A man made out of dust/ dirt and clay;
Comes not now through the womb;
His awaited anointed place space;
His entrance through the womb;
From grace, to faith, to space place the womb into a room;
First eternity with the Father, Elohim;
Now spirit birth into a flesh a vessel of mankind;
Concurring energies graced, to faith, in space into womb-man;
God man and womb-man jointly co create;
Humans
9/2/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
demure hushed in Avalon fog
weaving fables at grey spindles
river was tableclothed quiet
whiteness soft enveloped bodies
silvery sheath covered psyche
maidens mature into women
protective watchful fog unveils
ripened wombs awakening pink
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sponsor : Nette Onclaud // 2.8.26
contest : Eight by Eight : theme Fog
Placing: Third
In his time of deepest gloom
Job wished he’d gone from womb to tomb.
Please let me die was his lament
when in pain, he started to vent.
Oh, how I wish that I could die
In agony, poor Job did cry.
Our lives, bordered by birth and death
with troubles filled, till final breath.
Whether three score, or four they be,
the time assigned to me and thee,
they’re so much like a tale that’s told
We’re scarcely born ere we are old.
The dash between the womb and tomb
is like flowers in blushing bloom.
In the morning and through the day,
what wondrous beauty they display.
Then, as the sun sets in the sky,
they wilt and fade, and then they die.
Teach us, O Lord, to count our days,
and to please you in all our ways.
May our lives, like the sun, bless,
those we encounter in the press,
and may our days, all pleasing be,
as fragrant offerings to Thee.
The womb of time.
It’s a comical concept.
Comical in a way of deflective desperation leaking out of the cage of my pores.
Comical in a way of pleaded abscond for an imaginative haze of a malformed paradise.
Comical in a way of plagued persecution to the oppression of my shards.
The indigo of the infinite blinds me with a clarity that deceives the wound of my dune.
The desolate certainty to my porcellanitic skin stretches in my ears as I surrender to fate.
The arch of my feet revise the pattern of the engraved, arctic fragments of your permanence.
I find my days blending together; a unition of the void’s contorted chains, embedded with the velvet coax of my blood.
The deliberate, eradication of isolation rings in my ears; a vibration of torturous branding.
The piano notes cry desertion down the hollow of my throat; an echo of futile promise.
The path of my violent fragility demands austere through my follicles; a frugal of fatal mortality.
The womb of time.
Get me out.
The womb of time.
Let me stay.
The womb of time.
Hold me forever.
The doctor smiled,
holding up the
ultrasound of my
healthy, growing
baby.
My relief shattered
when the screen
showed it whispering
inside my womb.
It told me the exact
date and hour it
planned to consume
me.
Tonight, the labor
pains began three
months ahead of
schedule.
I can feel multiple
tiny, razor-sharp
teeth biting their
their way out.
Wondrous vessel of peace
securing babes around caring fortress
nurtured with love...
I marveled at its beauty
before beholding Mom's gracious face.
In my mother's womb,
I am still finding a way to come out soon.
A place where I developed from an embryo to a living boon,
Let me come out to watch , what you explained about the round shaped bright moon.
The amazing stories you told me to heal my undue anxiety and worthless fear in the morning and afternoon,
I crave to see your pleasant unmasked face shining as bright as the burning sun and as lovely as the brilliant moon.
I know you have to bear immense physical pain to discover me out to heal your emotional wounds.
Oh! My lovely mother,I am eagerly waiting to be kissed and touched by you and to be blessed with heavenly boons.
From a mother's womb to an earthly grave
we make the transition being so very brave.
Not knowing between what there is to attain
because of our ignorance we suffer the pain.
_________________________________
The clink of glass on window sill
The morning breath of birdsong shrill
A morning late for I find it so
Not soon enough for it to show
Religious walls
Religious soul
Religion deep beneath the bones
A shatter of time
A call of crow
A festering shadow that only grows
And the time knows itself too well
An illustrious mirror a ring to its own
A call not of or was or how
A shattering, blistering holy sound
The typing words and moving mouth
Break and crack with as such sound
Then moving legs and hands like swords
Clatter on womb warm stone so loud
When earth quakes sound breaks
And The Holy Womb shakes
The warm walls fall
Our breath shakes all
And finally starts to remember.
Before the Dawn — the Soul awakes —
Within a curtained Room —
No Candle lights the Consciousness —
Yet stirs — within the womb —
A Whisper through the Watery Veil —
A Music — faint — and near —
The Fingers start — the Eyelids dream —
Yet Thought is not — quite clear —
The Chamber — soft — with Silence sways —
Sedation — sweet — as Sleep —
The Mind — unknowing — gently folds —
Its Secrets — yet to keep —
No Ladder yet — from Flesh to Flame —
The Circuits — still not formed —
But now — at Twenty-Six — they weave —
A Tapestry begun —
Reflex — like Petals — open slow —
To greet a foreign Air —
And Consciousness — like Morning Light —
Unfolds — to find it -- there --
.
i recall thuh bubblez
from mine think's spew
yesss
in her womb
i hear’d momma say
“It’s kicking”
‘twere thuh burst
uv
bubblez though
from mine first
haiku
Placed First in Standard Contest
Specular Fugue
Sponsor : Suzette Richards
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watching passivity in activity
sad, sombrely sad
memories from womb rise and fall
little miracles of remembrance
holding the hands of Fate we wait
Wheels of Fortune revolves, race stagnates
we do not cry, hankerchiefs dry
timeless we watch, clock ticking
clock glancing, mindful of time
unseen cry, tissues wet lie around
loss centres, race proceeds
there is no Fate, only Self-determination
every forgetting is a miracle
uterine amnesia ~ stumbling and ascending
sombre joy replicates in silence
active we look away, passive and still
my sister and I have shared a room
since before we were born
when we shared a womb
we shared a fertilized egg
we are identical twins
womb mates
my sister and I
From the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I am flesh, made of bones and skin that can easily tare. That unhinged love is the most unconditional, I grow and deforme when all I do is obey. From the womb of my mother- I was born a blessing. While others see me as a monster. I Am A JUST WOMAN! Through God and christ I shall never fall but to walk with grace and faith.
No breath of life from Creator-- no warm, hopeful womb in which to grow.
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