Early morning and the gantry cranes
at Webb Dock look like long necked
dinosaurs lining up to drink from the river -
and the sky is aglow as it might have been
when tinged by the first hint of that asteroid
slamming into Yucatan on the other side
of the world 66 million years ago.
This is 2025 and no asteroid threatens
our fragile planet, yet more subtle
things do - things that reside in the dark
precincts of the human soul that pour
out pollution and in silos and undersea,
stoke embers that could at anytime
break free and incinerate us all.
Traveling through the land,
I was told that I would receive hot food
once I reached the YUCATAN.
My taste buds are of fire
As the flame kisses my lips and tongue.
Oh Pavlov, can you see my salivation?
A fire that is sweet and warming.
Of course, the warming is fire
And the sweetness is the fire bringing on my passion.
Once I arrived I tasted you and it was of pure sweetness.
however, the sweetness was of my taste
As you were good
In the manner of a kiss from a Bella Senorita!
Still, you were not hot in the regard of what I expected.
I will love your taste forever.
however, you were not my fair Carolina!
Comedian in a silver caravan,
Better than living in Yucatan.
Found her a hot, young, man,
Sitting in the sun, getting so tan.
Under the moon, she rocked that van.
Wild comedian, and her tanned man!
7/7/2024
When the Sea is spread out against the gray clouded skies,
Sunrise quiet gives us sweet songs of the tropical birds of the of the Yucatan,
Daybreak warm gulf breezes playing with the leaves of the palm trees,
Euphoria in Cancun.
Natives in raincoats out enjoying their dog walk in 79 degree mist,
Winters whether in the Yucatan challenges our optimism for the Sun,
I refuse to allow sorrow into my realm of much desired peace,
The peace that is flowering my soul,
In Mexico.
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 ©
Poor Ruby Hummer looks confused,
searching for her favorite feeder.
It was right there when it last was used,
in September, in the cedar.
Above the Bee-balm and Lobelia,
in my pollinator garden,
so sorry, Ruby, yes I feel ya,
and I truly beg your pardon.
I’m late this May, you came so soon
from your Yucatan vacation.
2000 miles from your lagoon,
a miraculous migration.
500 miles without a stop
o’er the Gulf, you must be famished.
A marvel that you didn’t drop,
and now your feeder’s vanished!
‘twas just last week we had some snow,
a freakish mid-Spring specter.
Please be patient, please don’t go,
I’ll brew you up some nectar.
Meanwhile, check the Columbines
while I go and fetch the feeder.
And don’t forget your Trumpet Vines
that grow behind the cedar.
Come grace my garden, cheer my heart,
you’re my favorite garden guest.
It’s time to fatten up and start
to build the family nest.
Nest materials, soft and pliable,
give shelter from the storms.
Next Spring I will be more reliable,
I’ll institute reforms.
June 2020
Garden Contest sponsored by Constance La France
What explains the existence of man?
Are we part of a great, noble plan?
What gave man his big break?
Eden’s wise, wily snake?
Just some space junk that hit Yucatan.
Yucatan, etc.
Cortez, DeMille are gone.
It's now the locus
of postgraduate honeymoons,
urban fugues, a minor literary genre.
Knowledge and ejection predispose us
to technological parody--
antique busses, burros, plumbing, pyramids--
as if nothing ever caught on.
There is no CHRONOLOGY, the pace and mores
are too counterproductive--
poster Indians pee along the road,
the women never dust.
We like the Sartrean-Spanish askewness--
bugs, sex, dysentery, moonlight--
as if, though settled with us,
the Fates vacation here.
Lives have been lived by millions of people that have been forgotten or worse never known. People that walked our world, looked at the same sun, the same moon that we see today. Lived lives, had families, lost loved ones, held jobs. Their existence forever lost to the sands of time. Blown away in the dust of the winds as if they were never here. Thousands of years ago all over the world little boys and little girls ran and played laughing, their sounds forever lost to the hills and vales of their existence.
From the Yucatan in Mexico to the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia, ancient peoples were born, lived and died. We, oblivious of them personally. Yet, we are still connected to them by our hopes our fears, by our love and our humanity. Think of them, about them from time to time, and in a way, bring them back to the land of the living, at least for for awhile.
Lives have been lived by millions of people that have been forgotten or worse never known. People that walked our world, looked at the same sun, the same moon that we see today. Lived lives, had families, lost loved ones, held jobs. Their existence forever lost to the sands of time. Blown away in the dust of the winds as if they were never here. Thousands of years ago all over the world little boys and little girls ran and played laughing, their sounds forever lost to the hills and vales of their existence. From the Yucatan in Mexico to the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia, ancient peoples were born, lived and died. We, oblivious of them personally. Yet, we are still connected to them by our hopes our fears, by our love and our humanity. Think of them, about them from time to time, and in a way, bring them back to the land of the living, at least for for awhile.
A glowering patchwork of a man
Chin like the Yucatan
Edges his oak-soaked way toward me
Imitating nightmares
Bitter cedar emanating from him
In cringing solvent snares
On his lips is a fusion of shame
In cauterising flame
Falling porcelain leaves surround us
Autumn exudes the past
The fugue of memory no chasm
Our speech returns at last
Amilius, Adam
First and last Adam of Atlantis,
Brought thought forms into play,
Created with the spirit forms,
Captured body, soul to stay.
Separated into male an female,
One soul searching for the other half,
Duplicate out there, Lilith,
Searching to find the other self.
Explosives mighty, killed the Dinosaurs,
Gas pockets ruptured, fired too well,
Blast Atlantis, Atla rocked it,
Still among islands, Poseidia dwelled.
10,000 years before the Prince of peace,
Atla men, Poseidia’s red sons,
Sailed away and found relief,
To the ancient Yucatan.
Circular stones, yet magnetized
Spirit of the one God spoke,
To believers and the wise.
Advised, directed every stroke.
Initiates, Angel’s of the light,
Gave a blessing, light an smoke,
Still in spirit form so bright,
Spirituality, third eye awoke.
Enlightenment some.
Don Johnson 4-july-11.
Under the Cancun sun,
on the Yucatan peninsula,
relaxing at the Blue Bay Club,
sipping Margaritas.
Glorius early morning beach,
I set out for a morning run,
soft white sand tingles beneath my feet,
under the cancun sun.
This unsurpassable paradise,
the Caribbean sea of turquoise waves,
I dreamingly feast my eyes,
upon this magical place,
right beneath the Cancun sun.