Wean Poems | Examples

When comfort comes at cost

Time was money was when a mindful mate
That gave me time enough to feel its feel--
The touch of grain and texture of its state,
How one hesitates ere part with the bill--
Crisper the notes harder to part was it,
The time it takes to wean out the wallet
That gives enough time to be wise and discrete
To look into, to wait, deliberate
That slows me down enough to weigh its worth.
UPI now cuts that safety circuit
That technology calls it empty mirth,
Not watch out, weigh and well in time to quit. 
    Technology oft looks an empty boast,
    And I know well: comfort comes at a cost.
___________________
Sonnet |01.06.2025| change, money

The Other Guy

Tears form in my eyes,

It's no surprise.

I can't understand why,

I don't really want to die.

I know its unhealthy,

But I Loved getting high.

It's hard to stop this guy,

The harder i try,

The more I cry.

Giving in again,

Strengthening his Tie.

Every time I Deny,

It's urges,

He surges forth,

Searching for More,

Running through my core.

A mental war,

Until we score.

Riding the Lightning,

Crashing to the floor.

"I can't take it any more,"

My Spirit roars.

All the Cells Implore,

The need to restore,

Balance to this Machine.

Screaming I wean,

Changing the Routine.

Intervening in between,

What's dirty and clean.

Fruits of wisdom to glean,

Rearranging the scene.

Staging the past,

Clearing the screen.

Removing the obscene,

Learning what i mean,

Becoming a Power Unforeseen.

The Other guy,

Remains to be seen.

No way out

There once was a dame in New York
Who plugged her hole with a cork
Some thought her insane
For not wanting a wean
But she still got one from a stork

Evil Has a Childhood

toss anger, he said
into the bin of waste
waste not mankind’s love
with abuse and bite
the bullet skies
high the eagle flies
why not the steeple
less with feathers flocked
why not the pews on
threadbare knees
that knock and palms
close touch of closed
and ethereal eyes, in shock
of amazing blue, far above
the whizzing bell of shots
some fell, some rise
both have a knell and sigh
anger flung like monkey dung
lay upon the sheetrock roof
its lies are born and cradled
evil has a childhood, is able
to wean and crawl, to fall
toss anger, he spoke
to the deaf and blind
they never woke nor wised
up. six feet downer done
swept into the bin of waste
a godforsaken life

The inconvenient truth

“The rabbit hole of lust, is subtle and deep ~
Be watchful if we’d take a consciousness leap”
~ quote by poet


As we pick up our pen and begin to write,
conceding this too is a habit routine,
we console ourself that it is quite alright
and this is an addiction we need not wean
but when soul’s musings fall from their lofty height,
the truth of our bondage we begin to glean,
as we pray to God, asking Him to restore,
rhythm that delights heart, begging for an encore.

is our muse a fetter

addicted to a scent
we once granted consent
enmeshed us in confines of time
deadening sentience to our inner chime
self-blocking the influx of God’s grace
owing to mundane goals we chase
so the verses our mind shapes
though colourful rainbow drapes
if it has now become a habit routine
perhaps it is indulgence we need to wean

Undone

Mistakenly believing we’re body-mind,
bewildered by fear and enslaved by desire,
we fail to see head and heart are not aligned
with love, so the objects we seek to acquire,
fixates attention, gripping us in a bind,
consigning our soul to the funeral pyre.
Adding to our woes is conditioned belief,
which unless undone, will give us no relief.

In the void of cessation, we’re always free
but presence soon returns to habit routine,
caged in turbid tempests, tied to our mind tree,
borne of heart’s dark desires, not easy to wean,
unless with soft whispers of love we agree,
for it’s then that the truth unseen may be seen.
Making thus in staid stillness, love our soul’s scribe,
we imbibe divine bliss, mind cannot describe.

Habit

if there arises an urge
to follow a preset routine
it signals a stuporous stance
of habit patterns we need to wean

Flowing Souls Waters Views-

flows so the waters
 wean vast the moving currents
 bathe motions waters

under the clouds of 
pearls puffy solidified
 waters solid white;

bathe motions waters
currents wean moving vastly
waters so they flow

8/22/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©

Know the Soul

A soul is divine it is said,
by spiritualists, well read,
but what soul is, most have not seen,
who are by scriptures blindly led.

Detached hermits, whose needs are lean,
in staid stillness have felt soul’s sheen,
which we too can know, if we choose,
erst fears and desires, from heart wean.

With agape love as our heart’s muse,
following truth without excuse,
we then see soul, as light of God,
whence mind games no longer amuse.

Made in God’s image, soul’s a pod,
blooming when we give love our nod,
shining within, as living light;
revelation that leaves us awed.

Bliss drenched soul pulsates with delight,
humming gently by day and night,
as God’s essence, alive, aglow,
known when awakens inner sight.

Thus truth of soul, if we would know,
we must make first, our thought flow slow,
whereupon we see soul’s divine;
whence God guides us and we follow.

The Moon By Day

Some fireflies lit the way of wishful whim,
the expectations fired diminished vim.
The lack of lucence rendered chances grim.
Design of great foment—I hugely now repent.
The flowers vie with scent—their vibrant colours spent
when light from Sun in lower meadow mean.
The crows at dawn abated soon to preen.
A gibbous Moon in western sky still seen.
Yet rainbows will succeed—the face of Moon must bleed;
the rays absorbed thus freed—its cast expressions knead.
I guess my chance to win your heart is slim.
Tenacious Moon by day espy torment:	
From arduous labour I tire and wean
myself by increments in chocking plead!

If Only I Could

If only I could just walk away
go some place and get lost,
Lie down to rest 
and forever wake not.

From where, Life--
the ever-elusive temptress—
just couldn't wean me away,
Where no trace of mine
could be found if she
came looking my way.

Wrapping around me
the shroud of death,
I'll lie dead still
in the womb of eternity.

When somewhere I wake again--
If again I do wake indeed,
I'll drop the world there
and roam the heavens free of care!


~04/23/23
~Contest: 'This or That, Vol. 17' 
~Title: If only I could
~Sponsor: Edward Ibeh

The Image of God In Man

A human made in God’s image
with noble form, face, eyes, and limbs.
Created species of such form 
was not before that time the norm.

Divine experiment it seems
of which we humans only dream.
A creature made, with nature less  
would manifest, divine essence.

God, the epitome of love,
resides in heaven up above.
When mothers love those who they wean
God’s trait in man on earth is seen.

God is all-wise, omniscient
Always alert, never remiss.
The variedness of human views,
reveals the mind of God diffused.

God has no beginning or end.
This gift to man He did extend.
Man’s quest to live eternally,
declares God’s trait, in him, still stirs.

Though marred by sin, God’s image shines,
through noble deeds, of various kinds.
When saving grace, invades humans,
their god-like traits shine in sharp view.

Zen Mode

Same time every morning
Celebration mourning
In bondage to routine
Habits we did not wean

Surprise offers release
Unpredictable sneeze
Bliss bubbling on our skin
Each breath intake virgin

26-October-2022

The Lean

Mostly people who are lean
Are the ones thought to be mean;
Don’t ask them “Where have you been?”
For being The Odd Human Being,
Who prefer to be not seen.

Mostly people who are lean
Would enact hair-raising scene,
As students challenge their Dean:
Rice prove inferior to Bean
For long weeks wear just a jean.

Mostly people who are lean
On Evaluation dead keen:
Laugh as one tries to self preen,
See beyond what people feign, 
Keep a memory evergreen.

 Mostly people who are lean
Their trait transfer via The Gene:
Watch babies their mothers wean
Age but still looking quite Green…

End up marrying Beauty Queen

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