_____________________
Even in today’s world, there are more things that would make a man happy than sad---all easy to get and free. But there are people whose default mode is to feel sorry, virtually a defect mode. This ghazal dwells on this irony.
___________________
On crest or in valley, they’d feel sorry,
Take them to place any, they’d feel sorry.
Take them even to the Eden Garden,
Looking wan and weary, they’d feel sorry.
Those intent on feeling forever blue,
On days sanguine sunny would feel sorry.
Those in love with their dreary history,
Turn things cheery, teary to feel sorry.
Let Fate bestow a lucky break, I’d stake
My last silver penny, they’d feel sorry.
_____________________________
Satire | 29.08.2026 | fate, happy, irony, sad/sorry, satire, Ghazal
color beautiful
floristic patterns colors
wings flaps flutterIng
~
virtually free
and shiny effervescent
flower gather Butterfly
8/30/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
For the contrived inducement
of the fixated being,
an aligned identity personified,
changes in self-devised palette
of metamorphosed color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon,
slyly cocooned,
paints surreptitiously
shape-shifted deception portrait.
In ostensible enactment
of life’s incredible drama,
performance perfected in one-act play
with obsessed passion parodied,
gilds the corollary crafted by alchemy,
an axiomatic designed drive
induces the wily shift
from one actor to another.
Out of the limelight,
the covert colors fade
on virtually made-up visage,
the pallid original face
morphs mystically into
veracity mirror of actuality,
reflects the real identity depiction,
painted in primal persona hues
of distinctive disposition,
epitomized once.
The spasm of pragmatic perception
splits the mirror,
shards of shattered pretence
willfully abandoned as discarded debris.
Transformation creates the eluding entity,
an alien in its own reinvented realm,
completes the illusory pattern,
designed by the paradigm of contrast.
Cloudy skies confetti the earth with white snowflakes:
Harbingers of excitement and sweet sugar cakes.
Ringing church bells peal, blessing Jesus' birthday while
Icicles hang from eaves in an ornate display.
Santa Claus and his reindeer will take flight tonight,
To deliver gifts to all the good boys and girls.
Mommies and daddies are all smiles and hugs of love,
As youngsters eagerly search the skies above, and
Soon, their yawns yield to dreams of Rudolph's shiny nose.
Elves will fill Santa's magical bag with toys, and
Virtually overnight, Santa will visit
Every house in town: bringing Christmas cheer to all.
In delicate dale
of latticed life,
at esoteric edge
of sinking sky,
hermit horizon
shimmers sensuous,
paled passion
glows.
On convolute contours
of scrambled dream,
whirlpool desire
swivels in inert stream,
arcane mindscape
usurped unsculpted
in twilight obscurity,
destined
In platitude plateau,
the final flow
originates inspired,
ordained for
integral fusion
with supreme sea,
the end embraces
sublime silence,
reflective.
Suffused engulfed
by sunrise shades,
longing designs,
perpetuity illusion
embeds eternal efflux,
carries vibrant soul
to the bay of bliss,
virtually.
Eyes compete to compensate beauty,
Beyond pleasure of reasonable duty.
Money competes to compensate value,
Before time sets another price anew...
Pen competes to compensate book...
Above muse running minds unhook.
Eraser competes to compensate error,
Against stake of consequence's terror.
Mind competes to compensate brain,
Holding unto wisdom for huge gain.
Thinking competes to compensate judgement,
Having checked through for proper assessment.
Voice competes to compensate ears,
To be calm of sweet words foaming cheers!
Tongue competes to compensate understanding,
Towards convincing points so outstanding.
Seat competes to compensate buttocks,
Cum comfort not necessarily quite deluxe.
Bed competes to compensate spinal cord,
Care sets free unlike one in the hospital's ward.
Women compete to compensate survival,
Vigilant enough of approaching rival.
Men compete to compensate growth,
Virtually for both also marriage's oath.
Competition drives value-
To compensate focus guide
And fight forces turning tide,
Against what desires pursue...
The distance between you all and I can be so painful
Sitting in traffic to be with you can be so meaningful
It's a bitter sweet feeling though to live so far away
Our hearts would grow fonder each and every day
Using social network to read what you have to say
You encourage me virtually when my skies are grey
While spending time with you I didn't feel insecure
You're the type of friends I need to help me to endure
We were hurting and we helped our hearts to mend
The time I spent with you is time I didn't want to end
To spend time with you again in the future is a must
I love you guys although there's distance between us
“No Man Is An Island”
but that was before smart phones
To text and to tweet
technology’s drones
With ear buds in place
these Stepford’s march on
Virtually connecting
— to what’s already gone
(University of Pennsylvania: June, 2025)
A tsunami of black ash blankets half a world
Trash toadstool hoodoos, wastelandic pillage
and pollutant mucus ravishes lava villages
Draining is the amalgam mass at the end of the spectrum
Stone environs shock, unnatural landscapes
Polyethylene islands flushing the canvas
Carbon contaminant fumes flair in mid drift air
Virtually no place on Earth is free of the polymer fog
Foaming magma cascades over metallic mushroom roots
Spiny shoots sprout tentacles from rubber trees
Mercury and cadmium toxin leeches' groundwater
Above the quicksand are flying objects that pass as vultures
For a million magarican dollars I was greeted by a masked spacebot
Left on moonlit Luna's Lot are my collection of yin-yang art articles
The world is somehow a pomegranate
Every individual of us in it is the seeds
Having stayed similar to juicy tastes
Holding together long yawning for grace
Dreaming to germinate in the spring breeze
And to grow up and stand tall in the soil
Blooming virtually and quietly in the Sun-rays
And to appeal the amethyst for your please
Oh, lord! You'd be proud of thee for all
For so many myths, you leave there to face
And so many choices given alike in blind dates
Cooler breezes give us relief from the stifling heat,
A signal autumn is coming, and summer is in full retreat.
Leaves on the trees turn yellow, orange, red and brown,
As the days grow shorter, they eventually find their way to the ground.
As temperatures continue to cool, animals prepare for the cold months ahead,
Birds, reptiles, and mammals make ready for longer nights and shorter days instead.
Diminished daylight triggers an internal clock,
Signaling waterfowl to fly south, virtually non-stop.
Monarch butterflies commence migrating to their winter home,
Flying thousands of miles, their wings beating in cadence to an internal metronome.
As days pass, daylight shrinks and nighttime expands,
Driven by the earth’s voyage around the sun as we have come to understand.
As the outdoor world starts changing, all plants and animals adjust,
Preparing for the formidable winter ahead is a necessity, a must.
Plants start dropping seeds while animals gather food stores - their pre-winter haul,
It’s that time of year again, a time we call Fall.
A shadow crossed the room
in the corner of my awareness
A cloud outside somewhere, probably,
but for an instant, I thought that motion was you.
Thoughts of you are casually intrusive.
Maybe you’d crawled into my luggage - and hidden.
There’s a complex birthday candle wish.
Desire owes no deference to logic
When I think of you, my tummy becomes warm satin and I know,
that in your hands, I could be boneless and lusciously obedient.
For a while, anyway.
I remember us at the beach, lounging in deep parasol shade,
how your tanned skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat
and your endless legs stretched out like a centerfold’s.
Or you pulling me up out of the pool, one-handed, effortlessly,
with enough force that I briefly flew, and how you’d gently guide me down.
“What are you doing?” I’m virtually slapped out of my erotic fantasy, by Lisa, who’s standing, exasperated, sandaled toes tapping, purse in hand.
“Daydreaming,” I answered weakly, as I jumped up to get myself ready.
Has it only been four days since I left you?
I already feel tragically underheld.
.
.
A song for this:
Ain't it a shame by The B-52s
Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe
I do not understand politics,
I realise I never will
My interest, I'm ashamed to say
It is virtually nil.
But...
At the moment,
I am feeling somewhat fraught
Some politicians who are in power today
They need to do what they ought.
They should abide by the law,
And practice this in court.
But some do not understand the law,
Or they need to remember what they were taught.
Some politicians think that they are above the law
And people can be bought
Then greed creeps in
Which causes problems of a different sort.
My opinion of politicians
May count for naught
But in my humble opinion
There needs to be more order in court.
On a hot and windless night
I lay in bed quietly with a bit sad
Looking back on the journey
A shadow appears bashfully on the catwalk
As shy as debtors for a grace time hide
I feel odd suddenly about that
It happens for no known reason
...
Or like a criminal carries a shackle
Escorting a soul of exile
The self-torture of
Suffocating in the dust
Being stirred up by passers...
Fairly, it represents nothing
In a world shared less or more
If equalizing goodwill with goodwill
And evil with evil...
Say it loudly, I'm truly worthy of
Standing between earth and heaven
And facing by person to person...
Not much time will be left
For flying Spiritual whiskers in the wind
And singing virtually among the mountains ...
No matter how hard he may try,
A poet can never fully capture the world "out there"
And set it down in words on a page.
"Out there" the world is real,
Sensuous,
And can be felt and touched.
When a poet attempts to describe that world
In language and words,
The most he can ever really accomplish
Is to reproduce it virtually…
And at a distance.
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