It happens
as if stirred by some
deep prompting rising up
out of a common soul,
a voice in search of a language
to write its existence
across the pages
of a passing mind.
The soft morning light
pooling beneath hurrying feet,
the cypress trees
along the foreshore time frozen
in their wind bent posture,
the motion of waves
withering into a slow soak
up the beach -
all seem to have something
to say.
I have felt a pen press
upon my mind, struggle
to find a space free
from the cramp of my own self
on which to record
the shape and sounds
of a joy or give form
to a longing freed
from the grip of shadow.
I have felt the cry
of things trapped
in the hollows of words
like empty sea shells held
to the ear and tried faithfully
to transcribe what was said.
In my solitude I have
called out hoping
for a reply only to hear
the sound of my own pulse
punctuate a terrible silence
I think of poetry
sometimes as sacred,
at an altar
summoned by words
of God --
every expression a driven
reverberation,
myself a mere fork tuning
struck by hammers unfathomable
truth~ feeling more transcriber
such spiritual rings transcending Bard's --
~ Beloved Woman of God I am your journalist Scribe;
A professional copyist I shall;
My duties theologian, a jurist,
May I verse hardcopy speaks life?
What you say, you speak life too;
A scribe in term, inspired words;
Gleaning those of Father’s lessons;
You have learned, inspirational;
I be your journalist scribe transpose record ;
That of what’s in the inside out;
~ In the name of Jesus Christ;
Be your personal, clerk, transcriber;
Your amanuensis, recorder;
You’re in season record-keeper;
May I be your personal professional theologian?
Penman jurist documenting mallam, Hallelujah and Amen!
Scribe recording dictated you and Our Father’s verse;
History present tense impressions, for now and always;
I am your journalist Scribe;
-------I shall be your Scribe;
9/21/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Small lashings contemplate, trigger then shrink!
Filtering through polyps to secluded places
Nerve holds majestically starting to think
Subconsciously able to feel for embraces.
Each sensitive touch has a spirited fibre,
Alluring as bait where the effigies far
None are exhausted yet each, the transcriber
Persisting as one, as our aliens are.
It exists as immune, as one does everyday
Like a tendril pendemic disguising the wait,
To vacuum consent with instinctive display
As its sepals react to a moment's sedate.
Here, deft reminders are solemnly peaceful,
The sway of the current shall toy with suspense
A flimsy affair with the quiet upheaval,
Caress is sheer awesome in natural defence.
Sustained to response through a physical portal
Exudes next to nothing and slowly but sure,
A splendid grandeur showing signs of immortal,
While we grasp for something a little bit more.
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