I wish to breathe in ~
lose myself, as my head tilts back
and I fill with fragrance
be lost upon lost, flowing, fleeing
invisibly within layers, locked in
bound to perfumed memories
that I return to unaccompanied
a ghost within their harmless essence
you are one deep inhalation away
I stop before my lungs are full
still able to tell dreams from reality
I hold three thoughts
three notes that detail my existence
I am the rose, delphinium blue & lily white
evaporative unless curated
an apparition, unheld, unholdable
recalled only to mind
redolent and intoxicated
by lingering base notes
unforgettable
but distinguished by the fact
you remain
the unforgiven
Inspired by The Three Perfumes by Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh
The bloody stranger stank of rank grass and
Animal grime and strutted unnoticed on
Our threshold on a long, misty night.
Lightning, unaccompanied by rain,
Exposed his grisly image,
Comprehended quickly by the village griot,
A humepenthe with seeing eyes, though blind,
Who could smell danger even from long-dug holes of
Doss-houses from distant caverns.
A common, vile dictator is abroad tonight!
… do you love me, woman
it is cloudy in this street
as that sandalwood perfume
stretching between our arms
here everything of it is gone
with the floods and good
you are the only tree left behind
and love is the dewdrops
even the axe that cuts them
into pieces, remains a noble soul
falling slowly from the last leaf
to the bare ground of mire
somewhere in the mist behind the bridge
a brain is smouldering with the request
to return this soul
to its former position
and retains its fragrance
in the trap, unaccompanied
thinking about a lover is sweeter than kissing
because love is not feeling
and I cherish that moment in itself
when I am alone but through a subsequent passage
that’s why I illustrate
your perfume filling the dig we create
woman, do you still love me
I’m one of the connexions, though really why
it should be, after all, is none so apparent
your body is a cloth I wear
in this cold weather I’m
struggling with my broken left leg…
They rise and sparkle and crackle,
Shaming the nakedness of the skies
And the city, with one frightful flame of
Youth,
Burning with the zest of
Seasonal lore.
At Christmas, they salute the days
Creamed by snow and sleet,
Thrusting in us the wisdom of
Global ceremonies.
They are the lightning of Yuletide —
Lightning unaccompanied by rain.
Shaped in balls and spears, and lean
Fragments of flagrant colours,
They are armed with their own thunder —
Thunder that speaks volumes and calms the rage in
Frenetic dogs.
They are coloured paints splashed lavishly across the broadest
Canvas ever —black and seamless
We see through their lens, the running dusts
Of sparks,
The dancing circus of sky-circuits
And the happy wars waged on the frontiers
Of seasons.
They strobe around the cold earth.
New Year’s Eve is riddled with conundrums,
Waking sleepy souls to sneeze up details of
A frazzled year.
The heavens are lit up lavishly,
Electrified to stupor,
Reminding us of choirs that chorus to the tunes
Of life everlasting.
Carousels ride through our minds, young now,
Old tomorrow,
With sparks that shine this moment
And dim the next.
Such is life.
Seagulls and Saints of Emmaus
David J Walker
I see Seagulls and Saints
And icy sills of Window’s
Restraints of blurred realities
And unaccompanied Complaints
But clearly every pray ends
In amends and Amens
And incitant constraints
I see syllables in Sawgrass
A syllabus of things passed
Down in hands of hand me down
Phases and phrases
Of false praise promises of
Devine Salutations extended to
The someone just behind me
I see sunsets and bad bets
In this and that complications of
Unfinished pages of equivocations
On the road to Emmaus,
(about seven miles from Jerusalem)
“Stay with us” we plead
for it is nearly evening and the day is almost done.”
So he went and broke bread
And then fled as their eyes opened.
And That’s when I saw
Seagulls and Saints
Dining in fields
of locust and wild honey
unaccompanied*
liturgical
melodies
sans
notation
universal
utterings
of
musical
uniformity
with
glee
Oh, the memories of yesteryears
Many were filled with happy tears
Unaccompanied by painful fears
Laughter and chatter filled our ears
Time must not be allowed to steal
Those sacred times that also heal
Those years spent with childhood peers
Like a May Day plaiting of the Maypole
Such thoughts of yesteryears never grow old
Although growing old with hairs turning gray,
I am warmed and embraced this quiet morning,
as I think about the upcoming first of May.
Send your kid aged 4 to 11 for air travel alone under the Air France unaccompanied minor policy, and for 12-17 its optional.
As he sat unaccompanied I saw no ring on his finger
Trouble in paradise perhaps
Lines at the edges of his eyes which still sparkled
the same brilliant blue as before
his cheekbones a bit more prominent than previously
his chin somewhat sharper
the baby face faded
replaced by a rather wizened visage
but equally enthralling
His enchanting smile remained unchanged
though it felt forced for the crowd and the cameras
Much can happen in only a year
A mask may slip revealing pretense
another's true motivations made clear
which might explain the unadorned digit
he was making no effort to hide from view
Maybe he knew
I’d notice
While Listening to Yo Yo Ma ***
,(Performing Bach’s “Unaccompanied Cello Suite 1 in G Major”) ————-
—————————————————————
Metamorphosis —
Spires —
The blood swift
through my heart
becomes rivers — rushing,
Currents to places not of this earth.
Thoughts become
the skies of continuing horizons
and variable light.
My nerves exclaim
Wonder
At my stillness
While listening to such
Magnificence.
But,no, not still at all.
The music has launched
travels within.
I lie tuned
in a sculpted Immensity.
———————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 10/12/21
unaccompanied
I set out to traverse the hinterlands
perceiving myself as a blemish on society
all eyes averted from my unsightly visage
the pernicious shadow of doubt's cloud
casting an ominous apparition that darkened the mood
but failed to dampen the xeric ground with needed rain
feigning confidence in my destination
striding past sage and succulent - yucca and agave
longing for the carefree smell of the ocean
and the company of friends
feeling like Abram departing Ur of the Chaldees
seeking astral consolation from the night sky
kneeling to pray to the heavenly sentry
I'd close my eyes to rest from the weary enterprise
of surviving my high school wilderness
Written 10 Nov 2020
Choral Singer-
You're looking at the choral singer
You're looking at the choral singer
I'm dancing, dancing 'til dawn
I feel lonely
I'm dancing 'til dawn
It's time we had some storms
You don't wanna be stuck indoors promenading
You must think I'm unaccompanied
Everyone is musical sometimes
Don't like your rhymes
Is musical sometimes
You don't wanna be philharmonic like me
You must think I'm a back-beat
Records ain't nothing when I'm gabbling with ya
You're looking at the choral singer
Music
If you feel like wandering
Everyone is musical sometimes
Won't like your rhymes
Is musical sometimes
7/29/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.© 2020
Today I saw a daffodil
'Twas unaccompanied but still
Despite its lack of company
It filled my smiling heart with glee
Towards the Sun its trumpet pointed
Head held high as one anointed
"How beautiful," I quietly uttered
'Tis yellow as the purest butter
With stalks and leaves of verdant green
I found it charming, quite serene
So there it stood this golden bell
A daffodil... stood sentinel.
Entry for
Couplet- any theme, any length Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart.
27/4/2020
Missing
I saw the the solitary people of my generation destroyed,
the wind wind has gone, my breathing stop;
How I mourned the lost;
Are you upset by how non-gregarious it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the lost so unaccompanied?
the populace has departed, alone broken hearten;
I cannot help but stop and look at the ants gone;
Cool, cold, crisp windy air, traveling from the North;
Does the bare naked trees and cooling breeze make you shiver?
Does it?
I saw the the cunning person of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the deceased;
Now wily is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the deceased is foxy, my spirit soul is proxy;
Are you upset by how non-gregarious it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the lost so unaccompanied?
the populace has departed, alone broken hearten;
Alas, something here is;
MISSING...
10/29/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
The blonde went down
with not must resistance
shunning off a stressful afternoon
the scene played of society, high
as I peered at all the pretense
and pretend of an I want to be
better than you and me
old men with young jewelry
cradling arms and new cufflinks
with crosses that will never be blessed
but undressed with tightly shut eyes
Cubans smoked, killing air
drifting from an aging beat
chords crafted with ease
toes tapped on the edge of my seat
the moon peeks and says goodnight
the chair nods off unaccompanied
the grifters scrounge for a dollar
I stand up, it's time to go eat
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