A tall white tower in stones I stretch high,
Towards the expanse or the starry sky;
I stay awake through all hours of the night,
Shining afar my steady, sparkling light.
Pitched at edge of land and sea crashing white,
It is my humble duty and delight
To guide sailors sail safely past the shore
And dread the squally stormy seas no more.
Even If storms should turn the sky to lead,
My beam ever remains where sailors tread;
Even when thunder shakes the hollow ground
I direct them to the shore, safe and sound.
Beyond the reach of warmth and far from home
Sailors trust my tower through mist and foam;
They track the trail of my bright rhythmic glow
Despite the whirling waves and tides below.
My years flit by in midst of salt and spray,
My paints from my walls are peeling away,
Yet still I hold darkness of night at bay
Until the safe and soft return of day.
The Sun rises in a flash of enthusiasm,
as birds flock in delicate swirls.
The lake lets loose its solemn mists,
to enchant the finely dressed trees.
It's springtime in the Rockies,
with its tumultuous pantheon.
Those towering Majestics,
that burst with excitement.
The train of moving images,
signing Gods greatest works.
The tell of beautiful obelisks,
that rule the attending fields.
and whose shadows point,
to the path of potentialities.
Where brave men stand...
with their Towering Dreams!
They say that Virginia’s leaning left
and Wisconsin’s leaning right
Well, I say Pisa leans left
~ and she’s done alright
Going nowhere in circles,
at 0.9 km/h with no stops in-between,
32 numbered capsules,
except (superstitiously) 'unlucky' thirteen.
George Ferris is the name
of the man to be cursed,
for it's he who's to blame,
as his was the first.
On the skyline, towering over the town,
the city's pageantry and history,
a blot, a blemish built, an affront to the Crown,
an as yet unsolved mystery,
as to why, despoiling the view,
and to underscore that which I deplore,
England's most popular tourist attraction,
is now the London Eyesore!
Towering Urn of 911
ashes
scattered
Great men
stand taller
than the countries
they serve
Honor
and courage
the bureaucrats
scourge
To sacrifice
self
without
question or pause
And champion
the weak
in defense
— of their cause
(Independence Hall: July, 2025)
The towering rocks
Looking below everything
What plain is doing.
Stripped from Fall's shearing
naked
she sighs
she groans
As winter's wild wind
has his way with her.
Stronger than you,
am I, boasts wind,
his tempestuous howling screams
hitting hapless Lady Maple
with reckless gusts of power.
So be I, at times,
in between seasons
in storming times
tossed about
As wind barrens me
catches me again
in winter's despair.
Dawn of the city
sunset of humanity
Light a burning ash
—darkness closing in
(The New Room: September, 2022)
hill* towers midst clouds
summit transcends firmament---
as tall trees praise God
*Psalm 68:15 The hill of God is as the hill of Bashan; an high hill as the hill of Bashan.
March 3, 2022
Edited on March April 4
2nd place, "H Forms - Traditional Nature Haiku" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 3/5/2022
Where gray shadows lurk beneath the towering beech
A kaleidoscope of color seeks to linger in the space
Where bare brown leaves cover the sunrays cannot reach,
Where gray shadows lurk beneath the towering beech
Squirrels battle for nuts, while tiny chipmunks screech.
And I, I am content to observe the habitat, this place,
Where gray shadows lurk beneath the towering beech
A kaleidoscope of color seeks to linger in the space.
Written June 24, 2021
My Father's towers
Is strong powers
And to those who think there're weak
Acknowledge Christ and He will endower
You with lasting strength indeed empowering...
He rules He reigns my God towers
6/2/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
giraffes spend their lives
standing, sleeping, birthing, and
eating, all have horns
2019 September 13
howmanysyllables
5-7-5
There stands a blackened tower
Shrouded in a ghostly white
The tomb of seventy two
From a day that drags on hour by dreadful hour
As we reflect upon that ghastly night
A day so many live to rue.
From a simple kitchen fire
There grew a flesh eating blaze
That built into a funeral pyre
Covering London in its darkening haze.
Onlookers helplessly looked on
At windows registering silent screams
Of friends and relatives soon to be gone
The stuff of nightmares ,not of dreams.
Too late did the firefighters come
As the flames did the victims consume
In the furnace they once called home
Daily life no longer theirs to resume
An inquiry now picks over the remains and rubble
Searching for what went so badly wrong
Many will be called to account for this trouble
For those commemorated in my dirge of a song.
Grenfell's holocaust is burned into the national mind
Memories shredded and ripped sadly asunder
While every attempt was made for blame evasion
By those who to customer safety were blind
Our bitter grief smoulders on from this costly blunder
Such a parcel of hypocritical rogues in our nation!
Flowering and Towering
From her mind poems were flowing and flowering,
And high above the world they had been towering;
Ability endowed,
And was proud;
Effort to write poems God Himself was empowering.
Jim Horn
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