What if I have faith, yet love not my neighbour - who am I?
What if I have love, but care not for my soul - who am I?
What if I have fame, yet possess no sanctity - who am I?
What if I have wealth, yet have no health - where am I?
What if I give charity merely for fame - where am I?
What if I have everything I need, yet there's no peace within - where am I?
What if I knew all things around me, yet know not of my destiny - where am I?
I became nothing,
nor will I reach anywhere,
Like a rudderless vessel
Upon a vast endless ocean.
Institutionalized,
the substance of the vessel;
Is more than flesh bone and matter
For it's a reflected all within the matter
Is the spirit soul within the vessel
7/12/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
You are the Selena,
Who makes my heart a singer:
Love is my Alamo,
Designed to fight for you –
Leaving port once again,
never knowing if or when
we'll return, so until we do,
I'll carry with me thoughts of you,
and, tho' sails are set, charted course laid out,
there's still time to come about,
now, as the skipper shouts, “Helm's a-lee!” to me,
then's when I know, here's where I should be,
at the wheel, the vessel in stays,
yet, I can but do, the best I can,
as a running sea has many ways,
of soundly grounding, both ship and man.
Sunlight like a crackling bonfire on the verge of collapse
grows timid as the mottled dusk trembles in the sky
wavering among the murmuring shadows
Along the rear paths of life darkening into a muted crimson
the fading footprints of shadows
murmur within the swelling weight of silence
Like a contrarian spirit breaking winter’s stillness
the winter wind once envious of gentler breezes
cradles the flickering shadows
Midwinter is a mother’s basket
Dear Vessel of Life,
Let your inner child be free
but first you must see
If your inner child comes to be
They will be just like you and me
Am I in a place they can be free
Or have I created an endless sea
If I start to gloat
They struggle to float
If I am filled with shame
They will certainly feel the same
They will try to swim
But our waves will beat them from within.
Pour out onto this earth
A clear and happy child birth
For the pain we hold so near
Will be that our children fear
Oh dearest child of mine
give me a sign
That you are strong and free
and I will make you come to be.
For a Beautiful Verse Poem Contest by Constance La France
(12syllables/12lines)
vessels of being sail the cold surface of seas
oblivious to what may be lying below
journeys of coming and going, as it may please
of underlying truth, it does not need to know
whilst eternal tempests may rage in this above
a serenity of truth lives in the under
beneath the swell of in-between, somewhere is love
but how shall a vessel, as such seek this wonder
for the being, will the searching be make or break
at the same time, surviving the eye of a storm
and be more than, avoiding the wreck of heartbreak
finally finding truth, in the one who is warm
A claret mare,
slips through the lightless fields…
do I follow or does it follow me?
Milkweed drifts in the wind,
its intricacies caught in silence,
severed from any place of root or home,
do they know where they belong?
I drift, catatonic,
pulled toward a vague horizon
as if some austere hand grants favor -
or am I only imagining it?
Branches bow with dew,
a vessel of morning
in which the world seems briefly paused,
or is it always this still,
and I too blind to see?
Cherry blossoms, pale against gray…
hang like thoughts too fragile to speak.
I breathe.
The mare canters on,
and I, silent,
melt into the passing haze,
wondering if I will ever know
what carries me forward.
FLAWED VESSEL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a flawed vessel,
cracked in places
leaking light and shadow
in equal portion
Broad in the beam
not much of a looker
this crusty rust-bucket
of nuts screws and bolts
is a crabby old hooker
as luck would have it
dolled up trolling for supper
at any port in a storm
she still gives good service
tho' down on her uppers
now showing her years
deep in the scuppers
yet still on the game
fishing by night for a living
not to sully or bruise her good name
tho' one might unduly call her
a 'Cruiser'
this goodly vessel is truly a trawler
the possession of a vessel
a cradle call
a steady fall
a empty cost
and all's lost
a candle care
a random share
a fullness last
and all's cast
a constant claim
a longing name
a least of more
and all's before
a costly care
a vessel rare
an emptied full
and all's pull
a cradle claim
a constant name
a candle fair
a vessel care
cradle candle
constant cost
care and cast
and all is last
alex e nelson
ohio
She’s at it again.
Wasting my ink
staging yet another death.
I draft her crimson melodramas
with third-hand metaphors
as she sips on ‘hope’ like tonic
laced with rust
and wears ‘moor’ like thrift-store perfume.
I thread her June into
forced sonnets (poor things),
before her gin drowned the meter
in proofed regret.
Even a pen gets impatient.
Sometimes she pauses,
as though it might save her—
I rooted for her to mature
but talent won’t bloom from
immature theatrics.
Still, I ink her curtain call—
the curse of being a vessel.
My heart is a vessel filled with the ocean of endless love for you,
but when your screams shatter the silence like relentless storms,
when your hand rises like a cold shadow on my skin,
and your words strike like lightning across my furrowed brow,
I sink into the scorching memories of past traumas,
red nightmares like blood, nails of abuse digging deep,
the gray ghosts of anxiety dance around me,
pale and cold hands threatening my fragile neck with a deadly grip.
I wished to stay, to hope you would be the miracle of change,
but my nerves cannot bear to relive the terror again,
my bones are broken, I can no longer carry the burden of disdain,
no more drops of abuse and raw blood can be sipped.
So I leave now, leaving behind a silent goodbye,
whispering my peace like a prayer in the quiet of the night.
It's a retreat into a long-desired sanctuary of tranquility,
where words are no longer arrows and shadows no longer lurk,
where each day is a dawn of calm and every breath,
a new beginning, freed from the chains of past suffering,
like a butterfly lifting its wings to the clear sky,
seeking the peace promised by the silence of the eternal.
My heart is a vessel filled with an ocean of endless love for you,
but when your screams break the silence like relentless storms,
when your hand rises like a cold shadow on my skin,
and your words strike like lightning on my furrowed brow,
I sink into the scorching memories of past traumas,
red nightmares like blood, nails of abuse digging deep,
the gray ghosts of anxiety dance around me,
pale and cold hands threatening my fragile neck with a deadly grip.
I wanted to stay, to hope you would be the miracle of change,
but my nerves cannot bear to relive the terror again,
my bones are broken, I can no longer bear the burden of disdain,
no more drops of abuse and raw blood can be endured.
So I leave now, leaving behind a silent farewell,
whispering peace to myself like a prayer in the quiet of the night.
It is a retreat into a long-desired sanctuary of silence,
where words are no longer arrows and shadows no longer lurk,
where each day is a dawn of calm and each breath,
a new beginning, freed from the chains of past suffering,
like a butterfly lifting its wings toward the clear sky,
seeking the peace promised by eternal silence.
The bright in the daylight beacons shine;
Beating hearts no longer a lined;
The doctor M.E. has pronounced the vessel dead;
Sorely he bled out after being pierced in the head;
Now a corpse no longer shall he rise
His spirit now with Father-God
04/03/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
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