Young mother, did you know?
Flowers will wither in concrete and cold.
Don't fool yourself.
Did you ever see a petal bloom in a bottle or syringe?
From outside the embrace of the son.
Or the glade of free will?
Has anything ever flowered from a crack house latrine?
From the mouth of puking guns or fatherless streams.
Young mother, don't twist the sky
your garden is in flames.
Don't let them pearl your mind.
Gather up your yearlings before they catch fire.
Nothing will grow in concrete and cold.
Young mother, did you know?
Night, drape deep in slumber.
O dream, to nightmare turn?
Multitude, legion, number!
Death, dearth to discern...
Rule of law in wasted land?
Show them, when ye stand.
Orderly, cold countermand?
Break before bed, band.
Young fools making with the schtick?
Candle, burn out quick.
Light both ends and nicker. Wick?
Bone within me, pick.
Wound in heart of warrior?
Stray, become the cur.
Dynamite, how to deter?
Blades and chimes a-whir.
Terrible to live? Oh, yes.
Blossom, O my stress.
Torment, foment thy best guess!
Who would be the less?
Ululation, ugly, meld.
Hound, bay in the street.
O for yearlings on the geld!
Bill, pay self with beat.
Fallow field in autumn?
Rickshaw on the move?
Congregation, sing a hymn!
Inspire to improve...
Froggy is croaking
Somewhere where it’s boggy
He’s steering them clearly
A lighthouse, that froggy
Yearlings are frisky
Delightful, these dear things
But dawn is right risky
So fly, flee, you yearlings!
Morning is breaking
It’s sounding a warning
An astounding sunrise
A marvelous morning
Dillo is rooting
She’s billowed the pillow
Oh man, that’s the missus
Sounds darned like a 'dillo
Toady's exploding
A regular roadie
No stopping his hopping
He's touring, this toady
----------
Irish quatrains with 5x/6a/6x/6a, 2-syllable end rhymes, alliteration, internal and/or cross rhymes, and same start/end word. Seems like they sort of work for children's rhymes...
https://www.writersdigest.com/poetic-asides/breccbairdne-poetic-forms
I went back to the meadow today
Its call was unmistakably clear
I saw two yearlings at play,
Then, remarkably, two older deer.
Warming bringing a welcomed respite
As the animals came out to frolic
Before, inevitably, the ground is white
And winter meadow will wax bucolic.
My walk was pleasant; I shall stay,
Reclining there in restive meditation
Near yonder knoll the rest of the day
Devoid of any unnecessary animation.
written December 9, 2021
Arctic bear cubs, den,
exiting frozen grounds halfway into June.
Keeping low,
mothers navigate onshore perils,
quietly roving.
Sensing they've uninvitedly violated
wildlife's Xenia,
yearlings zigzag.
(Abecedarian)
12/03/2021
''Z'' Contest, New or Old - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I remember childhood carousel mirrors,
antique, ornate, intoxicating, glimmering,
glinting, gleaming, turning,
calliope piping, toy top twirling, shimmering.
I remember all those early years of yearning.
I remember grainy analog TV,
pallid, pasty-faced, fuzzy vestiges,
wavy-gray shadow-shades so giddy.
I remember the vapid, vacant egregious,
the dull corporate thievery of the airwaves.
I remember polychromatic butterflies,
splodgy, splotchy, wavy, Lepidoptera,
dewy glorious mornings playing in a puerile land.
I remember wispy pastels, childish whispered chimera hopes.
We all wanted to believe in the carousel.
I remember wooden yearlings swirling,
ponies pumping, rolling, my resemblance careening,
my semblance of being aspiring in glittery silvery sterling.
I remember so many seraphs pirouetting,
all silently streaming, mercifully redeeming.
I remember childhood carousel mirrors.
Yearlings Yakety-Yak yolks yearns yearlings yawning youthful
yawnibgly youthful sreams and and yells ~
1/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2021
The first snow of the season has fallen silently
Blanketing the ground with a lovely white quilt,
Wafting here and there into gentle drifts
Shrouding all outdoors in an eerie silence.
The birds are silent on their frozen limbs,
Feathers fluffed against the chilly breezes.
The chattering squirrels have all disappeared
Cuddling tightly in their fragile leafy nests.
Watchful deer forage in an adjoining meadow,
While yearlings frolic in newly discovered delight.
Feral cats confused by the unexpected change
Take cover ‘neath some lingering piles of brush.
A heavily clad youngster who lives across the way
Will soon come by with his long-handled shovel
To clean off my car and clear the driveway,
Traffic will resume; soon all will return to normal.
FIFTH PLACE
December 3, 2020
Winter Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
Y
Yggdrasil
younglings
yobbishly
yohimbine
yammering yardsticks
year-round
yuppifying
yuppifies
yokefellow
yarborough
yellowtail Ypsilanti
yearningly
yellowback
yarmulkas
Yevtushenko
Yellowstone yachtswoman
yellowfin
yellowing
yearlings
yodellers
yearnings
yachtsmen yesterdays
yearbooks
yachtsman
youngberry
yarramans
yellowhead
yeastiest yardstick
yieldingly
youngling
yogyakarta
yoghourts
Yugoslavia yodelling
Youngstown
yarmulkes
yataghans
yawningly
yellowish
youthfully cowardly
yellowness
youngsters
yeastlike
youngness
Yiddish
yardmaster
yuppiedom youngster
Yaroslavl
Yellowknife
yellowcake
Yugoslavian
yuppified
Yorkshire
yellowest
yattering
yellowlegs
yesterdays
yeastiness
ytterbium
yesteryear
yardbirds
YouTubing
yellowwood
yellow-belly
Yucatan
yourselves
yabbering
Y words?
8/11/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Fresh winter wind shines
Early day's icy lace
Brisk peppermint breath
Refined milky light
Ubiquitous candy hearts
Allows a splash of
Red and pink to brighten
Yearlings' skittish steps to spring.
At mid summer
the goddess appeared,
and bestowed her sultry stare,
and emerald eyes,
upon that boy,
who waited until old age to even
open half an eye,
his hands and legs weary from the toil of redundancy,
of striking down another one,
like all the others he turned out,
like frisky yearlings,
into the snow filled wonderland of pasture,
where they bonded, frolicking together,
and never returned.
the goddess gave him half a minute,
til he shrugged and said
"she left me too."
Wild horses still run
racing off to the beat
of some distant drum
the wind catching their wheat
in the swaying winter manes
with their figures a shadow in open plains.
Hoof beats pound the earth
pounding out the rhythm of a storm
where sky and land were birthed
and yearlings were free when first born
harnessed of late by the girth and bridle of man
they slip into submission apart from the open land.
Wild horses have withered over the years
as native lands are taken away
and the memory of freedom disappears
every day in the games men play
long rivers and flat rocks no longer bend the knee
to the mountains falling into the sea.
"The Wind of Heaven"
Justin Hayward
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5RMPUJE44s&list=PLO-UbICkLW9N1nn4ZW7m0JbHHPtxmjWVW&index=5
Its 2017 and my odyssey is far from begun.
Nearly ending every yearlings dwindling
Found above ground without Mona Lisa's lungs.
Without air is mortality.
Anything else is air mortality.
Painted on a picture is a mural on a bar stool room wall. Blank faces stare beneath the counter.
As I drink myself under the taker.
Only to arise with the power of ten thousand men—Truth be told, that’s about less than ten thousand women, infant and children.
Elderly has forgotten and our honest approach takes a step forward.
How is unthinkable. Why is unimaginable. Anger is intolerable garble and forgotten is an ancient power that is truly god-like...forgotten
1-20-2017
I saw a thousand geese fly by.
From north to south,
They marked the sky.
Thrown off their course by winter storm,
On hapless and drifting route.
An endless, massive flock
Spanned my view in jagged form.
The fleet looked to be give-out.
And hundreds trailed behind the lead
In long, lop-sided, wavering vies.
Tired yearlings wobbled within the rears,
Beating their wings with mindless fear.
I watched for some to land my pond,
To sift the mire through reed and frond,
But each bird flew with forward breast,
Deprived of strength and pounding chest.
I woke up to the sun a-calling me
Got dressed and went outside to take a leak
No worries, folks are many miles from here
My neighbors are the squirrels and birds and deer
The early morning air was still and sweet
The sun seemed in no rush to clear the trees
Two yearlings eyed me from a berry patch
I felt self-conscious, so I turned my back
And laughed about our built-in modesty
I zipped up and said, loudly, "Thank you, Eve"
My hound dog ambled up, then stopped to yawn
And next he yelped his fav'rite morning song
"Ah-ooooo, I am so hungry I could die
Ba-woolf, it's been a while since suppertime
Uh-gulf, I put my bowl there by the door
Bow-wow, make sure my Gravy Train is warm"
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