He leads me through East London,
docks, pubs, among the stray dogs, the
River Thames lapping at low clouds.
We find the second-hand player in a street
where the shops are dusty holes under the arches
of viaducts and railway bridges,
Me carrying the portable Dancette record player
in its hard Bakelite box,
lifting it by its leatherette handle, and I,
small for my age
but wanting so much to lug it all the way home.
The plastic cuts my fingers,
sharp corners bark my shins.
Father talks of his life here, the blackouts
and bombs, rationing,
and the bloody Saturday night street fights.
He whistles tunes
from a songbook of dead crooners.
That evening sitting together, with Sinatra -
watching the dark blue Capitol label
spiral and blur,
hearing the unseen belt under the bobbing needle
as it chewed vinyl -
reliving the clunk-clunk of our boots
as we pushed back fog-muted miles.
Years later, finding that player again
in mother's attic, lifting the machine
feeling how light, it is,
willing to take another walk with him
yet not knowing how to catch up.
Categories:
viaducts, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Slipping away,
then hands tuck you back in
arrange your sheets in the dark
while you float
connected to dank viaducts
that drain your body
only to feed a conscious
plasma back to you.
It is almost beautiful
this slipping away and returning.
As flotsam you are part
of a humming communion,
momentarily you belong
with those others
who have drained gently away.
The reappearance of yourself
brings with it a vision,
an unknown hand holding yours.
Though you cannot now place her,
it is beautiful how she knit you together
from a few threads of life
with just a lingering touch.
Stayed with you
amid your coming and goings.
You want to know her name.
to kiss her like a lover
or a mother
but no doubt
she will not even remember,
or maybe she now needs you
and you don’t miss her enough?
Categories:
viaducts, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Content flaunt it the talent that you embrace
Mentioned constant viaducts submerged in Grace
Waterboarding terroristic threats no trust
Humanitarian sinful choice of lust
Issues of trust
Who you going to trust
How you going to look up
When all you do is look down
And when you smile it's a frown
Issues of trust
Contour it electric a surge of power
Take take take take all the seconds minutes turn hours
Mention constant viaducts submerged in Grace
Content flaunted the talent that you waste
What's going on
Who's really wrong
When you smile it's a frown
Because all you ever do is look down
Issues of trust
Cheer up rise up repent you're wrongs
Embrace the love of Jesus in case in His freedoms
Rejoice rejoice in the love of God
as the people say who you going to trust
All is not lost
This you must know in Him you trust
Believe and receive in God and Jesus
For in Christ there's no trust issues
10/1/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Categories:
viaducts, analogy, environment, forgiveness, trust,
Form: Rhyme
Slipping away,
then hands tuck you back into the room,
arrange your sheets in the dark
while you float
connected to dank viaducts
that drain your body
only to feed it back to you.
It is almost beautiful
this slipping away
and returning.
As salvage you are part
of a humming communion,
momentarily you belong
with those others
who have risen upright.
The reappearance of yourself
brings with it a vision,
an unknown hand
holding yours.
And though you cannot now
place her,
it is almost beautiful how
she knit you together
from a few threads of your life.
Stayed with you
amid the
coming and goings
of your life.
Categories:
viaducts, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I am a driver
responsible for controlling starting,
stopping
and speeding.
I am a driver of a steam locomotive
a railway train powered through a steam engine.
and fueled by burning combustible material.
I shall evoke nostalgia,
I am goint to lead you hand i hand
To the simple delight
You’re going to experience an enormous plume of steam bursting
As the train as it pulls out of a station.
All aboard!!!!!
Dum di dum di dum
Around 100 different lines, we go
All part of the fantasy,
The ultimate romance of travelling by steam train.
Ladies and gentlemen
I am captain Nehpets Gnik
Welcome aboard.
This journey will take a week,
We shall meander along the coast at Torbay,
over viaducts,
past harbours and beaches with pastel-painted huts,
this is a 120 mile track taking us inland through the Devon countryside
From there to the Dart estuary.
Will will stay staying at local hotels
with more luxurious establishments along the way.
Dum di dum di dum
Dum di dum di dum
Dum di dum di dum
I hope you enjoyed our journey
Please don’t forget any luggage
Hoping to see you again.
16th January 2015
Categories:
viaducts, adventure, history, journey, nostalgia,
Form: Prose Poetry
withpen in hand awake, apparations of immortality
consumed inward. This straight heart's delight
yelling Tiny Nicaragua's a big threat
to undernourished Mexico.
By common sense , common law , common tenderness
& common tranquility I want to know what
happens after I rot.
shooting Gasoline electric speed ; empty soul'd
exploding at viaducts heavy bound and
manacled upon the City's Heart.
... Was that a shot ! backfire
or cherrybomb? jiggling yr knees there blankeyed
in the rain.
While each flower Buddha eye repeats this story
with teenage boys , The Red Police and grunts &
screams & shouts ...
... eyes , tongue and heart ...
theres' just too much to see ; world-wide
and full of money. Count yourself Greatness
in their pointy empire accumalating on the margin
with broken plumes of sensation. As
I lie
here naked in the dark , dreaming....
Categories:
viaducts, art, devotion, faith, imagination,
Form: Free verse
My daily drive; today through pouring rain,
Behind road fog snaking towards me from the truck ahead,
Slowly approaching the cloud-shrouded glass and metal,
Framed by downtown's bustling highways.
Graffiti on walls and overpasses define the city climate
Testimony of a divided space and time
Obscenities litter the viaducts and road signs
Racial slurs and sexual innuendos graphically apparent.
Beggars crowd each corner light.
Wheel chaired homeless; missing limbs and teeth,
Huddled beneath layers of sweaters and tattered jackets,
Mumbling into their private cyberspace of unreality.
Parking lots crowded with brown skinned men,
Waiting for one day's employment to wander by,
Speaking a language that is becoming the norm,
Twelve deep clustered in one room flats.
Sirens wail as the babies cry,
Crack head infants abandoned to a depleted system,
Children birthing children into a burdened structure,
Seams bursting in the waistcoat of mankind.
Categories:
viaducts, life, people, philosophy, social,
Form: Free verse