Topped with terra cotta- tiled roof
the house stood on a hill with pine trees,
partly covering it from view,
with its turrets opening like watchful eyes.
Rumor runs, at night from there,
people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
eager to prove the irrationality of it,
one night I ascended the hill,
leading to that cozy mansion.
As I paced faster and came closer,
the house looked so imposing
with a wide yard and a porch
surrounded by ornamental railings
with a winding driveway
lain with marble squares
and leading to the entrance
Close to the house but safely distant,
I noticed a narrow pit hidden among shrubs
Nothing was unusual about it.
I walked round and round.
Couldn’t see anything to rouse suspicion.
When I was about to leave,
as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging
from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on,
like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch
and soon shape shifted into a man.
Fancy or Fact, never looking back
I took to my heels as fast as I could.
The house looks so imposing and majestic from outside
With a wide yard and a porch surrounded by ornamental railings
It was situated on a hill with pine trees partly covering it from view,
Rumour runs, at night from there, people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
I was so eager to prove the irrationality of it.
One night I ascended the hill leading to that cosy mansion.
Close to the house but safely distant, I noticed a narrow pit.
Though I walked around, nothing seemed unusual about it.
When I was about to leave as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on, like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch.
Take of a turn of three
time to talk of penumbra tales
beneath a taramond tree
trials and wailings of two lives in the vale
The life of young from it infancy
thence gradual, conventional neither fantasy
the sweetest of them all to behold
incomparable to an undelectable life of old
The sun and snow that oldlings won't deign
in them, we striplings all times do reign
like the suns of Africa, stronger shining wards
young wild eagles of Amerie, freely soaring beyond word
Dearest mates from the state of mine
move not like king Solomon's mine
who danddied, drove so great and high
cruising, perusing our skin into prime
yet says its vanity, a full of crime
we chaste conquerors, with wreathe all nigh
"Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from an autumn tree."
Quote by _ Emily Bronte
All the trees are changing their summer gowns,
the winds whispers- trees it is time to fall;
and stained glass leaves drop in golds, reds, and browns,
taking their time to fly they often crawl.
And drifting are sweet bird rhapsody songs,
the tweets, the chirps, twittering and the twangs;
all of autumn is quiet and mellow,
I am holding a leaf veined and yellow.
The rain falls in a pitter-patter dance,
there is a splendor in the scenery;
and the leaves with a madness spin and prance,
a beauty where once there was greenery.
The wind is wailings like a violin,
oh God has painted his beautiful art;
all around painted leaves whirl, swirl and spin,
his voice whispers in the trees and my heart.
When it comes to all my sorrows
what do I do with them
Do I place them in a paper cup
and pour them down the sink
Do I take a mallet to them
and pound them soft as mink
When it comes to all my tears
where do I bring them?
Do I bring them to the sea
to merge with salty smears
Do I offer up my wailings
to the God above?
When it comes to all my sadness
what can take them all away?
Do I grin and bear it with a grin
then walk away on feet of clay
or do I pray for better days,
hoping that ,He'll lead the way.
North natured neutrals
South sultry simmerings
East easy endeavors
West wind wailings
compliance to naughtness is an escape from everything
ritual--contrivances wreak patterned ignorances garnering
shaudy spiritual saviors signifying pseudo sentient savory
santifications. plain braindance passengers personify
jolting journeys to gypsy moon starred skies, praying
to proximated planet walled wailings with mystical
marginal, manufactured, terminal terrosin tired tears,
Blaming blank blindness blind bailing wire wisdoms.
Find your fate, it lovingly lurks in one's continuous
challenge of choice change.
What gain is reaped in war's cruel strife?
What honor does it truly crown?
When lives young and old, precious, ripe,
Stooped, silenced—dreams torn down?
In ruins, wailings, someone sobbing,
Loved ones lie lifeless—tragic loss,
Wars waged by kings of greed,
Hungry political grues.
Dominion, power pursuit,
Wealth, pride, and prestige,
Autocracy, they boast,
Cost peaceful lives' carnage.
Selfishness—the color of their love,
Clad in strong political will,
Torn weak nations, they grabbed,
Incite wars for their fill,
From national pride to world command,
Hawkish kings seek domination,
Enslaving others, for their brand,
Expend others in desolation.
Their greed can never meet—
Satisfaction with material wealth,
God will come, their dreams are killed,
Judge their debt long unpaid.
Their arrogance, they dare claim,
To be gods, rulers of all,
But when God Himself returns, proclaims—
His kingdom on Earth will sum it all.
Patience prepares us for salvation,
Avenge the oppressed, grant their plea,
God, the only true God, and King of creation,
Settle the world's controversy.
I must have a generous heart
I once was a foreigner, an upstart
Now I am birth-born again
Now I am a new and changed man
I must have a forgiving spirit
I must listen to peoples pleads and cherish
All their cries and wailings
I must keep God’s commandments
I must have a generous heart
I once was a foreigner, an upstart
Now I am birth-born again
Now I am a new and changed man
This I must do, why, because
I will be treated as I have been treating others
5/7/22
Written words by James Edward Lee © 2022
St. Matthew 7:2
When I Rethink Glory Days Of My Youth
When I rethink glory days of my youth
I always find some sad and bitter truths
First is, world and reality always bites
And to rise above, one must always fight
Be it dawn's sweet rise and/or dark of night!
In recalling, saw my deeds, my failings
All my past, all my current new wailings
Bitter the wind that bears that sadden news
With it comes another round of the blues
And thus, I vow in life to better choose!
In that lonesome state of deep pondering
Mind continues its inner wanderings
Recreating fantasies to relieve
This heart and soul from dark that deceives
Walk again the path that blessings receives!
When I rethink glory days of my youth
I always find some sad and bitter truths
First is, world and reality always bites
And to rise above, one must always fight
Be it dawn's sweet rise and/or dark of night!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-20-2021
Rhyme, ( Seeking Better To This Life See)
Dear Covid-19,
Life was a rainbow till you came and replaced the chirping of happy birds, the laughter with our families and friends with the wailings of the ambulances’ siren
The swing on our playgrounds is swung only by the winds and storms
And death has unmasked himself, knocking bodly on every door
We are fed with fears whilst our thirst is quenched by our own tears in which we are drowned
You are chanted in the daily lamentations of the widow, the dirge of the orphan, and the screams and griefs of the widower.
So,
I sit in my house, kneeling and praying that you become a past tense
Lost in the history of time, defeated by humankind
As we relight our rainbows
Dancing again to the happy chirping that announced every dawn.
From a concern human
spiritus sanctus
and frankincense
fill the air saturated
with women's tears
and unending sobbing
they think not
of their own
truths be told
that the taken
is hopefully
going heaveningly
bound if words
we're binding
and he
abiding
so let
the Romans
sleep and
wake
the Irish
the screams and
wailings are really
laughter and cheer
for the departing
after who's body
still in the room
toasting to no
tomb but tales
told telling of
this choosen one
the difference
between an
Irish wake and
an Irish wedding:
one less drunken
Irishman
I was standing at the edge
I saw it coming
I could smell its scent
I had this feeling at the pit of my stomach
My heart was taking forever
Slow but sure it was coming to a halt
Death was knocking
The heart beat began to slow
It was so faint I could hardly hear it
My knees weakened
And I was crumbling
Slowly I was falling
I was dyeing yet still standing
My sight blurred
My hands were in a tight fist
I was holding my self
I was lifting my self
For a moment I thought I could
But I was wrong
My being was loosing its strength
Life had given up on me
A scream pierced the atmosphere
I was dying
The wailings were louder
I was dead
I was panting my breadth heavy
I was crying and I couldn't stop the tears
I was mourning my own death
Then my eyes flew open
No no but I'm dead
It was just a dream.
Re : Old Poems
Bells of triumph clang,
Fortresses fain to hail thee
Men of valiant swords.
Glories thence fell, crowns crumbled
To dust, no wailings were heard.
,,
The wind about thy sceptre howl and cry,
Loft precipices trampled;
Ruined rich piles of graves.
~
Forms : Tanka / Kimo
(3/21/2012)
Let us celebrate
This is not time to denigrate
Nigerians rise and jubilate
Cause we are poised to rethink and meditate
Let us roll out the drums
This is not the time to keep mum
Let the air be filled with fun
To drown the wailings and guns
Democracy has come to stay in Nigeria history
Let us celebrate a hard- won victory
A milestone in the country's trajectory
Prophets of doom remain confounded and desultory
Nigeria the hope of the black race
Rise up and keep the pace
Exterminate corruption without trace
And give the country a new face
You are destined for Leadership
A rallying point for African Fellowship
Do not be deterred by the present hardship
From claiming your divine kingship
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