SILENT WITNESS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the sun, a molten coin, descends,
and he, a shadow lengthening,
holds his breath.
he feels the earth turn,
a slow, relentless dance,
and wonders of his place within the spin.
the sky bleeds crimson, then bruised purple,
and he, suspended between light and dark,
is neither here nor there,
but simply is,
a silent witness
to the fading day.
Your experience in today
Change is not to be brought forth
Journal and starvation are framed
One mustn't and must speak
Afforded
The free press is after force of entry
Into location as advertised
"presidential crimes"
Can't is military discipline
Poverty is defined as can't
The United States can't unite
A document of a dollar in the poverty
The war is lost
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By the Streetlamp
Secrets held by the streetlamp,
Delightful, sad or wicked,
Witness through its deadpan eyes
Of events by its roadside,
As distant stars in the sky,
Are kept in depth of her heart,
With its vows of secrecy,
Never with someone to part.
I write,
because if I do not write,
I fear I have never been.
I write,
because my body no longer fits
except on the page.
my poetry is not recited.
it is washed in a basin,
hung to dry in the cold,
and smells of unsaid life.
whoever reads and does not weep,
has not understood.
who closes the book and falls silent,
is my brother.
Blessed witness
Come to me my child
Father says to me in a still voice
You're my mine beloved
I created you from heaven
Sent you down to earth
Through a spiritual tunnel
Grew within a womb of your mother
Father fertile the egg of mama
You'll incubate inside mother's womb
Until you emerge
Spirit first encased in flesh Before during and after, past, present future tense
Angels sing God ordain you
Beloved beautiful
Blessed witness
Hallelujah forever blessed
Nine months covered until you emerge
Come to me my child
Father says to me in a still voice
You're my mine beloved
I created you from heaven
Sent you down to earth
Come to me my child
Father says to me in a still voice
You're my mine beloved
Blessed witness
6/30/25
Written words & music by James Edward Lee Sr.2025©
From “I CRY OUT TO YOU”
Through dusk’s shadows they soar,
flickering evening lights,
flies flashing cold fire,
bugs unleashing lightning,
micro-luminescent,
miniscule miracles.
Though fainter than candles,
clustered firefly flocks
flash brighter than stars
in summer night skies,
sparking joyous wonder,
fluttering till sunrise.
In our darkened world,
can we shine like them,
glimmering in the gloom,
gifting goodness and hope
for all those who grieve
until a new dawn?
(First published in Feed the Holy, 19 March 2025. See also my poem “Candlelights.”)
witness protection
I don’t think I could do it
no contact ever
you can’t call your mom
cannot let your best friend know where you are
will never hear their voices again
cannot send them a letter
there is no time to say goodbye to grandma
I hope that I never witness a murder
Now, I don’t know why,
he left without a word,
returned from the grave,
only to walk a road I could not follow.
Someone must have held his name closer,
spoken in a language I could not hear.
I watch them exchange unspoken truths,
a passerby in their quiet communion.
And now, I don’t know why,
she left without a word,
came back from the night,
holding a baby’s hands, still and cold.
So, I must let go,
accept the shape of my solitude.
No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures,
only clarity will chart my course.
I throw open the window,
invite the mercy of the wind.
I am a judge in search of justice,
an equivocator craving honest ground.
My darkest needs
never beg forgiveness—
they crave a mirror.
One that fogs
with your touch,
not your abandon.
Stalked
by thought,
we chose to
be nonchalant,
by relinquishing
belief of ownership,
looking at these images,
as ephemeral wisps of smoke,
appearing and then disappearing,
no different from waves of the ocean.
Bereft of thought, all that which then remains,
is formless presence poised in the void,
as pure awareness self-aware,
to which form is an object,
from outside looking in
at the senses five
and lower mind;
instruments
for our
use.
March, 2025
She walked past me today.
Her gaze hollow, her pace a ghost.
I can see crimson threads
weaving down her arms—
not gloves, no.
I think she’s going to the Cliff.
I wonder if she’ll return.
Most never did.
April, 2025
She sat at the bank all day
and stared at my ripples—
It is what I’m proud of the most.
I tried to sing for her,
shame that she can’t hear.
So I cried with her instead,
until her tears dried—
Wish I could stop my streams,
but I’m a sentimental River.
May, 2025
I heard the Cliff complaining—
sea wind scratched his face.
She ran past, breathless—
Chased by what I can’t drown.
Hope she made it home tonight.
June, 2025
Nobody saw her.
A daisy bloomed beside me today.
I’ll keep it fresh for her.
July, 2025
August, 2025
She passed by again.
In that flowy silk dress,
and her eyes shimmer.
She was humming,
with a voice low but heavenly—
Oh, and she found my daisy!
I’ve seen that light before—
She’s going to the Cliff.
Knock, knock can I come in?
Jesus came to bear witness to His life
He rose from the barren tomb
He rose to a better and more beautiful life
God the Father watched over His Son
He was pleased Jesus came to love and serve
Jesus won't forget His Father's words
Go My Son and change the world
She’s at it again.
Wasting my ink
staging yet another death.
I draft her crimson melodramas
with third-hand metaphors
as she sips on ‘hope’ like tonic
laced with rust
and wears ‘moor’ like thrift-store perfume.
I thread her June into
forced sonnets (poor things),
before her gin drowned the meter
in proofed regret.
Even a pen gets impatient.
Sometimes she pauses,
as though it might save her—
I rooted for her to mature
but talent won’t bloom from
immature theatrics.
Still, I ink her curtain call—
the curse of being a vessel.
spring haiku 11
sprinkles of spring shine
roses unfurl their blossoms…
the sky is witness
Spring Hiku 7
cherry blossoms shine
l s
l i
i d
on dew-capped trees on h e s...
full moon is w I t n e s s.
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