Synch Poems

kaleidoscopic dance

vibrant dancers ripple 
circling weave-like structures
tiptoes synch with rhythm
for striking moves’ mixtures
like bright petals on space
twirled ballet… a rapture

A Mating Dance -revised

For a significant length of time,
    they swim in synch.
  Then rapidly fluttering their fins
like the wings of hummingbirds,
                                                     n    
                          two sea horses  s      i
                                                    p     
  swirling and swirling together 
               as two         become  
                                                   one

Twas The Night -

Twas the night before Christmas and on my TV
Netflix was trying to entertain me
I’d paid my subscription but what did I see
Movies I watched in Nineteen Eighty Three

                                       *

There’s some that are newer but what would you think
The lips of the actors aren’t even in synch
And so when the actors get all touchy feely
The dialogue sounds like it might be Swahili

It takes me a while but I soon understand
The movie was made in a far away land
So that explains why the star talks like John Wayne
But looks like he hails from the Southwest of Spain

I try to recall how the subtitles work
I’m bashing the buttons like some kind of jerk
When I get it right the subtitles kick in
But then the screen fades out to leave the word…… ‘Fin’

My wife went to bed in a huff and I said
These foreign movies all mess with my head
Then Netflix suggestions include ‘East of Eden’
But I’m seeking films (with subtitles) from Sweden

Of course I just said that to shock you awake
Who looks at the subtitles for goodness sake
But this night before Christmas, I had no idea
What I found was no movie… just an ad for IKEA

black Swan

A water colour portrait of a black swan
Arched nostrils above its yellow beak
Inside its cold eyes-hope a glint of white
Neatly folded grey progressing to black wings
Each feather layered in perfect synch. Neat.
Yellow feet lurk in the shimmering water.

Top marks at school, but discarded 
To the garden shed, the coal bunker
Where winter fuel, dried and ripened
I found it and brought indoors and
Showed it to mum, asked who drew this?
Your sister. Already in awe, but couldn’t
Understand why this wasn’t treasured.

Sixty years on, your pedestal dissolved
Fallen. This swan an image of your self.
The yellow beak fooled for many years
The glint of the eye, slyness and deception
Your character’s like the body of the swan
Thirty percent below the line, a mystery

Souls, like swans, are to most pure white.   
Your soul personified by your own hand
In an A level water colour: Jet Black Swan.

David Cox 01/09/24












Discarded in the shed by the coal bunker
Black on black, in the dark and discarded
It’s yellow beak a contrast, hint of light

Shadows

Shadows

I am the ghost in the room
Seeing, not seen
Listening, not heard
I can feel my breath
hear the heart in my chest
Living invisibly

A shadow nothing more
Stitch myself to you
Ignored
Out of rhythm,out of synch
Your light so dim 
I disappear

I reflect a different Light
One that fits just right
I cast my very own
Shadow
I am myself.
With your light
I see the shape of you
In me.

Blue Angels

the ingenious geese,
in the pond, fluttering wings -
six fountains of grace

they take off like jet fighters
like blue angels all in synch

Adoring Guy - A

On the precipice of womanhood, not knowing what my future love life could be, I gazed back into the brown eyes of Guy, a handsome boy from French Quebec. Utterly enthralled, I had never experienced such adoration before. He touched his eyelashes to mine. I felt his breath against my cheek as he playfully kissed me behind my earlobes and down my neck. His fingers never lunged toward my chest as had others who had tried this before. He focused on my face as his hands found their way down my spine, then caressed my waist. When his lips met mine, there was no rush to tongue. We were in synch with smooth, beautiful kisses. When finally he blessed me with his “French” kiss, I was his blissful slave, wishing for our two hours parked in front of my house to never have to come to its swift inevitable end.


*Note to the Reader: Guy WAS the name of this "guy" but in his language, it's pronounced GEE (hard G).

In the Midnight Mist

As I was writing this poem, I had my grandson fill in the blank, but Grandma gives… not only did he give me that but the next line which I loved so much I made it my title too. Perhaps, I’m passing down poetry to the next generation.

IN THE MIDNIGHT MIST

some kids don’t hear
morning birds bidding goodbye to the moon
at noon they rise
for their bacon and pancakes
or tacos and burgers
bidding goodbye to the morning sun
all of out synch
pay no attention to the olden days
no rise and shine
no switch on the back side
spoiled and loved and spoiled
hopefully their parents whip them into shape
with their love…no belly aching
after visiting the fortress of solitude
dramatic, yes
that’s what the eight year old calls his room
here in my habitation,
but when his brother is here
he finds aggravation
or vexation from Grandpa
but Grandma gives kisses
in the midnight mist
according to a little birdie
who woke up from his nest

7/1/2023

Her Name Is That I Love Beloved-

My heart beating in synch with a one that I love;
God has placed her promised me to one;
Special love;
And I am fortunate;
and I am favored and blessed;
to have been blessed with a one such as her;
This one than I love;
Her name is...
Beloved

HER NAME IS THAT I LOVE BELOVED-

2/23/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©

Drag Queens

They delight in wearing women’s fancy dresses
Intricate wigs fashioned as highly coifed tresses,
Padding in places gives them feminine curves
Appearing like that would shatter my nerves.

Entertainers par excellence, they can lip-synch
While dancing in a line together all in sync,
Laughing and joking, sometimes in a crude way
One hardly ever sees them in the light of day
Exaggerating in fashion of the highest couture
Experts in the arts, the world of pop culture,
What leads them to take up this type of show
Female impersonation, I guess I’ll never know.

I do admire their abilities, their derring-do --
Becoming sensational entertainers like Mama Ru,
Money in bras, they laugh all the way to the bank
I am happy being a man; I have God to thank! 

Written November 17, 2022

Wanderlust

You’ve not encountered either in a while;
you may not have described yourselves as close.
On social, it is easy to revile,
to Monday quarterback, to diagnose.

From outside, looking in, you wonder why,
with fond reflections on the times they had:
a life together, aiming for the sky,
that somehow missed and leaves you feeling sad.

And when you’re still, you hear that inner voice:
a marriage built on eros won’t suffice.
Agape’s not a feeling, but a choice
that often requires pain and sacrifice.

A wanderlust can tear soulmates apart;
the work’s ne’er done to synch two beating hearts.

Confession

heeding the worst; lips 
he would rehearse; kiss 
purpose would hurt his-
heart it immersed; drips-
sweat and a forced breath
the words that his mouth bled- 
loud and dispersed; head; 
nose; can’t be reversed; dread; 
rose; slurred and dispersed; face- 
burns slow and they turn; red; prose; 

skin; skirt; eyebrows;
nails; bangs; tied blouse; 
face; flushed; dry mouths-
gasp at the air with a slight growl 
sun’s hold eased by the low ground 
still on the roof but the air drowns 
neither can breathe but they hear sounds;
seeking concretely to cry bounds 
leaking not speaking; their hearts pound;  

peak in, the bleak slims are feet from the brink- 
hymns now pink from the lean in, their ink-
now strings linked- end to end, so in synch-
resonant resin-drink leaking pen-head, a sea-
of red flesh entity, now they rest as they heave-
moving chest, shaking teeth, throats compress, then release; 

rosy mesh;
feign retreat;
sewn in flesh;
aching bleat;

The Beginning 3

Your father and your mother they are 
The connection to where you are from
Your father and mother came in same manner 
Created by their creators before they created you
That's your ancestry and route into existence. 

It is not by chance that you belong to that route
You had a choice in it when you existed before here
In the plane where your choice could create 
Deciding the life you live in earthly existence 

As your ancestry leads you to your source 
So the forces that accompany man on the earth
Call it Arusi; Agwu; Guardian Angel; Christ or Saint
However you understand the higher forces that guide 
They were in synch with that route in the beginning 
That route which you chose to come to earth

Diwali Indian Festival of Light

The weather is chill and pleasant  
Diwali fervor is round the corner
Yet my soul is not in synch 
My mind doesn’t budge to tyranny 

Will there be a cracker of a time
When firecrackers are banished 
No: age cannot wither her;
Nor custom stale; in her infinite glory 
Goddess Lakshmi is supreme!

Despots on prowl for exploits
State in cahoots with alien drill
It isn’t the strength of enemy
It is about Hindu gone astray
Having an unholy union 

Diwali is victory of good over evil 
It is about destroying the wicked 
It is against villains spewing venom
It dispels gloom and darkness!

The smoke from burning embers 
In the stomach of a billion Hindu 
Will soon balloon to a wrath 
The impact of which will witness 

“Narakasura” perishing soon 
Satyabhama’s ire will cause fire.
Charred bodies will lay strewn 
Casting ultimate indignity fo 
vexatious brigands.

Diwali is the Festival of Lights
It is knowledge to counter ignorance 
Diwali is a festival of hope and happiness 
It rings in prosperity to all 
A very colorful event that
Usher cheer in people’s life!

The Killers Tale

Constrained, calm and cold, absent all strife
Puerile, placid, flaccid in life
Nothing to venture, little to gain
No bones are broken, no blood to stain…

...The tipping point looms, brain barely roils
Testosterone screams, blood pressure boils
Guts gorged and griping, grab for the gun
Head for the highway, ripping to run

Relentless reaper, sight seems to shrink
Sirens start shrieking, lights locked in synch
Neighbours take cover,
Strangers take flight
There is no pity, dark in this night


May 20, 2021

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