Susceptible Poems

I’ve teeth to bite, teeth to show

Howdy Modi was just a myth,
Rowdy Modi, to show my teeth,
No more than a fig leaf
My tariff’s no tariff,
And rowdy, to have a row with,
Why? He came in my way
Of Nobel, and must pay,
You know not how deep I’m beneath!
___________________________  
Happenings | 40.08.2025 | USA, humour

Note: It is no state secret that Trump loves being flattered and buttered up. Occasionally he’s good at buttering up as well. He did that to Modi with ‘howdy Modi’ when he wanted Indian votes in his first go at presidency. Pakistan did it, as also Israel’s Bibi before it. India refused when he wanted credit (and undeservedly so) for Indo-Pak ceasefire. All are susceptible to praise, genuine or false, but Trump seems ravenous for false praise-- somewhat of the type Goldsmith hinted:
   Full well they laugh’d with counterfeited glee
   At his jokes for many a joke had he.

our purpose

who is he who looks through our eyes
fuelling thoughts that glow in mind
consciousness which as our heart sighs
this is the source we need to find

the source is in heart detected
subtle and imperceptible 
we are all interconnected
each to each is susceptible 

as a spark entwined with the whole
we have a duty to perform
to illumine space is our goal
conjuring in it a bliss storm

IN VULNERABLE STATE-

Vulnerable
endangered unprotected
exsposed, unsafe, in peril
well protected resilient immune to
ungauarded prey susceptible
opened attacked
Invulnerable


12/19/24 
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024© from anthology "COGNISANT”

Blue ticked

#Blue_ticked
Feel like I have been locked out from heavens gates, the screaming so internally bloating, my veins turns green, could I be internally bleeding?

I said; I'm fine not immune to pain, please come closer, look clearly, the ruins you have created, my emotions in bruises, maybe I'm susceptible to pain, blame me not for being human

Remove the red tapes, allow me to be, to say and to show. Stop expecting, I'm me not they, don't blue tick me, confront me, force me to break, my body has reached its brim of pretending, of manning up, of being strong, please don't just blue tick, 

It's my grave you digging, I'm not ready to die, as of yet, not like the rest, I'm not the rest but me, 

Open your heart, listen up, come a little closer, look my direction, I'm here not going anywhere, not going to be silenced, hear the ticking emotional bomb beeping inside me, I'm about to detonate any minute, 

please stop blue ticking, just stop forcing to add me to statistics, I'm me not they, I'm I not the rest

Just stop blue ticking me
#Poetic_Ink

Pain

We all have a story to tell
mines just deeper than a well
and painful than a birth
of a new born baby.

Anxiety and fear almost
caused my own demise
making me more susceptible
and vulnerable to
dangerous thoughts of
self destruction.

As the burden of life
held me down in a chokehold
I laid helpless and relentless
unable to escape its wrath.

And each time I try 
to catch a break things
start to go left again
as if it was by designed
or may be my causes had caught
up with it’s effects.

As I hold on to resilience
and resilience hold on
to me, my strength shall renew
like a phoenix in the end.

My Truths

*
                        The truth is not always beautiful 
            or beautiful words from sugared lips, the truth.
The Trojan Horse delivered to the door, comes in disguise.
Sturdy in design of wood, but empty as a trickster
                        who plies her trade amongst unwary
and the inevitable susceptible naïveté akin to the Greeks’ quaint
love for the common old garden grasshopper of all colours —
      a Greek tragedy in the making, rivalling that of Sophocles.
            My truths are more complicated than the above:
                        an exposé wrapped in the variable 
old clichés of devotion and eternal love of the other.
            Keeping the secrets of others is a burden to be 
      suffered in silence until a beautiful
                        death do us part – then rendezvous in eternity.

Young Plant

Young plant is fragile
Susceptible to danger
Need care and support.

I Would Rather Be

I would much rather be a member of the minority capable of critical thinking,
as opposed to a member of the majority susceptible to easy influencing.

Incarnate

He came in human flesh,
So He would see someone like me,
He wore the robes of pain, grief and struggles,
So He could relate to my emotions.

He took the fall,
So He could understand why I stumble,
He left his lofty throne to walk down the streets of mortals,
To show them the path to immortality,
Desirous that they would listen.

He took on the body that was susceptible to time,
So that He would conquer its recalcitrant hold,
He came in our similitude,
Bound by the elements of nature,
Bound by His creations,
So that He would return in
 the volume of all that was written about Him.

He was chauffeured by dawn,
Called to slumber by the night,
Until He had opened the door for us out of darkness,
Until time laid under His feet.


May 8, 2024.

Positive Portraits

Seasons like emotions fade away.
Where poisonous rain once
blistered susceptible surfaces,
now sapphire skies showcase the saffron sun,
silently soothing somber scars.

Yesterday was a vacant colouring book.
Today is a kaleidoscopic canvas of colours,
illuminating every blank page.
Rainbow rivers stream through my veins,
as eyes paint in positive portraits.

Pen flows like exotic fruit juices,
blending sweet smoothies.
Essence of fruit salad zest,
liberates from a coconut mind.
Psychedelic pineapple heart,
nurtures my mango soul's serenity.

Sentimental sun rays embrace,
soaking warmth deep inside.
Happiness is tranquil like a
pleasant fresh ocean breeze.

MISDIRECTIONAL -

Not trying to be analytical 
Caught up by all the political 
Being so suspected misdirected 
Calling it out on a limb,
 saw down the tree falling 
The water acronym aquatic prophetic 
Sitting on high places 
Looking down onto the ground humanities graces 
Now I'm susceptible,
To be misdirectional 
I come to yet still confused
 I'm uploaded like EI recluse
I stand alone in the skies embraced
Disgrace physically but spiritually I arise analytical 
So in the secession, I feel the recession 
Been disrespected,  yet I am reflected
 I am a mirror shining bright lemonade flavor I am the light
Everything's falling in the place 
I've been embraced by the grace 
Setting up high in the sky
Looking down at the able 
Sitting across from the Creator at His table
Humanity yet Miss crowded and appointed asking those questions why
We reign as we rain down energy I am as I am soar fly


1/23/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©2024

Unpalatable

Your smile used to light up my heart
like a spark of light.
And yet, love died in its shadow,
shrouded in pain.
The surface of trust
was somehow scratched;
and susceptible, it started to rust.
Hope tried to seal it
with placebos, empty platitudes, 
and a fountain of sparkling phases;
that spoke of love won, love lost,
and love yet to be.
Still, I watched you walk away;
as my eyes filled with tears.
Sweet words, once used to seduce
and flatter,
have morphed; into unpalatable
departing words.
And yet, life moves on,
without guilt, apologies,
promises or guarantees.

Magic

What image does the word magic conjure up,
a prestidigitator or mystic spell?
Some say sorcery always needs a backup;
for wizards are tricksters with something to sell,
pretending to master the secrets of Hell.

Though illusionists' tricks deceive the eye,
hidden mirrors can't make real, disappear.
They claim to levitate and seemingly fly;
honing their art for another grand premiere,
hawking their autographs as a souvenir.

Enchanters, can enchant susceptible souls,
into believing their magic is real.
By exploiting reality's hidden holes,
they can manipulate how you think and feel;
turning ordinary into surreal.

Seemingly achieving the impossible;
magic and miracles share similar traits.
Both stretch the boundaries of what's possible,
contrary to what reality mandates;
and both fueled philosophical debates.

Fallen

Furocity - it boils within the very vessels in essence
Bursting esteemed love, susceptible in it's unwavering
Vulnerability
Purity abreast of angelic fortification so easily crumbled
Shattered as splintered crystal fury slashes altruistic tracts
Lively divine power, immeasurable, snuffed by frailty
Resentful vengeance's suffocating unrelent.

Chapter 28 -- Delilah Damian Friends and Family Baby Bash Bonanza Iv

Damian watched her with a
Small smile spreading across 
His face. She stood on the bed
in front of Him. Complex crucible 
Calculations collected volcanic 
Explosive combustions. 
 That was all There was.
 They had one Another in
Succulent successive 
Orgasmic stimulation 
The only word 
That crossed his mind was
"Daamn."  He fell to the bed
Pulling her on top of him.
She straddled him, one leg on
Each side. 
"Delilah." He 
Whispered her name in the
Twilight morning.  Complex
Crucible calculated collected
Volcanic explosive combinations.
Continued.
They had one Another in and
Out of Succulent successive 
Systematic orgasmic
Simulation for half the morning.

Dawn was a slow satisfaction 
Which she was so strongly 
And stately susceptible to.
"Yesss baby."  She breathed
The words.  Damian could
Only watch her in awe.  While
He breathed deeply with long
Slow inhales and exhales.
Delilah was ecstatic and smiling
Pleased with herself and 
Pleased with him.

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