Written: July 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
************
We sit at this emporium
on the outskirts of the oasis;
I watch you
while your eyes inhabit the moon.
Tell me—what forgotten tide
is tugging at your silence?
mine,
or the phantom
wearing your heartbeat,
as cedar smoke cleaves to your coat?
The night offers
no reply.
Every moonrise
it buttons brief memories, tight as cold stone,
as dew phosphoresces on iron rails
meanwhile,
your discarded book drinks darkness...
Only the window holds our
two reflections, never touching.
So—
I am living on your borrowed light,
gathering myself from evanishing warmth
your gaze forgets to retain—
silver by sepulchral slate piece,
salt whitening the shoreline.
I become a constellation
linking stars and tears,
luminous enough to guide the lost.
Yet still, the silver rim
of your cup remains.
It proves even borrowed moons
leave tides behind,
washing over the stagnant coffee left between us.
You have come mightily upon my brows,
Yet blessing my folly when I had cried nude and
Watery,
My vagitus loud with the frenetic timbre of wartime
You have swept through the corridors of
Silhouetted stalks, fanning lean, vertical leaves that shield
The nakedness of the African seasons —perched
And soggy,
And at waking time, when November bares its
Thunder-whetted fangs with the ruthlessness of a Puff adder.
It is cold and skin-whitening.
Streaks of flaking, dancing rods descend on femurs un-pumiced.
Dehydrated throats accompany ancestral hymns on the
Humming bees’ melody, stifling the courage of the Tchagra.
Drab, and cracking the serrated softness of heels and
Stale, moss-ridden kernels, the waves of the storm,
Blinding, besiege our common sempervirence,
Long lost among the blurred firmamental gaze
And straw-gold material upon this prostituted earth.
Snuggly warmth comes by the power of woodsmoke
When dawn, shy from the raillery of the rising sun,
Hastens to the coronation of sacred rain beyond
Our limits —a pomp of relegated and flustered seasons.
I sat with the plant leaf again,
its veins straighter than mine.
The bus ride had ended. Manila steamed.
My shirt, still full of your smell,
even though you hadn’t come yet.
The blinds were half-closed
like eyelids in anesthesia—
and I traced shadows with my pen
pretending I was writing payroll,
but it was always a eulogy.
The dust in the corners of the cubicle
was not debris.
It was proof of my stillness.
Proof I had not been seen.
Proof I was human.
Somewhere a neon ad shouted skin whitening,
but I was already transparent.
A ghost who had filled in timesheets
and cried into broken staplers.
You would come one day.
Not as a lover,
but as a mirror
sharp enough
to open the mouth of the soul.
Leaves of the oak trees congregated in clumps of whispering soldiers
A devilment was afoot; the fey felt this and scurried to the meadow.
Someone was dragging a heavy sack into the darkest shadows.
The night shuddered, recognizing the evilness of the scoundrel.
Perfect place to hide a body, most agreed. Those who were brave to look.
Others hid behind stumps and rocks, hoping the culprit’s thirst was sated.
He has been here before, always leaving flesh that turns to putridness.
Finally whitening and stiffening into a stick-like corpse.
The evil doer did not give the trees or the sack a backward glance.
This was his dumping ground; he felt no reverence for it in the least.
A place to leave the shell of the people he hunted and killed.
A whiff of my kitchen, a medicinal pill,
the side order of rain drools at a windowsill.
An utterance precedes a service; the rumble,
the window slides itself shut. A bumble
bee ricochets off a glass pane
moaning louder than our train
of thought waylaid with bacon sizzling up a storm.
There's an anxiousness trapped inside as warm
as indoors petrichor's marshmallow mood
steamed under nostrils fused above burned food.
A swirl follows itself in a perfect circle
on a smartphone screen. The attentive middle
of somewhere where I don't know where I am headed
while time and place are forgettably wedded,
O lips lit up, no doubt, by the whitening screen,
words digitize what would otherwise burn green.
In the firmament, a frosty supply.
Winter whitening, within, without, high.
Each flake in brand new cookie cutter shape.
Meek congregates, quickening the landscape.
Base, torso, head - together in dreamland.
Snowballs giggle as they’re rolled big and grand.
‘Will he grin,’ he’s wondering, and perchance
‘an old hat, a half chomped carrot, nice stance.’
Contrast of black, coal eyes against blue skies.
Snow “fat” hopeful or melting skinny-size.
Snowman doesn’t wrinkle, scarf sticks, falters crown.
Man, in red garb, grabs coal, regifts, flees town.
The campering, tampering, scampering
and running of little legs and feet
toddlers jumping off the porch
and in handheld holding Snickers™ bars
eating chocolate treats
stomach calling ooh yum yummy yum yum
sweet candy children frolicking playing on the run
Just playing
What a delightful and vibrant description of a joyful scene.
Words capture the carefree essence of childhood.
Where laughter and playfulness fills the air.
The image of toddlers jumping off the porch,
the little legs and feet moving swiftly.
Is a beautiful portrayal of unblighted energy and enthusiasm.
Sweet treats such like Snicker bars
Add to the delight as the children saver the chocolatey goodness.
Their eyes whitening with glee highlighting
The excitement and satisfaction that comes.
But enjoying a favorite treat stomach calling words
Creates so a picture scenes that celebrates
The simple pleasures of childhood
And the joy of savoring life's sweet treats
7/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
Written: November 06, 2023
___________________________________________
A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
The day,
for me, it's a wonderful
garden of multicolored flowers...
A flock of singing birds
singing the most charming melodies...
It's a sunny shower of joy,
whitening the souls and igniting
life...
I love the days...!
Snowy week whitening the slalom slope
Keenly waited for the sleek ski to grope
Inspired by maddening sense of sliding speed
I raced, found my frosted feet suddenly freed
Nailed in snow they couldn’t track the ski’s trail
Gone soaring with the glacial gale into the dale.
______________
January 21, 2023
Contest : Skiing
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
Sometimes healing is messy
It is a rollercoaster
Ups and downs
Sometimes I can handle it
Other times I lose control
I say I am in recovery for my bulimia
But I still struggle
I still consider pushing myself that extra hour in the gym
I think skipping lunch that day won't hurt
I sometimes spend too much time looking at teeth enamel strengthening toothpaste and whitening strips
I only look at healthy snack like plain rice cakes and original sun chips
Carboard is not the most appealing flavor
But it is the safest one
I don't have to feel guilty when I eat them
I won't need to punish my body later
Some days though
I will eat the birthday cake and not worry about it later
I will still go to the gym but only spend 30 minute there not 2 hours
I brush my teeth not worrying about if i will cause any damage to them from a purge
Healing is messy
Somedays are easier than others
But I know that I am trying my hardest.
grim starkness of snow
sturdy in its sleeted falling
willing a bleached landscape
a lushness
that chokes the rough field terrain
strides of power
as the fevered wind
spirals In an unexpected direction
inflates drifts like the arched back of a cat
whitening truant brown borders of decay
to bury even shadows
bare trees by fence lines slump like hollow men
in a protected sanctuary of cold
re-shaping confessions that slip
in winter chill extinction
Poem composed January 3, 2023
Rumbling and tumbling in the kitchen
Dishes cups and a chalice, swishing
Adding some wine
The dog’s whitening muzzle greedy munching away
The horses chomping oats and grasses
Plopping rain drops, soggy walkways
The home built as protection
A fence and doorway a sofa
A rainy rainy night as rocks form a river
A castle braced and built for the mind
Mother nature fights for dominion
My small home and I fight to just abide
Before me sight I Halting Dump
And I need to over it jump.
If my zeal be crushed into powder,
You wouldn’t see a face prouder.
Just asking that you retain The Lamp
That makes A Champ of An Agreed Tramp;
A firm will gives one to start chasing
After what Life holds in its casing.
Three years back uploaded not a verse
And the picture now a sweet reverse;
What if I’d lost to The Tightening;
Last air suck in face whitening?
Troublesome corpse after interment,
Quarrelsome Grave of heard rude comment,
The sky causing to be cloudier,
Disorganized systems rowdier…
Poetry Soup: second to just Nobel!
Why should I care if others rebel?
My country people
join still in political meaningless processions
just for one plate fried rice
My country people
strike roads and highways still
just for a piece of cloths
My country people
do riot still with indigenous
just for whitening the black money
My country people
gather in processions
addicted for an unknown destiny
My country people
don’t know own fundamental rights of life;
they consider all political parties as their own;
skyscraper buildings and flyover roads on hungry bellies
they consider these are the name of developed life!
Groaning through the Joy Bangla slogans of my country people
Native politicians consider this as the fun of their happiest soul
Foolish in political tricks
My country people pitch
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
05/12/2022
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