As this room, Earth life's, dims more
Leaves us, piling up
With too much things boxed, besides
This, junked, abides
In the mind's own storage place.
Old. Wilted, washed out.
Sentiment! Flowery phrased.
Dream world's. Since rased.
"With death, the winter sleeps. . .
spring's rebirth promise, keeps.”
__by Poet
It leaves me breathless, how each year
our spring wakes up from winter sleep.
No hesitation, for it's true,
its promise for new life, will keep.
I woke one morning, there to find
by the front walk, buds did appear.
Snowdrops and lavender Crocus
gave birth to prove that spring is here.
Soon, painted landscapes, like a dream,
washed out the gloomy winter view
to leave me breathless in the glow
of pristine beauty, fresh and new.
To breathe the pureness of spring air
with fragrant mists of perfumed scent;
to feel the sun's refreshing breeze-
have left me breathless and content!
In forward thought John Duns Scotus
taught, who still feared appears to be.?
(In a tiff..De-lete-ists proffered him a cap)
And rammed in your eye a monacle blurred
As blurred can be.!!!
Oh yes' For He penned of a treatise true' And in
The thirteenth century too..Mind you.' A
Foundational claim,its framework right and fair.'
We must invoke it.! For such; we have
only to dare.! Let it be read, on small screens and large, be discussed in city plazas, and even hotel bars.'
This affermation of Gods good will.'
To humans He created..With it start your minds to
Fill' marveling no longer at tawdry things.'
Yet walk in this power that sunbdjucates
kings.' kings with arthritis and all manner of i'lls not divine or omnipotent.' Just washed out shills.' Stand on Gods promise
And respect each other." What is shared
Equally cannot be taken if, all humanity
stand by it.' And each other' as eternal
sisters and brothers.!
the real bigfoot is a story not often told
I heard it from my gramps when he was really old
he showed me a picture I thought was photo-shopped
he doesn’t even have a computer said my Uncle Slopped
I studied the photo, staring at the beast’s enormous size
He had a classic stance, there was fire in the bigfoot’s eyes
I cannot imagine seeing this creature and living to tell the tale.
I heard they tried to collect him and put him in the county jail
What did he do? I asked, curious as I stared at Grandpa Lee
He was too big! Said Grandpa, that was enough you see.
Back in the day, being too big was enough to put you in the clink?
Grandma nodded as she washed out her dentures in the sink.
Twinkle, twinkle: the screen-blue faces,
constellating darkened spaces -
dazzled gentlemen and ladies,
shining like the group Pleiades.
But liquid crystal blinds these ‘stars’
from seeing the real ones high and far.
Light pollution - heavy distraction -
allows to be seen just a small sad fraction
of all the night puts on display;
And the San of Africa, so they say,
see more than seven of the sisters blue,
twice more, and if this turns out true,
it’s because their eyes have never been
myopically washed out by a screen.
My Father God, Creator, Giver of Life, and breath,
I lay down my old nature, and put it to death.
Clothe me with robes of light, I pray,
clothed with humility, with Grace, and mercy leading the way.
Here I am Lord, I surrender my life to you,
teach me in your spirit, show me what is true.
I believe and trust in every thing you say,
I can, and will step back, let you, lead my way.
You brought me through many battles, I have overcome the pain,
all those things that were killing me, were washed out, like rain.
I shall continue therein, as you make me white as snow,
and by the Blood of the Lamb, let the testimony of my mouth, be so!
Brand new hand-me-downs
New to me is all that matters.
I like the style and washed-out colour.
And it fits just right.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
The truth is known when our eye is single,
when what we comprehend is free from doubt,
feeling within bliss pheromones mingle,
that dwelling in peace as we go about,
with cravings of ego fully washed out,
the recognition which we thus do find,
is aflame in the cave of heart, not mind.
Oh, how I remember my teenage years,
smoking pot and drinking beers
My friends and I built forts in the forest
We'd see who could skip a stone the farthest
on the lake, where we'd fish all day, till dark
Boozing up- keg bash parties; in the park
No wonder why I've had an urge for wine
Seems back then I've crossed the line
I've made sandcastles out of puddy mud
But they've been washed out from the cruddy flood
I should have known that my spiked blood
Come 'eth from wine- or too much, bud
Oh, how I remember my teenage years
As I sit and think with tired tears
I've gained control of my life by quitting booze
For so much did I have to lose
I gave up on beer, and I kicked the pot
And I thank the lord for the things I've got
No wonder why I've been misunderstood
My teenage years were not so good
Juan Paco Pedro De La Mar
why were you mean to me
i was so ing hot
i lost my sexual power
to your perfect ginger dick
i am not going to be what you want me to be
i am not the lost tortured small woman who gives you power
the scent of my flower self has been washed out
but something new is coming
made of waterfalls, campfires, king size beds
i can feel it on the horizon of my soul
a fresh brightness of joy and rain
a paloma sweetened with honey syrup
you surprise me with a message after all this time
i really appreciate you letting me know you still love me
go ahead and think about me
i want to cry to taylor swifts shake it off
it feels good *******
To make it on the stage, in this day and age,
I'm convinced, Contacts and Clout are what it's all about.
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all washed out,
went down to the local drugstore, for a bottle of Clout,
the druggist he said, 'Sorry son, we're all sold out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all turned about,
went to my family Doctor, gotta have a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'Ya gotta go cold turkey, you'll have to go without.'
There's no doubt about it, I need a bottle of Clout,
gonna shout about it, 'What d'ya think I need?
'Well, yes indeed, I need me a bottle of Clout.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' such self-doubt,
went to the nearby Grocer, said, 'Gimme a bottle of Clout.'
She said, 'I'd like to help ya boy, but now, ya just struck out.'
Woke up this mornin', feelin' all burned out,
went to the downtown Dealer, to score a bottle of Clout,
he said, 'You're outta luck man, there's none of it about.'
Yeah, it's an affliction, wish I could lose,
it's my addiction, I got them mean ol' bottle of Clout blues.
When nightfall dips in palest of gold
I feel a sense of indignity,
As owl's melody loses its eloquence
Through the absence of a safe abode;
Where quietude calls for avian coos
The kind which never seeks to intrude…
And its orbed eyes larger than neons, freeze
In need of natue's hued, aerial parade---
Startled, bird's forest trail is washed out
By mourning dew of poison
Denying the barren woods of nourishment
while allowing thieves to skin owl feathers,
mangled talons like so, wasted ---
Wise keeper of secrets, hushing the noise.
Life marvels at your nocturnal guardianship
yet, this world shares not your moonlit toots
lithography of hills no longer owns
your delicate interludes of silence...
Man ravages bird navel, flesh , and plumes
For trading quests, for self- interest ---
Can this earthly slaughter cease
sucking nectar soil of birds dry?
Somehow, I still hail the dwindling number
of hooting owls
Which believes that the next generations
will wander on an environ,
Soaring their wings... joyously free at last.
WINTER’S BREATH IS A LAW OF CONSTANT PROPORTIONS
Dead the winter colors bland, non-conforming;
Winters colors bleak yet told brown, tan, and gold,
Deaden blanks the washed out colors alluring!
All things prominence dull passion so miss scold;
Marking the times dead comes and goes maturing;
O’ sleep nature’s vision winters pictures mold;
Forming still, presents of picture quest portions!
Death life seasons law of constant proportions!
2/3/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Sunshine on the deserts
Snow high up on the mounts
The world keeps on turning
As if nothing else now counts
Footprints on the shorelines
Are quick washed out to sea
Three ships left on the morn
In search of a new country
Leaders of the cities
Watch people leave in droves
They've heard some have set camp
In amongst the mango groves
Farm lands still stand vacant
For youth have long moved on
Houses crumble to dust
And small country schools are gone
Three ships in the distance
Now struggle on the breeze
All three captains on deck
Appear to be on their knees
They've been gone near two years
And at last they are back
Ships by three are limping
Nary a sail's left intact
One man woke this morning
For the past he now yearns
Yet there's no going back
While this old world still turns
Oh what a joyous occasion
Attended by family and friends
In this tropical location
Fraught with eighty mile an hour winds
Pink champagne from Napa Valley
Fresh flowers and king size bedding
Love blooms in Hurricane Alley
Just another monsoon wedding
Around these parts it's nothing new
With tidal waves high as a tree
As the bride and groom said I do
The bridesmaids were washed out to sea
Bravely the two withstood the fray
While everyone else ran for their life
They could barely hear the preacher say
I now pronounce you husband and wife
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