Written: September 21, 2026, not for contest
**********
What alchemy resides within the heart,
Where every pulse can tincture blood with hue—
Now umbered by wounds of grief's old art,
Now aureate beneath a love made new.
It hoards its red summers, violet nights,
Then bleaches sorrow into winter-white;
A crystal turning grief to fractured lights,
A stained-glass soul transfigured by the night.
Some days it wears the ochre robe of doubt,
Some days the cobalt vestment of despair;
Yet dawn may coax the buried roses out
And scatter molten amber through the air.
For hearts, like skies, are never one fixed blue;
They darken, blaze, and bloom—and start anew.
Brilliant vermillion, a splash in the bath
The summer tanager causes a laugh
Color that seems to fly while it rests
It causes a reverence no one contests
No ordinary cardinal, nor flycatcher's hue
No black cap or vestment spoiling this view
It snatches the stinger while singing in flight
Inspiring the singer and song with the sight
Stepping away from mental
Qualm and carried in strong
Arms of nectar and brief balm
Of lull and daydreams.
Bathed in nature's
Calm seductive vestment
A timeless orchestra in its shadows.
10/24/2025
Can we put a man on the moon?
Just asking, hope not too soon..
We've built him a rocket
In the shape of a bed
With nice fluffy pillows
For his white fluffy head
Powered by electrickery
With buttons and dials
It's sure to be comfy
For those final few miles
Can we put a man on the moon?
Not so gender exclusive
It's just time is short
And our volunteer effusive
We have oxygen prepped
With fire safety assessment
All the food is prepared
Every cover and vestment
Has been guilded with love
And we've washed up the dishes
Now a hareem of beauty
To attend to his wishes
It's an easier challenge
Than a rocket and booster
If the attendees can wake up
Without the aid of a rooster
A launch date is looming
So the countdown is clicking
It's weather dependent
And that red button keeps sticking
Not the end of his journey
But the start of another
This spaceman is ready..
Leaving me and my brother
Can we put a man on the moon?
It's an easier ask
But saying goodbye..
That's the heart-wrenching task
Cooling off in falling months, approaching dusk.
Coordinated chill and quilting of snow, brusque.
Cooking lots of soup, beating down dough,
as the wind whoops on a weeping willow.
The sky blue sheets aired out on the clothesline.
Coordinates of beauty in her decline.
Cooties shots on the medical menu…sigh.
Cooperation of dirge, the woe-filled cry.
Co-occurence of life and absence of fog
on the handheld mirror, down by the bog.
Cookout of fried boughs and its vestment.
This particular parish was not a good investment.
Autumn’s turning down the soil - leaves
storm in turmoil, slowing down what it believes.
The coos of despair…her ring rolls off finger.
Her dreams of love no longer linger.
Cool when Autumn clashes with Winter
and the clash of letters are placed by printer.
The clouds are snow white, they get the scoop.
Doves cry and hover - eyes droop.
beaten and broken
bruised and battered
brutalized and bare
bandaged and braised
bashed and butchered
bold and brave
Anguished
Slayed and silenced
slaughtered and seduced
strong-armed to surrender
squeezed and squashed
bleeding hearts
clad in elephant vestment
with an eternal spirit,
pugnacious against
the system from the walls of prison,
sentenced for a crime they didn’t commit
cogently grilling them to submit.
They have hearts of a lion,
Giving their own for a million
That is what it takes for freedom
To be in our hands.
Love Each New Vestment
love each new vestment
And wonder where old ones went
To God they were sent
Jim Horn
Church just received new choir vestments
here at St. James Episcopal in Shallotte,
NC.
I am glowing testament;
A testimony-bright and flowing vestment;
Shall blossom my spirit rest on this;
Glory, freedoms blemished..
Glorious freedoms accepted
Hallelujah!
Alleluia!
Challenges balances;
God blesses, Jesus reigns
He confesses mercies grace chances…
Challenges balances :
8/21/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Obsession with higher returns on investment
Crushes man, separating a person from personal data
Collected through stealth, subterfuge hidden in a vestment
Free services claim to account holders flatter.
Pecuniary motives peddle personal information
Concealed ruse gathers and bothers to assemble
For sale with neither owners’ consent nor participation
In how, what and which corporations information reassemble.
Personal information belongs not to information thieves
Who usurp personal details using terms and conditions
Which grant no legal right to knaves and knives
That manipulate and misappropriate data in misguided missions.
The global village vies to regulate
Behemoths that threaten freedoms in a cartel kingdom
That shuns integrity, expecting data owners to capitulate
In the face of trade carried out in a thoughtless thiefdom.
A silver spider spied a golden fly,
and to it most amorously did sigh:
"O most glorious of flies!
What fine wings you have, what eyes!
No earthly thing shows beauty more.
I shall weave in silver thread
a garb for you, a vestment fair,
that we be forever wed,
a common destiny to share.
I in you, and you in me,
O how happy we shall be.
You shall be my metaphor.
To you I'll pose reality."
"I'm sure what moves you is benign,"
the fly replied in dulcet tone.
"Yet I regretfully decline
your offer of a common home.
My gold is - like your silver - pure,
and may such purity endure,
for purity, if once alloyed,
as sure as fate must be destroyed.
To sun and moon it was decreed
not fusion but duality
should constitute reality.
Cohabitation I debar!
I shall admire you - from afar!"
Their courageous bodies lay like garland
on the sandy shores of Normandy,
Their duty there well defined.
Fearless of every returning home
And with their dying breath's they whispered
For God, Country and the Flag
Let Freedom Ring, Let Freedom Ring
With their last full measure of loyalty
and impeccable divine gratitude.
Honor now their vestment!
Their deaths filled with Integrity!
They sacrificed their lives
Not for "Honor or Glory!"
For "The Stars and Stripes!"
Known as "Old Glory!"
I replied to the beast, “ We are done!”
No longer will I be captive to your powder
of numb thought and emotion.
No longer will I need to have a special
cup, cotton, and spoon next to those
dirty syringes hidden in the vestment.
I will no longer be waking up sick,
scrunching in fits of pain and agony.
I refuse to be pale and thin anymore from lack
of sustenance. "O, Devil! I'm kicking you to the curb."
Today is the day that I am starting a new story.
I am turning my back on you, Morning Star!
With swift pride, I stomp you back to your unholy
glory where your pleasure is no longer my pain.
Don't think I am sorry as I am awakened from
misery. It is time now to find direction otherwise.
Today, O Devil, I take back reign of this
chaotic life mess I have created!
Today I will be strong, as you have tormented me
so long. No longer shall I be off track for today,
I am taking my life back!
Bursting free from these chains;
I am on the way to conquering the flames!
A courier of peace; a coupon of hope
Your cost, though, I have been made alien,
Your fruitfulness I heartily grope.
But the lashed back in servitude asks, “WHEN”?
A befitting vestment on servitude
A plague in the metropolis,
Like the Gulliver in Lilliput.
Amass not, thou in bit she seeks.
Though thou enjoyed none methinks,
‘Cos denied is she, much she denies ye.
But let that which we sought be unclink
An ointment on our contuse, we pr’ythee.
And should denial tend your way,
At wrath, me be spared, I pray.
I will not let in the day unless she be by
and billow the sheets upon my head,
if no billowed tresses I would find;
the sun early born I will ‘til old age deny;
dewy leaf go!—gone!—from my bed,
to loathe and adore body supine
and entwining heat. What repose, stead-
fast flight, can a flutter-by allay?
What little kisses adorn a cooled side,
upon a pillowed brow unassured.
My absentee muse of effervescence!;
and traipse such dreaming mist so blithe:
upon a window and hot streak blurred,
a finger to leave a light spirit-essence
wrought this small box world. Être en fleur
wetted too steady for fragile frame arise.
Where are you now? with night's moth
clutching its soft and warming wings?--
amidst the cold veil I cannot lift,
or black vestment atop our chrysalis cloth;
and sweet, long malady they'll sing,
and holy-scented billows of vapor drift,
and shut senses, I will inter between and wring.
What dispelling heat is Love and God's wrath?
Regal attachment
Ornamental vestment
Bathroom accoutrement
Ephemeral garment
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