cloud burst bursting drops;
drizzles sprinkle fine mist drops;
out pour down falls teem;
~
precipitation,
weathered Vrochi to rain pelt;
quick waters flow down;
8/24/26
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 5 7 5 0 5 7 5
Total # Syllables: 34
Total # Lines: 7 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 24
Malaise over cribbage,
Unmade in our image;
While they ravage the earth:
Pestilence First!
The cowards save pride,
Just along for the ride;
And the prophets, they shrug.
Must be '---' tall for a hug.
A mechanical theme.
Set to writhe and teem
Astride strained ambition -
An inherent condition!
And the sole consolation?
The starved man gnaws bacon,
As he snarls at the pork;
Pokes the end of his fork.
Steely disposition.
Love's prohibition.
Swole at the seam,
This American dream.
Mild day
yellow bells bloom
banishing winter gloom
sweet harbinger of coming spring.
Gentle wind bids bronze chimes to sway and ring
branches still bare but teem with life
songbirds perch; squirrels play
Outside, I’ll stay~~
mild day.
Written: July 24, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Line Gauthier
***********
The golden word whispers of summer fall,
And throw a brash blanket over it all.
Season stretches its emerald print wide,
To warm the woods where shadows creep and hide.
An amber-tinged texture wakes every bough,
As rogue teem signs the earth to seal a vow.
In the city, theater beckons,
As museums do and parks.
There are restaurants and monuments
To set creative sparks.
There are streets that teem with tourists,
Gazing goggle-eyed around,
As they navigate by foot or bus
Or subway underground.
There are fields where sports are playing;
There are ferries on the river.
Yet if quiet’s what you’re seeking,
There are spots that can deliver.
Benches nestle hither thither,
Just awaiting their next guest,
Who might find that it’s the perfect place
To get oneself de-stressed.
Pond's water captures
the morning shadow
Similar desires teem
in our heads
We love strolling along
the banks of ponds
Prosaic ducks disfigure
the green images
----------------------
24 June 2025
My love
Has been used
My love
Has been abused
I’ve tried
For so long
But I was tired
I just wanted to belong
Then he came
A beautiful angel
Although the heaven bane
A handsome bangle
Love is a strong word
It takes a lot to mean
People in this world
Don’t seem to teem
They know what it means
They know it can be good
But they don’t know how to be
Without a mask or a hood
Love is important
Overly so
Going to be
And less of a tint
Not less to do
Keeping the glow
There’s too much to say
In too little time
There’s too little day
To show all the light
Our pasts hurt us so
And we’re trying to get passed
I understand there’s much to do
In this time, we can test
We’re learning
And changing
We’re growing
And we’re loving
My name is Rachael
And I love anyways
This is my promise
To Love You Always
Perched on a sapphire bus, its curves agleam,
In a painted glade where wildflowers teem,
A young man and lady, entwined in a glow,
Bask in love’s fervor, where soft breezes flow.
No tangled forest, but a sketch of delight,
Where a stream’s silver ripples catch dawn’s tender light.
wildflowers and violet blooms burst in the air,
Their petals like whispers, adrift without care.
Her eyes, molten amber, spark embers of dreams,
His laughter, a melody dancing with streams.
Their fingers lace gently, like vines that embrace,
Each touch a warm ember, each glance a soft trace.
Below, on a gnarled branch by the water’s bright hum,
Sits a shadowed creature, its form strangely numb—
Dog, monkey, or kangaroo, cloaked in the haze,
It watches their rapture through the morning’s soft blaze.
In this vivid drawing, their love burns alive,
A canvas of passion where heartbeats connive.
The bus, a bold beacon, the stream’s crystal call,
Frame their forever in this blooming sprawl.
Electricity crackles in the air
roller-coaster careening
off its track as silver trumpets blare
Gangs teem and thrive in jungles
from Africa to American streets
shells of bodies without heartbeats
Naked greed meets raw power
each devours the other
~ carcasses to recover
A snow-capped mountain where nobody goes;
a forest thick with foliage and trees;
a river which meanders as it flows
through spaces that nobody likely sees;
an expanse of sand too wide to be traversed;
a tundra where no man cares to abide;
a spot deep in the sea that’s not yet cursed;
a forgotten weed-infested graveside.
In this world where so many places teem
with humanity and the chaos we bring,
there still exists the quiet of a dream
and nature has evaded mankind’s sting.
Where silence listens, sounds are wild or raw,
like wind-rush,
wave-roar or
simple crow-caw.
Blakean ghosts' boasts..frollicking in rollicking
Rolling hillock hosts..ripe shenanigans..perry toasts
Believing in hefty heaving heroes
Hallowed harbingers..halcyon hedgerows
Harbouring tranches of branches..ferry very merry berries
Majestic mosaic montage barge of balletic
Incandescent flowers..weaving wherries
Showering prophetic kaleidoscopic poetic dreams
Streams through towering mesmeric green tunnels
Full to the gunnels..reams of sheens teem..flowing funnels
Bestowing.. glowing transcendent beams gleam kinetic
Luminescent aesthetic barrage..overpowering iridescent fluorescent flowering
Every single one of Mother nature's tendrils tingle
Mingle..saluting seasonal succour..mooting rebooting from fruiting..pukka
In shadows cast by metal beams,
Where whispered thoughts and silence teem,
A cog in the machine does grind,
A pulse of purpose intertwined.
It turns with grace, yet feels the weight,
Of countless hands that twist fate's gate,
A little wheel that spins and spins,
With every turn, a story begins.
Among the gears, it finds its place,
An unseen force, a quiet grace,
While steam and steel make thunderous sound,
The cog persists, though rarely found.
With rust and oil, it meets the day,
In rhythm with the grand ballet,
A soldier in the industrial sea,
Yet dreams of freedom, wild and free.
What secrets lie within its core?
What visions haunt that metal door?
A life of purpose, small yet keen,
A thousand hopes, a cog unseen.
For every rise, a slow descent,
Each turn a moment, each moment spent,
Though bound to tracks, it can't forget,
That in this dance, it’s part of the net.
So hear the song of spinning fate,
And honor every tiny trait,
For in this world of iron and dreams,
Even the smallest cog redeems.
I am the witness, the eternal witness, of the universe where stars are born and raised in effulgence, where vast empty spaces teem with celestial bodies, where the planet of life spins, a marvel of intelligence amidst the cosmic expanse. I stand at the intersection of past, present, and future, bound by names and actions, yet ever watching. I am the same witness who beholds the eternal drama of birth and death, both a spectator and a participant in this endless cycle.
In this timeless sea,
Me the sole chosen seer—
visions come and fade.
Fierce king of beasts with amber gaze,
His eyes were like sunrise through a morning haze.
Orbs of honey, sweet yet wild,
Nature's artwork, is chaste.
Pools of golden nectar gleam,
In which savanna's secrets teem.
Windows to a soul of fire,
Reflecting courage, strength, and desire.
This majestic cat, with marmalade sight,
Rules his realm from dawn to night.
An escapade sweet as a marshmallow day
when tangerine dreams fed our evergreen stream.
Our magnet attraction neath radiant ray
did butter the air where the breezes did teem
in whirly-wind-roses anointing the brae.
Their scent, my surrender, romantic the scheme,
exotic the fever and dance with a flame.
Ah, rapture of capture! The wooer’s end game.
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