degrees—a frozen doubt.
A seal strained tight; the gas leaks out.
Ignition. Roar. Climb. Silence screams.
A nation watches shattered dreams.
Seventy-three seconds, sky turned to flame,
History echoes their hallowed names.
At 5:00 PM, the voice of command,
A president speaks to a grieving land:
“The crew of the Challenger honored us all.
They slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God.”
32 months, grounded hope rebuilt.
A frozen morning, a lasting guilt.
Tick-tick.
The seconds mourn.
We remember still
That frozen dawn.
Related Poems