The sun goes down, the storm begins to rise,A tidal wave behind my weary eyes.
The fear of being left, the splitting dark,
Each emotion leaving such a burning mark.
I grab the glass to numb the jagged edge,
To stop myself from walking off the ledge.
With every sip, the roaring silence breaks,
A temporary shield for my mistakes.
I drown the "too much," hide the frantic need,And plant the, "I am fine," synthetic seed.But when the fog lifts, the trauma remains,The same broken heart, the same heavy chains.The bottle promises a quiet night,But leaves me sinking, hidden from the light.Yet,
Shock!
unreal, unshaken disbelief.
Choice!
the people spoke,
democracy breathes.
What was promised—
a mirage,
a lie.
False hopes built to divide,
now shattered,
leaving many wide-eyed,
denied,
unrecognized,
lost in the wreckage of the unexpected.
Post 2-0-2-4
A reckoning.
A trauma.
A truth too sharp to ignore.
A Villanelle Tra La La
Tra la la-I couldn't stop thinking bout this song
Twas just so minuscule and kind
This I could never forget this verse twangs bings-bongs
That morn, hearing this new verse encounters so long a song
The song so calming settling each and every line
This musical verse couldn't stop thinking about the song
Later, ringing singing tra-la-la
I tried to focus on angelic ringing bells
I can't, could never forget the twang
tried to distract sounds with a versed-line
Tra la la it was time to start thinking about this line
Tra la la couldn't stop ringing it's bells-bongs
This I could never forget this verse twangs bings-bongs
Twas just so minuscule and kind
Tra la la-I couldn't stop thinking bout this song
I can't, could never forget the twang
I tried to focus on angelic ringing bells
Later, ringing singing tra-la-la
Tra la la-I couldn't stop thinking bout this song
8/8/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
i'm
a drink
on the rocks
straight
no chaser
with wax in
my ears
no siren song
karioki to take me
with
strangers
in the night
Spring is here, tra-la, tra-la, my parts are all excited
Whole being is in a state of euphoria as parts were reunited
Screaming to beat the band
Heard from here to Japan
Dear Mother Nature has once again been requited
The Art of the spoken word
Is east
Jerusalem
Ornate
Probate of the money lenders
Who tender purity and security
For a price
Gods children are willing to pay
Because they are the sheep
On which the idol's seek
Prohibition
The body and the blood
Never knowingly
Roots are tales
Into the afterlives
Slave's integrate
At the table of former master's
Free at last
Free at last
If only my children could see me now
It would all be worth while
My Child
One day closer to spring tra-la
One day closer to spring
Wish the days would just fly on by
Instead of lingering
Who needs winter, nobody I say
Time when everything dies
Three seasons surely would do us fine
We'd be a bunch of happier guys
Who do we talk to about our plight
A man in charge of complaints
Don't usually like to make any waves
But for sure I ain't no saint
One day closer to spring tra-la
Smelling sweet daffodils
Hey I can dream, it ain't against the law
Dreams are like magic pills
© Jack Ellison 2014
I'm eating my way through the fridge, tra-la!
I'm eating my way through the fridge
Do I feel a little bit guilty about it?
Maybe a bit more than a smidge
Someone's got to get rid of this stuff
It's been here for more than a week
The plastic containers are starting to bulge
Don't dare lift their lids for a peek
Saw a big bunch of week old burritos
Get up and start dancing around
Thought I could hear a Mariachi band
It was a faint, almost inaudible sound
The vegetable bin was rockin' with laughter
As a tomato all mushy and ripe
Was cuddling up to a overripe cucc
That smelled like an old guttersnipe
All in all the scene wasn't pleasant
Next time we'll try eating faster
Before the office for the environment
Declares an ecological disaster
I'm eating my way through the fridge, tra-la!
It's a service I provide for my country
And Greenpeace is actually thinking
Of naming a ship after me!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Singer,songwrter and piano man
We,fifties teens remain a fan,
Classically trained,a musical chameleon-
Oh Carol,hungry years, took him to Amarillo
But never,solitaire,this brillant Brooklyn fellow.
Tribute to Neil Sedaka ,71 years young this year
Longing
for respect,
loved for who she realy was,
not who she appeared
to be
Mayilyn-Forever Blonde-open this fall in London
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