He slides open a shallow drawer,
its wood catching slightly
before giving way.
Inside, the day’s minor slips:
a receipt with a transposed digit,
a label peeled at one corner,
a measurement off by the width
of a pencil mark.
He sorts them without hurry.
Each paper earns its place
only after he reads it twice,
sometimes three times,
to be sure the flaw is real.
A pencil rests near his hand,
shortened from use,
its point dulled by careful work.
He sharpens it only when needed,
never in anticipation.
Some errors he sets aside~
not rejected, simply waiting
until their purpose clarifies.
He has learned that small mistakes
reveal themselves slowly.
Near midday he finds one
in his own notes:
a digit written too quickly,
leaning out of line.
He corrects it without comment,
then files it with the others.
When the drawer closes,
the room settles.
Nothing finished,
nothing abandoned~
just consistency and
the quiet record
of what the world overlooks.
Spilled from dew drenched petals,
an overflow of laughing ferns
warring with the still forms – graceful
amazed by the atmosphere of light
softly woven through the inklings, aglow
stirring winds beneath shadows
pouring from the twilight’s joy
softly threaded into the horizon, a sky
worn gray by the gentle hope
arising beyond the meadow’s charms
leaking, a trickle of melancholic
born of grief and glory
spattered with golden blossoms, dozens
bowing and kneeling to worship
praising their Creator, the Author of light
nodding like they’ve some reason
beyond the presence of silence
still forms, guided by the heartbeat, the rhythm
a song amid the savannahs quiet breath
pouring out joy through the air
bending and falling, calling to the morning
a reflection of still beauty, on the wings of truth
blowing across the steely skies
remembering the day when this artist transposed
the music of the heart to a story of genius
I saw the sun go dark today,
colossal orbs aligned.
The afternoon faded away
to awe all humankind.
We watched as moon to earth opposed
in their celestial shift,
and lucent day to night transposed
in one huge, astral drift.
I felt, right then, the massive slide
that carries me through space—
a single grain of sand, I ride
on Earth's eternal face.
Colossal orbs aligned today
to make my world go dark—
the mighty sun on bold display
and me, barely a spark.
a paradox juxtaposed ~ finds an oxymoron superimposed
even if you agree or opposed ~ a polarity shift transposed
By
David Kavanagh
"We woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred"
freely transposed in space
unapologetic
in the image of us
relish heavenly glish
materialized not
angelic energize
but of them the likeness
I am energies changed
pour into a vessel into the birth canal
I speak for spoken I'm life, I light basking high energy thrive
12/2/23
For Transmutation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Smile is so special,
Which is hidden under the,
Transposed curve of face.
One has trampled down many roads and greeted many detours and obstacles only attempt was to release and escape these webs of obscurities lured into it’s web and was transposed in many directions so bewildered and jumbled seeking one’s way of escape of obscurities. Waving the white towel of hope at obscurities’s face to convince to shed for its light of hope.
with my shattered heart
like a clock set still beating
sore is my mine set
~
so in awe with you
time is so transposed lifting
without you I’m broke
~
with my shattered heart
beating still liken a clock
my tear flow dripping
1/31/2022
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
The splendor of Nature
a magnificent waterfall
miraculous wonder of life
turn around -- a baby is tall
transposed to canvas, to print
or even to musical instrument
pale reflections, we deem them 'Fine Arts'
we envious creators, who yearn to take part
Nicely penned poems are very rare to be adored.
The brilliant wisdom expressed through words is always being ignored.
People care less about sharing what poets want to convey.
They care more about the issues of others; have much more things to say.
A rhyme royal poem is nothing compared to a Facebook meme.
A disdained Dizain is more silent than a Twitter’s scream.
And so my folks will give you thumbs up for a cleavage post.
They get more a thousand hearts than a magnificently written prose.
If poetry can only flabbergast the world once again and trend,
Its words can be passed through ages and transcend.
For what is worth to listen and read is a literary masterpiece.
Not to mention my neighbor who shares rumors online; I never get peace.
If all that is going on in the media can be transposed to poetry,
It would make books of elegies and dramatic monologues in my country.
But I can sense the people’s loss of interest; many poems are ignored.
Nicely penned poems are very rare to be adored.
Note: I always feel that my friends on social media have no care at all about poems that I posted. I don't know but I just find things really very weird.
I shoveled the digs of hurt transposed beneath the skirt,
muddy waters bleed I hurt;
7/23/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.© 2020
What Happened at the Cross
Death’s at the crux of Christian belief,
Transposed — ours and HIS.
We proclaim the death of our Lord
With broken bread and the cup.
The bread, his body broken for us.
The wine, his blood spilled for us.
We are baptized, counted as dead
As we descend into the water’s grave.
“It is finished,” Jesus proclaimed.
Dead are we to the ways of the world.
1/21/2020
For while we were yet weak,
at the right time Christ died for the ungodly
Romans 5:6
For one will hardly die for a righteous man.
Yet perhaps for a righteous person
someone would even dare to die.
Romans 5:7
But God commends his own love toward us,
in that while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8
The truth is
nobody really cares
they say they do
but really,
they don't even remember.
They aren't reminded each day
of this gaping hole in our hearts.
Reality is transposed
and it's us four against the world.
No matter how many prayers,
how many messages,
how many hugs.
No amount of hugs can bring her back
And no amount of condolences can ease the pain.
Life sucked out the sun,
leaving nothing but shadows.
Trying to find our way through life,
with our heads cut off-
Yelling out for help and there's no one there
because that's when you'd be there
and now
we just have a black cloud hanging over us
manipulating our emotions-
Trying to survive on this wreckage
Keeping her close to the relic
Keeping all others at an arm’s length
All of this chaos like a nightmare-
Where you wake up in never-ending sweats
Where you don’t know where you are-
Because when you lose that unconditional love,
Nothing ever makes sense again
Nothing ever has to either-
So to those who say they care
Those who express their sorrow
Please understand the depths of this destruction
Understand the depths of this pain
Before you come crying.
Dog snuggles next to my body
Attempting to heal me.
Better than doctors.
Much more effective than hospital.
My pup is more successful in giving to me
What I am probably seeking than any
new human I have met this week.
Dog and God.
Same three letters.
Transposed again and again.
Understanding more.
I am shocked that Love is not spelled Gdo or Dgo
the constant
music in my mind
melodic loops
and melodies
transposed lines
juxtapose the left
brain video that
could be a photo
of you
for you
to me
your face filling
the screen but only
your eyes blink
as your silver smile
stays the same
all the while
my soundtrack
plays back around
again and again
the electric guitar
synapse riff of
Crazy Train
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