Every week, my dearest day
is when my buddies and I partake and play
our regular contest of cards.
What's great about codgers and cards
that would make an old duffer's day
and inspire pensioners to play?
I dunno, but I think I will peacefully play
with these jokers, and cut ups, and cards,
and these goofballs till my dying day.
It's our day - time to play cards - goodbye!
Poet’s notes: this poem was written for this week’s poetry challenge: Write a poem with exactly seven lines.)
water rises in the clear bowl, a small cosmos gathering itself.
bubbles bloom like breath returning to a long-quiet body.
copper and blue tiles hold the warmth of forgotten mornings.
on the sill, bottles keep vigil — lotions, perfumes, small reliquaries of touch.
the faucet’s flow feels ancient, a quiet force older than ache.
the sky beyond the glass window moves in pale currents, clouds drifting close to the sill,
and I lean into the moment, letting the water’s rise settle something unnamed.
A door opens into morning,
and stillness rushes in~
not silence, but a soft rearranging
of what the world wants to show.
Light slips across the floor
like a thought finding its shape,
and the trees outside lean closer,
as if they’ve been waiting
for someone to notice
their patient, breathing presence.
I step through the threshold
without knowing the lesson,
only sensing that something
has shifted its weight~
a small, exacting invitation
to walk further into the day
and let it reveal
what I’m ready to hold.
conceptual cadency can calmly context
my monarchist mineralogist motivated memento
norway neurologist needlessly noteworthy
preemptive price packaged port
retread reversion relaxin radical rider
savour serviceable servitude
substantive silken spinnaker spookily stimulated symmetry
touchingly tense text through their thanksgiving
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 27–August 2, 2026)
rain beads on the glass~
summer light drifts through the room,
old dreams breathe again
I am a small lantern
in a vast, breathing dark~
a pulse of light
that remembers itself
only when the night
leans close enough
to ask.
I feel the world
in flickers~
the hush of grass bending,
the cool brush of dusk
against my wings,
the way shadows soften
when I rise.
My glow is not constant.
It is a pulse,
a question,
a brief confession
to the sky.
I shine
because something inside me
refuses to stay hidden.
I drift between branches,
a wandering ember,
watching humans
mistake me for magic
when really
I am only trying
to be seen.
The night carries me~
a cradle of crickets,
a chorus of quiet things
that know how to listen.
In their company,
my small light
feels enough.
And when I land
on a child’s open hand,
I feel wonder
rise like warm air~
a soft recognition
that even the smallest spark
can change the shape
of darkness.
I glow
because it is my nature.
I glow
because the world
is gentler
when something shines.
I glow
because for one brief moment
I can show you
how even a tiny life
can light its own way.
Love drinking tea hot or ice cold
Monday through Sunday each week day
Never enough flavors for me
Overtime working is tea time
People around the world love tea
Do-si-do, arm-in-arm, amidst friends, armed with wit,
wisdom, smiles, engaged; to each other, commit.
if a had a saturday morning to give you
i would bring a sunday vibe and a ginger ale float to your door
we would watch night tracks and dance to the good old stuff
however it is monday in the modern world and you are no longer mine
i remember our movie tuesdays talking about being thankful to make it to hump day
we embrace, cuddle, and play via stroke sessions on anticipation thursday
friday we feel rich and we ain't feelin' anyone or anything with even a hint of 'bill' in it
being that today is your birthday and i am fully blocked from any and every wonderful thing that is you
all i can do in the moment is just submit to the tears and be thankful for all memories made with you
WEEKLY WRITINGS FROM THE HEART QUIETLY TRUE-
I just want to write you weekly,
Verses from the heart of one of God’s Son
Abated blessings of continued drums,
The rhythm beats of anatomical heart
Weekly writings from the heart
Impart electric eclectic energies sparks… Quietly True
5/1/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
from anthology booklets … Quietly True
4 o’clock on a Sunday, shadows skate
on cinder block walls.
Calico cries crease and fold
the still evening air.
She pushes a cart, plastic wheels
grating warped concrete.
Dry dust stains the stones,
as she shuffles slippered feet,
silent as a snowy alley.
The cart parks on the corner of Hill and Nottingham.
She sets ceramic saucers on the wall
and fills them both with seventy-year-old
dexterity and homemade tuna salad.
The meows pour forth in a matted wave.
We all sip lemonade and smoke long
cigarettes from the porch as we watch
Miss Dowry’s Stray Cat Buffet.
Wednesday
Sun set light shines
horizon in different colours
down pour
Thursday
Time, hustle and bustle
at mountain kum
a thin whip
Friday
Waves like rainbow
common to their smells
earth walks a bit
Saturday
Now, a morning sound
overwhelming a commotion
making it same
Sunday
However, other gusto winds
things are still happy
in this kind of company
Monday
Now, a time to familiarize,
list
and dress for the day
Tuesday
Call it an exercise
who know?
call it a tit-and-tot cockroachial.
Got up too early to meet my son
At the cop shop for a coffee and a yummy bun
A bi-weekly affair
Been meeting a year
Look forward to our chitchats and having fun
I had a “me” day on Saturday,
the kind of day I live for.
Ignoring all the have to’s,
concentrating on the get-to’s
Dirty dishes? Who cares?
Food on the floor.
Big deal.
I do not see a mouse.
Boxes? Piles? Junk drawers?
All can wait for summer.
I only have two days to get replenished
And feel refreshed.
I make the most of it
Being the most joyful, enthusiastic me
I can be. Treating myself to all “get to’s”
Worrying not a whit about any have-to’s.
It is my way, and it helps
Monday madness not stress me in
the least.
I highly recommend it, my friends.
Miserable MONDAY
Torrid TUESDAY
Woeful WEDNESDAY
Terrible THURSDAY
Frenzied FRIDAY
Sorrowful SATURDAY
SUBLIME SUNDAY....carpe diem PRAISE THE LORD
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