Vultures Poems

Vultures

Vultures
 They circle the sky.
 Waiting patiently for something to die.
 Back roads collect roadkill
 They see far away over the hill
 Flying creatures from above.
 A fascinating bird brown in mud.
 Vultures circling in the air.
 Where the corpse is, they will gather.
 A final plague is in place.
 No fear face to face.

vengeful vultures

I see 
   beyond the ravenous t a l o n s 
          of v e 
              n g 
              e

FLORIDA

There are vultures perched on the 
lampposts of Florida
You can hear their young calling
in the morning breeze

They search for the desert that
was once their home
It's forgotten for now, a relic of the past
So they just sit and wait

Life on Heels

Height 6'1", checked. 
Waist a breath, legs a line,
checked. 
Horned jaws, a sharp decree, 
checked. 
Weight, a feather's fallacy, 
checked.

Groomed, primed, pinched, 
poked, 
A porcelain doll to be arrayed 
before the hungry gaze of 
vultures. 
A spectacle, framed and bright, 
Fascination of the surface.

This is what life on heels looks 
like, my dear. 
The longer

Beware the Ides of March

The virtues, sacrificed
  By muscling vices,
Lay dying 
Across the dusty crusts of Earth.

The sky, once admirably azure, 
Now bleeds dark streams of gray 
Above the sight of flying vultures
Flapping, circling in wait.

killing Vultures-

Morbid is the choice of murdering heart
Crept creeping misdemeanors under developed
Killed or be killed vultures
Fall into the waters, the seas
Ripping up dead salmon

4/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©

Ten Hungry Vultures

Hungry vultures; there were ten, just sitting in a tree
One fell out and bit the dust while my wife made my tea

Hungry vultures; there were nine, among the leaves so green
One chewed dirt as my wife scrubbed the tractor’s tyres clean

Hungry vultures; there were eight, just sat there on a branch
One dropped off, devoid of

Vultures Circle The Sky

In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur, 
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries, 
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver, 
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith

Vultures and Doves

   Prices rise, incomes fall
     Terrorism reigns, nuclear pall
   Health care declines, rich people dine
     War everywhere, machine guns whine 

   What happened to ‘peace and love’
     When did the vulture devour the dove
   Where

Vultures

I'm something I'm not proud to be,
but what if this something has always been me?
What if the monster that crawls in me is just my heart?
What if it explodes before I tear it apart?
My ruins will fly,
like vultures in the sky.
Picking on the dirt they find,
of the ground and my dead body's hind.
I tore papers

Committee of Vultures

Committee of Vultures

There they sit squabbling
Up in a tree or on the ground
Waiting greedily for the next carcass
Laughing, they don’t care how it got dead

Always waiting to rip to shreds
Pushing and shoving to be the first
They yearn for blood but it's rotting flesh
They will pick and pick, till the bones are bare

Their sharp beaks, squawk

The One I Lost

To The One I Lost Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon

Placed 3rd
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Like a nymph from Arden,
She entered my life’s garden.			

Like lightning to me, she came; 
For me, she was an ideal dame.

As feminine as a jasmine flower,
She found in me a protective bower.

I traced sweet nectar in her talk,
And a dancing swan in her walk.

Her floating

Vultures

silence can be 

proverbially golden


when cracks appear

patina can seal the fissures 

and cradle what is left 

once speechless bubbles 

make reason and sense 

until the arbiter of emotion 

glows from the dark


peace emerges 

from quietude and honesty 

as alchemy turns falseness 

into precious verdicts


little birds start talking to a rainbow 

in between picking at the

Red Mountain

red mountain
stands still
black ribbon 
cuts between 

you aren't always
still
not if by faith
I can cast you into the sea

still 
is never 
forever
but still we are

not so long
have I 
not been the traffic
cutting between 

still 
to know something

I would cast you into 
the sea
but these problems
I need 

red mountain
big rough ugly 
barren pile of rocks
you comfort me

vultures,

I Say Nothng To These Vultures

At eighty my beloved grandma began buying insane, whimsical things.
Filling her house up with all kinds of feathers, glitter, and bedazzled stuff.
We’ll have to have a garage sale and get rid of it when she is gone.
Or have a bonfire. Lots of laughter.

One of her favorite pieces is her new cake plate.
Polka dotted with a

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