Fitting
Tic tac toe
Marigolds
Loose fitting dialysis
Pidgin toe
Skeptical
Aromatic bowling ball
Sheep ba baba-volleying hair ball
5/31/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
October Visitation
A peeking orange smear
Talked to the lad inside his head,
When he was eight and nine months,
On a breezy October twilight in 1960,
As the orange light told him silently,
To go to the river's edge behind the red house,
To go there and see what it wanted him to see.
Night’s shawl of descending gray began its covering,
As the boy walked down the horse trail in the midst of chutes,
Volleying up green and yellow digesting rotting salmon,
With lurching trees swaying a little in the beckoning wind.
Upon the smooth stones he slowly trod in foreboding fear,
And there upon a large smooth stone he knelt,
Folding his hands as in preparation for the mysteries,
And then, the boy was compelled to gaze skyward with peering eyes,
And he saw it, a silvery flying thing, ethereal as sugar icing,
Hover above him, as the first stars exposed themselves like a pox,
And the lad prayed to this angel,
This otherworldly visitor from the Iam,
There incredibly seen, on an obscure river bank near Redding.
Pitter, patter fall the drops of rain
It slides down the window pane
Leave tracks of fudged images
Seem to convey some messages
At night the room is dark and damp
Lightening sparks it like a mystical lamp
The light mingles with the volleying thunder
Make the visible images rent asunder
Dawn breaks under an overcast sky
Slight drizzle evokes a drowsy sigh
A bedraggled dog hunts for a shelter
Explores an open door to enter
The roads are muddy and filled with puddles
Few dogs take cover under a cart in cuddles
Children going to school is a torturous task
“When will the rain stop?”, they plaintively ask
“No respite for days”, the weatherman said
Roads are flooded, difficult times ahead
“Work from home”, is the only way
Pray and keep waiting for a better day
END
Spring Volleyball - A Haiku
meandering thoughts
a high, volleyball volleying
out of untied shoe
~
n the gym forthwith
before hardwood floor bouncing
because of the net
4/22/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Lying flat in a rounded world
you're always there to pick me up
Volleying cautiously back and forth
hitting right between the lines
bouncing across a boundless boundry
holding tight, every bit you
strapped up and running
distance distracted beyond words
sunlit gazes glancing
not your ordinary day
you're kind like that
batting those baby blues
filtering water from my gin
as comfort takes a precious sip
lying flat in a rounded world
without hesitation
you're always there to pick me up
I have become like him; nocturnal.
Prematurely anaesthetised by exhaustion
then jerked awake into the darkness.
How long since I have slept 'til dawn?
A stifled yawn veiling scurrying thoughts.
Tennis match of emotions; back and forth;
volleying, lobbing this way and that.
The game, set and match of insomnia.
Then rallying forth as dawn brings clarity.
Despairing disparity sleeping finally.
The silence of the night amplifies my heartbeat.
Each breath echoes in the unsettled gloom.
As the dawn casts its ghostly light around the room
sleepless wakefulness wanes with the retiring moon,
and the owl rests, fatigued by his 'whooing'.
Unlike me he can sleep by day, the night is his time,
not mine; I am the intruder in the darkness;
a restless insomniac with an overactive brain.
Sleep well majestic wise one. No doubt,
when night falls, I will share your company again.
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