Our comedy shows are political discourse. The funniest are those of hypocritical nations- those elders that tell us what to do and deride us when we're not looking.We are certain that we will live long because the world is such a happy place. There are many things to laugh about. For example, people carve utopias on this earth by —forgive my laughter — by forgetting our history, absorbing propaganda and theorising on the best system of government; the "-isms." Isn't that hilarious?
We look to ourselves
and God alone . We're islands
that push wheel barrows
while carrying our cross.
Who cares about our backs?
Mid the darkness shallows
Pit across the deepen sights
Blackness circumference barrows
The devise of light
Brilliants though shines
Every bright for you see
The light ever always firms dines
Demises the darkness flees
Light always sparks
As every sparks turns to light
Light ever always shine out bright
Light darkness is over shun
3/18/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
The Grind
In Gielinor's realm, where legends reside,
A hero emerges, with nowhere to hide.
From Lumbridge to Kharazi, a journey untold,
With pickaxe and sword, a story unfolds.
The grind is relentless, the hours they blur,
Woodcutting, mining, a monotonous stir.
But whispers arise, of glory and fame,
To slay the great dragon, and conquer the game.
From barrows to bandits, a constant fight,
Forging ahead, with unwavering might.
Each skill a triumph, each level a gain,
A digital odyssey, easing the pain.
With friends by your side, a camaraderie deep,
Sharing the burden, secrets to keep.
The memories linger, the laughter, the tears,
A timeless adventure, conquering fears.
So raise a tankard, to Gielinor's might,
To heroes of old, who battled through night.
For in this realm, where legends are born,
The spirit of Runescape forever will adorn.
"Blessed assurance glory divine ..."
Supine haze swiped tall grass wooing shadows,
as chimes of wren's feathers a float parade,
begs a trace with leaves sought resting barrows,
the fondness parting loft and low portrayed.
Nourishing willows stranding morning dews,
while lengthy lappings the murmured streaming,
courses the sourcing promises pact sinews,
of turned new leaves and blazed hues trails dreaming.
Quietude slights segmental furtherance,
edging up-ends the friendlies beckoning,
hail the awakened, embracing balance,
trice the brevity traipsed separating.
The listless stares a sheltered clemency,
keys to a kingdom freed their fervency.
They want to invent a game that uses
four teams drones, manuel wheel barrows
boulders .
teams who work from one end
a lengthy area (feild or Lot)
with objectives and rules.
drones to delver (simulations)
the project hasn't been worked out and
the people
who are needed in creation
need to structure the level
where what's needed to make
it an athletics and challenge.
the challenge may include....
the challenge cannot include
the length of area
the duration of challenges
the inclusion
level scoring
and terms and agreements
need consideration and
Good yeilds
double cropping
Drone usage level
get the persons name
and inteview styles
Staccato andFocusing on what's
The reverbing for promotion
Who sings in the night
to stand proud in
there challenge
to contend and become
champion
a champion above all
to stand above the Line
Young Bonnie and Bud,
were Lover's on the Run,
There was no safe haven,
Once they'd Begun.
Well, Bonnie and Bud,
Robbed Bank's with Hot guns.
For twenty-One Months,
They fled on the Run.
He did it for money,
She wanted Fame.
There was no Escape,
For the Barrows Gang.
They took Thirteen Life's
And that was the Sum.
They knew the outcome
Pursued by lawmen with Guns.
The Twenty Third of May,
Was their Date with Fate.
Six Lawmen with Guns,
Flung One Hundred plus Slugs,
And the was the last,
For Bonnie and Clyde.
She was Twenty-three,
And He was Twenty-five.
Often heard is the blue bird
Springs chrips
Robins and Sparrows
Perch
Nature choir singing ever louder heard
Sing, sing, sing all birds in all trees and barrows
11/24/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Darkest is the night;
As the rabbits and hide neath the barrows;
Chattering in silence gibbering;
Disappearing till next day or spring;
Early autumn birds flee south;
Over the citizens houses;
Lol, dark of nights summer critters hide in fright;
12/7/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
King Harold takes shelter behind upturned barrows
The Normans approach and the gap quickly narrows
His young wife had said
Keep down your sweet head
Then begged as he left, keep an eye out for arrows
*
Sir, do you sell nuts in the shell
My mum says eat healthy and well
I know that the wealthy
Say Apples are healthy...
Not when your dad’s William Tell
*
Oops, I have run out of arrows
The old dingo, barking, just goes
An Australian man
Offers his boomerang
But I couldn't fire one of those
He was weary of prostitutes.
The young ones were vacuous,
their bodies unleavened bread.
The mature models scored
by the violence of disappointment.
Both the naive and the bitter
were dull molds.
He had dissected women, both old and girlish.
On moonless nights carried their corpses,
on muffled barrows to his garret.
By the light of a hundred candles
he had eased flesh apart,
nose swathed in verbena drenched rags,
hands tweaking tissue, tracing
sensuous shapes under dead curves.
He hired women of every class.
The rich were flattered, vain,
the poor always eager to earn.
None made the stone blossom.
It was a matter of timing,
catching her as she emerged
from her littoral crest.
It seemed his models
were always coming to, or moving away
from that conjunction.
yet he kept opening shells
until death took him.
At his funeral
his straight-backed widow,
adorned in darkest weeds,
hid her anger well.
Despising those cold hands
that never knew
how to reveal her.
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Drift away into the clouds
fall back as misty raindrops
Touch the sky
with the tip of your nose
eating raw walnuts
makes your hair grow
Why do we have ten fingers and toes
Do you really know what you know
or do we just sorta suppose
I like white irises among the red red rose
Have you drank from the water hose
Wheel barrows carry loads
keep right on the road
left leads to paying tolls
Are there bridges with trolls
Cartoon characters have eight fingers and toes
grow your corn in straight rows
Silly is as silly goes
Touch the sky
by dreaming high
with all you are apply
and you will soar is you fly
Touch the sky
By Paris Thulare
I am the reflection of my own shadow,
The one behind the existence of barrows .
I am the daughter with pride ,
I am the son at the top of a river nile .
She gave me the chance ,
yet I breathe and yes I believe ,
Because she choose not to abort when she was caught at lion's gate .
She chose not to leave me in a corpse's cage .
She gave me a chance to live .
Who would have thought i could say words in such ?
Who would have thought that my wrist needs a watch ?
But Mother gave me her all .
She wrapped me up when the sun ran hot ,
She lifted up me when the grass was Grey ,
That was when lions wanted to prey .
Nine months isn't a child play ,
But momma made me see the day .
She is the reason why I see this sun until dawn ,
I read book of different pages .
I stumble on top of different shapes ,
Because i've been given the chance to live .
Thank you MOOMMA for the life you gave me.
Thank you Mdali for not abandoning me .
I'm on my way up ,
Sooner you will be proud .
There goes Pochahontas bent.
Sent with flaming arrows.
All that anger's meant to vent.
Just for faming harrows.
Lost to others who were sent.
Darrring Blaming sparrows.
Cost of all who met their fate
sought for claiming parrows.
All that land was meant to be.
Tribes of mainly darrows.
Lost to others much more fit.
flagrant ignorant farrows.
Brought to wrecken what they did.
Trading Indian Marrow.
Welcomed family to their nest.
Blaten Christian Narrow.
All for honor to the West.
English broken Saroh.
Brought back daughter to the East.
England's married ferro
Host for others who would seek
dangerous paton barrows.
Tsenacommacah Queen to take her crown
to English ratten tarots.
Beloved by all who'd sheikh the name
of English Cotton-Keurro.
Forsaked by all who'd come to claim
her Pochahotas Buenos.
The Maiden of Carbury Hill
I remember a story told of a red-haired girl who never grew old,
who died when there came a great famine.
In one pale hand she owned a sheep's knucklebone,
the other a sprig of winter jasmine.
Though her kin all left for distant shores she still lies in repose,
near the ruins of Carbury castle in Ireland.
Irish lore has it written that the lass was once smitten,
with a young lad who went off to war and then died in.
Alas, it's been long that she's been dead and gone,
listen.., you can still hear her mournful tune.
She sings when gales blow near two barrows of old,
o'er the green heath nestled 'neath Carraigdhoun.
Crestfallen, he sails through still waters where dwells, Kilcullen's lost daughters,
well preserved in the dark peat bog of Carbury.
Be careful where your feet fall lest you join them in the deep halls,
where the lost maidens of Own na Buidhe lie buried.
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