Let’s get rid of that old antique thing, my daughter said.
Was she talking about the clock? Was she loose in her head?
I pretended I had not heard her weird kind of blasphemy.
That clock was given to me by my oldest Grandma McGee.
Sure, it was ancient, it no longer played a pretty song
Some of it had splintered, its chimes were abrasive and long
But there was a connection between that timepiece and me.
Maybe because it had come from my favorite Grandma McGee.
That night I sat up in bed, wondering if a ghost was about the house.
That clock was playing like it was haunted by moose and mouse.
My hair frizzled with fright, for I had not had this experience before.
I broke off three teeth grinding them; I locked my bedroom door.
Could not get to sleep the rest of the night; this was a fright, it was a fright.
Next day, I tried to give the clock away at the first sign of daylight.
Who would want it? Asked my daughter, it's scary as a gargoyle on speed.
I can deliver it to your house, however, if you have a desire or need.
Drizzle and frizzled hair crinkles,
such sounds demand a symphony;
Clammy cold showered with sprinkles
there’s a vibe that says ‘Be easy.’
Stock up the wood burning fire place,
it’s raining I’ll send you a song;
Smoke creates a treble clef trace,
that rhythm will help you along.
He rode a horse he got thrown off
Onto the ground his head hit first
In a pile of manure horses pie
On top of his head he lie
Looked like a derby hat yah!
Getty-ap
Laddie look like a hat he wore
But it was just a pile of manure
She was a fair black lady
At the hair dresser
The weather man say yesterday
It’s gonna be sunny and bright
Yet, when the young lady left out the hair dresser
It thundered and began to rain
Uncovered her hair got wet frizzled and fuff-up
She looked like a cotton ball, now all wet she wore a afro
Lasses look like she wearin a British hat
2/14/24
For Put Yer Funny Hats On Laddies (Lasses Too) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tom Woody
forever fragrant flowers
freshly frozen French fries
frosty frigid French pie
frightfully frumpy frogs
F is frolicking, having fun
frilly frisky Frankenstein
freezing frivolous frazzled fried flies
fruitful frustrated frankfurter finches
fragrant frizzled frocks
Frisking friendly fruity F
flirty fleeting fishes
flaky, flashing, flaming flashes
flawlessly flagging flip-flops
floundering in fleshy, flaxen, fluff
Flamboyant F, flavored fruitfully
Awakened
realizing I was in shock
she rolled me over
and did it again are you glad?
Sad a puppies brown hair
green eyes
frizzled dazzlers
gelled hair.
Thorazine hidden in my orange
orange juice
without a just claim to fame
dipped in a language
you can read on your toast.
Simpson
please rest with
Spector there
grow old and smile.
Dreams
mental illness
rushed through your head
no voice of reason, I
Hide in my bed
my arms are like a cross
both of my hands in restraints.
Rooms
with no exits
to many padded cells
morally bankrupt that shrink was let go.
He unfurled his sail
Then claimed us as his cows and sheep
and thus we smelt of sleep.
The first time I encountered a phoenix
I was horrified when he frizzled into ashes
Not realizing he was going to come back
In better shape than ever
I had made a friend out of him on a Saturday night
We were in a speak easy,
but the speaking was not easy because it was too loud
So I took him home, carrying his cage gently
We spoke well into the night
I was horrified that he was rapidly molting
Terrified he was dying
Not realizing that was his way to come back better than ever
The ill woman who lies in the wheelchair
was well-spoken, happy, generous, elegant, and fair
and she lived a life of exuberant riches;
now in poor health, she's at the mercy of others.
Her frizzled mind recreates past images in photographs
of adored faces, she posted them among her artifacts;
why did they abandon her to a detrimental state?
Didn't her full hands offer generosity and not shake?
Caroline was a nurse and took care of wounded soldiers,
often her white uniform was stained with blood,
nothing scared her, she continued to save lives;
won't anyone honor her now, not when she's under the sod?
Black-
Looks like non-lighted Skies at night
Black is the Naked Ground
Black is the heart
Black sounds crash
Black is death
black is silence
Colour of black taste as grapes
Colour also of a taste of burnt toast
Taste like the colour of blueberries
black feels like Frizzled air
Black feels like Satin
Feels like so as a Cardboard
Black is empty our soul
11/23/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
There is a giant piece of duct tape around my finger today,
To remind me to do something.
Probably important.
I used to keep a piece of string to do the same thing,
But it frazzled and frizzled and fell off after two days.
I know it must be insanely important. I wish I knew what it was.
Dad has ordered a new shed,
he'll site it in the shade
replacing the one put out by
the local Fire Brigade.
The wheelie bin is full of food
almost a three course luncheon
with sausages as black as coal
and harder than a truncheon.
Home made sauce clings to the sides
like toffee, not that viscous,
and burgers that could be re-used
on sports days as a discus.
Mummy's apron, holed and scorched,
no whiskers on the cat,
bare lawn where flames extinguished with
the neighbour's cricket bat.
“Will there be another one next time?
we'll have to wait and see”
says Dad as he goes to fetch Mum
from outside A&E.
His frizzled locks like coiled springs,
he will not need his comb,
but never mind, the family sings-
“she's coming home
she's coming home
she's coming,
Mummy's coming home....”
(* A&E- Hospital accident and emergency department in the UK)
The garden patch afloat with Insy-bettaroots
was fully grown yet barely touched my boots
across the sky a kite flew high
I liked it, I won't lie
Where once a troubadour sprang forth
with all his poetry of worth
a stadium pole stood straight
but held no stamin-weight
That countryseat of sweet abode
that once was frizzled with agoad
lay baren like a dessert pitch
enpoorened, no not rich
The troubadour of valor I once knew
forsook all colors except blue
he plucked his very last
then left the grounds, aghast.
Before the day unfolds from crumpled sorrow prior to dawning
yawning fake cumbersome fawning’s creases nocturnal tossing
turning ragged motion rigor ante mortis refuses to leave the sheets
and pleated feat of forlorn furrows of a haunted mind and soul
The tired hangman’s girth and girders glide crushingly from heaven while
moon shadows’ frizzled fragments show no mercy reflect the blinding
darkness’ solar soaring cannot quench the thirst that is no more as grimy
star dust descends in acrid shivers on the burning frosty condemnation
A pillow case draped round the neck perverts the petting pecking order
of a reckless needy comfort long past the passion of redemption’s kiss
burst bent spent and hollow the cotton duvet draped in remorseful sores
blends easily with heavy weights and suffocating nothingness of dawn
When shadows leave no reflection as mirrors of the past and present cast
no more glimpse of prism when compressed condensation remains the
only lonely companion left to soothe like grating acid wounding scabby scars
all light goes out and vanished freedom plies it’s murky clarity again
My computer is rigged,
Firewall’s frizzled and died.
Mark Zuckerberg's eyes.
Love, calumniousness and my calmness.
Caste, colour and religion, castrating me pish.
Pitiable placability, pendiculation and scurrllity,
A scullion leads ashtray, arrogant, juggling kiss.
In funds gainsay gad about, execute fustigation,
Fulsome excelration and Ju Ju, jest misconceived stress.
A gawk but gallant frizzled fuddle and frolic,
Exert pickings pick some picaroon phrenetic bliss.
A cry diverted diversion, a dither distrusted hope,
A burning light touched a grand heart becomes bless.