For Epiphany Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
“Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” ~ Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein
As I embarked upon the world,
I absorbed an idea
that there was some great truth to find.
Coming to believe
that if I didn't possess it, I would be missing
something essential -
like a tin man without a heart.
How could I find this truth?
Would it be through hard work -
study or life experience,
or would it be powerful or divine,
an epiphany
delivered by some kind of angel?
On all the stops that I visited on the road to find out -
parents, siblings, teachers,
books, religious texts, gurus,
philosophers, artists,
people with degrees,
I asked, "What is the truth?"
and my mind became a jumbled, cacophonous mess.
I took a break from the road to truth
to take solace in nature.
For fun, I asked a tree, a hummingbird, and a lake,
"What is the truth?"
No epiphany -
I heard only silence,
beautiful silence.
My family is my grand universe
which holds the hearts of everyone I love.
As one we spin around, yet each, diverse
fulfills the unity we hold whereof
still feeling equal strength as we traverse.
This bond of family is truly strong
establishing a feeling deep inside
of my shared roots and knowing I belong
to them- and them to me- on this Earth's ride-
maintaining loving balance all lifelong.
Today, it is my sacred duty
to understand and express this Spanish beauty,
but did you happen to know, perchance,
that Dora Maar had hailed from France?
Beautiful, sophisticated, and elegant,
her eyes show she's intelligent.
They shine dark, and her hair does too,
a splash of yellow on ruffles blue.
Her jacket is geometrically composed.
What she observes is undisclosed.
She has a thought, which she reserves,
revealing it - what purpose would it serve?
I love her greenly painted fingertip,
touching an eminently kissable lip.
Somethings missing, an anomalisa,
yet, to me, she shames the Mona Lisa.
Why is it that the way she's drawn,
a good portion of her head is gone?
In Leonardo's picture, a smile was "halfed",
but it's the cerebrum in Pablo's craft.
Guernica, was inspired, by lovely Dora,
the lady with enlightened aura -
a mysterious creature, surrealist,
photographer, painter, anti-fascist.
What I proclaim now, I know whereof,
henceforth, with her, I am in love.
A novice sorts out centerstage
then gaze at the spotlight above,
and celebrate the art thereof
that host town folks from Shakespeare days,
they swam her brain like surfing waves,
she's adrift in her dreams of love,
until her name is heard ... whereof,
fruited skills, a future is saved.
She dons a stunning crimson dress,
prance Solitaire to Karen's tune,
walking under a Broadway light,
stands by the Grand Hall with the press,
glamour beneath a brightened moon,
her award gleamed in the limelight.
Laughter and love ,sorrow and pain
In times both good and bad
Finding the strength to meet the day
Ending with a headstone engraved
Even after death there is life
Faith leads us so to believe
In God we trust and hope
Leaning on His grace and love
Dwelling in paradise eternaL
Amid the paeans of praise of the puttI
Enjoying the fruits thereoF
Whereof there comes perfect peacE
I saw you standing there today
My eyes froze in their place
So beautiful in burgundy
Was staring at your face
The ladies who were sitting there
Sat right in the chair
That I had set aside for you
For when you first got there
I had a piece to play for you
The kind you like whereof
But I'll record it now tomorrow
For you my ladylove
In my voice I screen in those acquisition visions
Captured those sounds of romancing my heart
Covet sparkled spotted crashed spectacle collisions
Revenant those posture posed unlocked mark
Heart moans in loss of love
Hands and arms restless, nothing no one to hold
Whereof, host of mind thoughts of doves
Encircling spectrum of images scrolled
I’m awakening in myself, I see my breath
Instilled I am alive and well;
I’m withstanding the purpose I am in a test
In dwelled in a position invalidated by my accel
Mine eyes dance
My heart sings
Mind’s in a trance
I am fertile tenaciously close clings eyes smiles grins
Revenant those posture posed unlocked marked
In my voice I screen in my acquisition vision
Captured those sounds of romancing my heart
Covet sparkled spotted crashed spectacle collision
Make God love not Humanity nor Satan wars
12/3/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
It may have been passing love,
love hummingbird in farewell
or brief case just past
illusory love without coming or going... ?
Thus whereof, and thereof... !
If only I could respond to this woman who shrieks
Who knows so little about whereof she speaks,
Belittles comments she so desperately seeks
Her social and political rantings go on for weeks.
I am amazed that her poetry is so ungrammatical
We would all be better off if she took a sabbatical,
Or spent her time in some more profitable pursuit
Hasn’t she learned that most of us don’t give a hoot.
Today she ignored all the facts and hit on vaccines
Spewed more venom on our president, it seems,
Took a few shots at the world situation in general
Has nothing positive to say, it borders on criminal.
I’ve noticed the recent absence of others of her ilk
They seem to have wilted like early fall cornsilk,
Apparently, folks like her do not fade with neglect
Poetry Soup is best when everyone shows respect.
Those poets who choose to share their beliefs
Are welcome, great; hatred, however, offers no relief
Putting down my country, my president, my politics
With disrespect, I will respond to these lunatics.
Written October 1, 2021
44th on Best 100 Poems of the Month
Poetry Soup, October 3, 2021
POEM OF THE DAY
October 2, 2021
If my muse leaves me, yet shall I love her
still; and pen songs and odes of fairest rhymes,
telling of heights uncommon and rarest climes
to woo her, for there's none else above her.
Nevertheless, woe am I because of her
great absence! Whilst the very fewest times
my lines mention her more-than-threadbarest crimes
of blowing hot and cold with me, whereof her
callousness leaves me with not a dry eye
to call my own, nor with a heart unbroken:
with this distress I feel I cannot lie,
or let my disappointment go unspoken.
Muse? O Muse! Behold me now and return,
lest my zeal for thee will no longer burn.
Above a weeping cherry tree,
whereof storm clouds depart their ways,
a dove extends a mournful plea.
A love, in quietude, delays.
He weaves a mansion, weather prone.
Free leaves descend against his will.
He grieves a heart he's never known.
She leaves a feather for a quill.
6-19-2021
Lento - 8 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Belief from years
Let go of the fears
Atlas to sea
With roses and trees
Glorious sensations
Held up by generations
Allowing to feel
No longer conceal
Water the vines
As did the divines
Sheltered from storms
In which we are born
Unknown yet valued
Written by statue
Unforeseen distance
Resided existence
Breath through the door
A respect for le corp
A path set forth
Sheltered by North
Courage is best
Each step we are blessed
Secretly spun
Now it is sung
My Lady is Loved
No matter whereof
What portends this ill wind blowing
which inhaled robs man’s breath
whose virus defiles the proximal space people share?
Is it the greed of man who has defied rules of the holy book
And defiled Leviticus by partaking as food that which was forbidden.
Or is it a Lab gone wrong?
Come hither all you medicine men and astronomers
Lend us your binoculars and see whereof this vile virus was bred
From whose progeny is infused this gene with airborne venom
That we may blunt her sword covid-19 and stop this genocide.
I will defend the world with blood and sacrifice,
my hippocratic oath my shield will suffice.
I will stare this monster in the face even as my fellow soldiers die
for with sharpened ammunition our labs provide, the end is nigh
And tomorrow, yes tomorrow together we will rejoice in tears
In happiness and sadness of our beloved lost and a battle won
As nations will with one voice shout, Ahoy frontline soldiers, Ahoy!
Like seraphim whose wings unfold,
your majesty goes not untold!
As the light of your brilliant face
moves in me all of time and space;
as planets orbit heaven's Sun
and encircle it one by one;
so, too, am I caught in your sway,
enrapt with you from day to day.
The hosts of God bring attention,
with horns of holy dimension,
and trumpet your great might whereof
they blast their praise from up above.
You are The Incarnation
who sparks this cosmos's causation,
through which effects exist from laws,
in worship to cosmic First Cause:
in Latin, “Primum Mobile,”—
“first mover” of Ptolemy,
which answers Infinite Regress
from the pre-Socratics' egress.
Drawing the lines across the sky,
Stormy lights and roaring drums,
Rain the nakhlites that fall nigh,
Facing the fate as it comes.
Embrace the patches along a shoal,
Mist in the heart so remote,
Being one, only and jolly whole,
You’ren’t a sun to glare or gloat.
On the surface it’s a serpent,
A solemn force holly and brave,
Wherefore we shall not perpent,
But drop in-a-sec rogue and knave.
Whereof one could slay or swerve,
Or be a savage chewing on a petal,
It’s better not to lose a nerve,
Or get an antidote to settle.
Don’t be salty, hold no grudge,
Rise above the mighty waves,
Taking nothing into the graves,
Forget about the final judge!
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