At Wimbledon, you must wear white
To play upon the courts
And that includes your sneakers, visors,
T-shirts, socks and shorts.
The colour police do not allow
Off-white, ecru or cream
And sneaker soles and laces
Should be white enough to gleam.
A single trim of colour
May adorn your neck or cuff,
No wider than one centimetre,
Which should be enough.
These rules apply to underwear
As well, and all obey.
How shocking it would be
If some black lace were on display!
In other tennis venues
Players’ fashions may beguile
But at Wimbledon, these regulations
Cramp some people’s style.
Categories:
visors, clothes, color, sports,
Form: Rhyme
I became impatient with myself
standing on the precipice of twilight
I know the things the dark visors
and I wish to dominate all sinfully
delicious places within it
I want to be the one to hand feed
dominance and not be the recipient of it
submitting only when the need arises
no longer tethered to my proclivities
while simultaneously indulging in
a world of unknowns
eyes narrow to a point conforming to the greying
aggression as it spills out into the merciless night
nature shames when there is no clear direction
allowing your mastery of control to penetrate me
maybe I thought I needed a stern and steady hand
but only on the parts you could physically touch
and unlike my body, my mind is the one place
you sir, have no possession over
when the light absorbs the waning dark of night
that is when I grab my emotion by the horns
and push him to kneel before me
the illusion of my submission, sir ~ rescinded
Categories:
visors, corruption, dark, emo, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
Through the window visors a site for sore eyes~
9/27/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Categories:
visors, allusion, analogy, environment, imagery,
Form: Free verse
GONE VIRAL (For Corona virus/ Covid 19 contest)
Don’t splutter, don’t wheeze
Don’t cough and don’t sneeze
Or they’ll lock you up
And they’ll mislay the keys
Don’t tell them you’re hot
Just say that you’re not
And don’t touch your face
Or you could be shot
With those swollen glands
You’d best wash your hands
And stay well away
From where your gran stands
In this world of issues
And black market tissues
Hand gel is gold dust
And loo roll is re-used
For shelves are now bare
No toilet roll there
Somebody said
It’s a media scare
It’s just four weeks on
So many folk gone
The cynics all died
Knowing they got it wrong
In gas masks and visors
The army now spies us
We walk down the street
And a magistrate tries us
But we are survivors
And no law shall tie us
I’m off for a drive
In my Corona virus
19 March 2020
Contest: Covid 19 Contest
Sponsor: Team Poetry Soup
Categories:
visors, change,
Form: Rhyme
I
Dead groves of buried flowers,
for the modern to be and to appear ...
and innocence be voice off tuned,
only the voice of noise be flourish.
II
Hallucinate engines loose on the street,
causes the moon, flee, hide, and disappear,
carrying on her breast the night naked sheet ...
The sun aware of this, uncertain that appears.
III
All bucolic geometry has already collapsed
in this infamous madness, villain of success,
even joyful and lively joy are vanished
IV
fearing for such bestial evil intentions,
because only of ghostly aberrations,
so they wear the visors of progress ...!
Categories:
visors, allusion, art, metaphor, poetry,
Form: Sonnet
mini visors
providers
of
who
cypher
clone me another
forced lover
souls cover
discreet
sheets
sewn
me
complete
boomerang
kisses that defeat
fly me around your moon
breathe beyond consumed
meeting me
in
the
presence while here
never quite left there
surrounding fear
willing to share
loves collider
collected
blinding
sewing
mini visors
?
Categories:
visors, art,
Form: Lyric
We mostly stick with basics
When we make a major buy,
So recommended bells and whistles
Seem to pass us by.
Yet today we took possession
Of our brand-new Subaru
And to get new safety features,
We were forced to upgrade, too.
For the first time, we’ve a moon roof
We can open for some air,
Which I think I will enjoy, although
I didn’t think I’d care.
We have fog lights and a camera
To provide a view behind
And both seat and wiper warmers,
Which in winter I won’t mind.
There are sensors that start beeping
If you drift from here to there
And the visors have extenders
To reduce the threat of glare.
So I wonder if to basics
This will make me bid farewells
For I think I can get used to
All these whistles and these bells!
Categories:
visors, car,
Form: Rhyme
slow it down
pull it up
boldly rival
wind whipped
leather wrapped
beetle bright
coiled spring
chromed out
in your face
visors down
rev it up
Go!
Go!
Go!
Categories:
visors, youth,
Form: I do not know?
Dust, astronauts found,
as fine as flour and
rough as sandpaper:
meterorites crash -
and smash local rocks,
grey dust is formed -
abrasive dust;
it wears through boots,
clings to helmets,
magnetic,
static cling,
and toxic ,
plenty
of it
moon
dust
causes
sneezing,
gums up joints
in space suits -
can’t move arms,
sticks to visors
and cameras,
fills crew cabins
with bad dust storms,
dust suckers ‘hoover’,
magnetic filters
pull dust from the air,
and microwaves melt
dusty lunar soil.
For Catie’s contest
Categories:
visors, space,
Form: Diminished Hexaverse
Faultfinding words—the sticks; reproachful glances—the stones,
each one flung through visors of human blinders.
Every emotional prick they create shatters the bones
as one more revolution of the breaking wheel is entire.
Seeing all and sundry as a personal jester,
hunting down their weaknesses for personal entertainment;
but to poach each and every one you see is a pester
that will ultimately land you in social containment.
At long last your emotional torture mars no one but you—
holding you captive in your limited thought.
Following the judging and bludgeoning you will come to rue
that your shallow heart merely led you to naught.
Categories:
visors, introspection,
Form: Rhyme
Fly us to the moon where we never have to breathe
The chaff and flare of petrol in an urban ghetto seethe;
Our love, such vital oxygen, feeds each of us as one,
Sustains the pure conceptual time and space continuum.
Inhaling in our fibres, golden clouds of lunar dust,
Sweet galactic voices gently telling that we must
Embrace the fireball sun blazing on the face of Mars,
With her black and auburn tentacles claiming for the stars.
The solar winds may freeze our skin and drown away our sighs,
Despite chromatic visors, comets blind our seeing eyes,
And we may fall to silver knees and pray at some abyss
To let the dawn light find us locked in one eternal kiss.
Our love burns as the sun in space, no vacuum of ashes,
Just the meeting of our lips and the flutter of eyelashes;
Black holes may form and eat the world, yet let us leave a sign,
For as the stars, though dead and gone, this love forever shine.
Categories:
visors, love, passion, space, time,
Form: Verse