a mother births,
but she is a mother long before the labor
a promise to care for,
to love and to hold,
for better or for worse.
a mother protects.
a mother heals.
built-in powers granted by the gods.
a mother is a promise,
signed, sealed, and forged at conception.
The haunting question is..
how do you betray the one you love?
whom you wombed,
you promised to be here
yet I am motherless,
without love or comfort.
you promised me life,
yet granted me every way to die.
you promised me warmth,
but gave me a heart so cold.
our tie is astray,
our souls linked, yet welded with ice.
how I long for the promise you kept.
how I long to be your little girl again.
promise makers are forgivers too.
I will keep my vow to honor you.
I will forgive your deranged words,
only if you can uphold your bargain:
to be my giver.
to be my mother.
No bird disturbs the evening.
The trees stand
Like unfinished thoughts.
I call my name,
And only silence answers.
Somewhere
Between memory and mist,
I misplaced myself.
And now
Even my shadow
Walks alone.
My love is
How much it cost from someone who cares.
How much was the giving from someone who dares.
How much the wanting from someone who stares
How much the waiting before fear declares.
How much suffering was given to repair.
How much sorrow before becoming dispair
How much was love before climbing the stairs
How much wishing before becoming a pair.
How much fantasy before something occurs.
How much waiting before it all becomes a blur.
How much waiting before love becomes a verb
How much patience before emotions become stirred.
How much secret caring before something becomes disturbs
How much of thoughts disturbing before she comes to know
How much crazy debating before bravery finally shows
How much more delaying before a kiss makes time to show
Well, yes, all the gruff beknown deny,
and ones’ own lifting oar hear mighty bombs burst
whilst autocrat hymn—
“Let cristned bombs pelt from the hea’enly sky”.
Awe! Does one shy in cheer, yes, forgo the indelible?
Or do one jeer? Cry?
Art one silent amidst nationalists amok?
E’en when in lifting ones’ own nudging oar,
yes, do hear mighty bombs burst whilst foreign babies cry?
Do one in secret loathe, yes, the moms
who as cristned bombs pelts sing nippers’ lullabies?
Awe! As the mighty cristned bombs pelts lands afar
does one disregard, yes, when mites, one's own, sever
the wings of butterflies
to garner affection so denied?
Awe, here lies, yes, barbarism in disguise…
I whom is a rock
solid composed
of stiffened compressed Earth
~
Solid as a rock
I am held in the palm,
of your hand I dwell
Chipped horizontally thrown
Skipping the pond and lake
Waters I am strong
~
I am the eye the rock that
The surface that land
Stands on top I am solid
Let's go I don't float
I fall down down
in the waters I drowned
~
I am solid first
Stronger than dirt
A pigeon and mammals perch
Stronger than dirt and sand
I am solid as a rock
Eye whom am a rock
1/18/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
To whom it may concern
What I regarded as my best work
a selection of poems and written words
The title is "intense memories"
sent to a publisher that, after a week
said they would like to print my book
As the world stands for an unknown writer
I paid 400 euros for them to publish
Then came the long silences broken
with a request for more money, which
I ignored with a sigh of resignation
Our non-communication is growing
louder and deadly silent
I have reread my work, and it makes me
despair to tears that I'm not able to find
a proper publisher, but have to rely on
The third-rate publishers who are not
interested in literature per se, but a way
to make money from those who believe
They have a gift, a talent to share
Today is the saddest day in my life. I ask
What's the point of living when the wall
is unclimbable, when disappearing is
a welcoming option, because I'm losing
the belief that I matter.
That they were right all along, but they
felt sorry for me and wrote kind words
that in the end felled me like a rotten
tree in a green forest of the talented
Bees make honey
Which begs the question ~
Does honey make the bee
For whom the bell tolls
I stumbled across
A stumbling block
Five Stolpersteiene
Where a family used to live
Surname Jaffe
Made me think about
Think about those
Those the bells didn’t toll for
Made me think
Think about them
Them the bells doesn’t toll for
Them the bells doesn’t ring for
Made me think about
Wrath
A deadly sin
Made me think about
Numbers too big to
Imagine
Made me think about
Wrath
Now and then
Made me think about
Unnamed
Stones
I have said so many prayers
that sometimes I feel they are no longer mine.
That I inherited them
like clothes too large.
I say them, but do not understand.
I utter them, but do not believe.
And yet, I cling to them
like the hand of a father who never held me.
Perhaps belief is not needed.
It is enough to keep hoping.
Even lost prayers
find their way to Heaven.
I learned to smile with grit in my teeth,
as I watched the waves, come in, and go out.
They made a hollow in the sand,
left behind when the tide rushed out.
For whom is this hole?
I dip in the hole to swim, treading water,
kicking just enough, to keep
my nose and head,
just above the water, breathing.
To whom does this head belong?
I walk in the footprints left in the sand
by someone walking at dawn,
avoiding the long steps made
by a jogger running on their toes.
By whom were these prints made?
I call out to the gulls and terns
that pass by, calling their cries out to me.
They look back puzzled, that anyone
could be so rude, to imitate them.
To whom were these calls made?
The wind is strong and so instant,
It blows sand and spray in my face.
It mats my hair, stings my eyes,
and coats my whole body with salt.
From whom does this salt-shaker belong?
I throw a ball into the surf for a dog,
that came up with ball in its mouth.
It crashed valiantly through the waves,
returning half choked with sand grit stuck
between its teeth, and tongue lagging to one side.
For whom did I throw this ball?
Hitler dead, camps liberated
Justice arrived for those the West hated
Germany squirmed at what the shocked world saw
The Third Reich’s militia seized and declawed…
80 years later, Jew-hatred’s returned
All the Arabs and Iran do nothing but yearn
For the day when the Jews are gassed once again
Today’s Nazis intend to finish what Hitler began
To whom it may concern; I don't have a memory of being afraid of the dark, from the youngest of age never fearing angels, demons or anything with a spark.
Eight-legged critters seem more like a friend, but anything with a heartbeat and most without, I will always defend.
Some of the worst things people can experience: heights, claustrophobic, loss of a loved one, death, has no concern on me, I’m living life to the fullest of every breath.
There's not a monster in the world that’s scarier than any with-in, spent twenty years in religion to come out more confused, humming a hymn.
More than a fear, more like scares the hell out of me, the acts humans can do to other humans and jus act like let it be...
To whom it may concern fears couldn't grip me with titans power, I have lived my life with no regrets I have seen death it's not bad if your life wasn't sour.
YOU WHOM I SURELY LOVE
Colors are the parade
Different shades, of gray
Coal silken blacken wool
Hair that glistens in the moon
Such is as does
You whom I surely love
Moisten eyes tears you shed
Lofty pearls shines in crimson dark
Such a melody salvage lark
My heart and soul bled
Such is as does
You whom I surely love
Purposeful the façade
Music that’s made
I sing to you
Jubilee, I swoon
Can’t hear for the shouts
Bleeding of mine ears
All is abundantly now clear
Colors are the parade
Different shades, of gray
Coal silken blacken wool
Hair that glistens in the moon
Such is as does
It’s you whom I surely love
2/19/25
Written words & arranged music by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
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