Senryu 1
Road bends, turns, and twists,
We stumble, then stand up tall,
New horizons wait.
What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?
When truth is reversed into lies,
a silent cry takes its place.
And when this happens,
prayer becomes the only weapon
against the cruelty of the world.
A cry the world refuses to hear.
A pain that goes unnoticed.
A silent cry in a solitary room—
and yet, a flicker of hope,
a thought still blooming
beyond the ache.
Trust becomes a fragile thread—
easily frayed once you step away.
Laughter echoes in your absence,
not always in kindness.
Advice arrives,
dressed in concern,
but its weight presses you further down.
Encouragement stays silent,
while sympathy hides behind walls.
Words come sharp,
not to lift, but to slice.
They speak as if they know your path,
yet never ask where your feet have been.
The smile once shared
to lift others from despair—
gone in a breath,
vanished in the hush
of midnight blues.
In a moment, everything changed.
Now, with only the weight of sorrow to carry,
I hold on to the one thing that remains:
prayer—
the shield against the shadows,
the strength to block the evil
that prowls unseen.
Each morning drifts like mist—
soft, uncertain,
but somewhere in its hush,
I feel the weight
of something turning dark nearby.
I once imagined
this place would be still,
that the walls would not echo
with things unsaid.
But peace, it seems,
is not something we always share.
Patterns repeat—
whispers circling like wind in a cage.
The days loop like shadows
on the same old path,
a wheel that spins
but never arrives.
Solitude sings a softer song.
There, I breathe.
There, I unfold
without needing to bend
for anyone's gaze.
Some birds only perch
when the branch gives them fruit.
They vanish with the silence
and forget the hands
that sheltered them from the storm.
So I walk—
quietly,
gratefully,
far from noise that pretends to care.
And I hold the light
only I can carry.
a frown is a smile
with naughty corners of mouth
dragged down, to half-mast.
stop wallowing in the mire ~
flip your lips to all ends up
It hits the tongue without warning
Burns the throat where it once soothed
Makes breathing feel like drowning
You gasp but nothing moves.
Like love
When it shifts without a sign
Leaves two hearts beating strangely
Out of sync & out of time.
The light that once felt certain
Starts to flicker & then to fade
And every step you take alone
Feels colder than the shade.
When a heart slips out of reach
Memories build what truth can’t cross
A bridge that leads to nowhere
Not quite on path, not yet lost.
S-ky's
H-igh
I-mage
R-eally
L-ets
E-yes
Y-earn
M-ore,
A-s
R-ain
C-hanges
I-nto
A-utumn
©bfa052325
Monocrostic (Birthday of Shirley Marcia)
At first, it was heaven — pure and bright.
Then came the cry,
A single tear that swelled into a river,
And from that flood, hell was unleashed.
Her world shattered,
Suffering took root deep within her soul.
She was never the same.
Locked away in her room,
Her mind a storm of questions —
Where did it all go wrong?
Was she the darkness itself?
Was it all just a cruel mistake?
Should she have spoken the truth?
Should she have let it go at the start?
Why did she stay?
Why did she believe?
Why did she think it would stay the same?
Was it all... for nothing?
What else could she have done?
After all, we all make mistakes.
But in the end —
How many will truly stay?
Who will remain, care, love,
Stand beside her through the storm?
Who will accept her — flaws and all —
Just as she accepted theirs?
Will there ever be a time
When she can be happy —
Happy with herself?
Free to speak her truth,
Without fearing loss,
Without fearing abandonment?
No one told me the moment you parted.
My disheartened heart left the room the moment I turned the corner,
and saw his golden badge as he nodded in comforting dismay.
That day
My heart learned the rhythm of grief
Slow
Sickly
The kind that brings you past your knees,
and drives you six feet underground.
Who needs two burials in one day?
I’ll slam with much more originality
than that cadence you chose to copy.
Who are you? Where is your voice?
It’s a fixed game of multiple choice.
You sound just like everyone else,
a rhythm that’s played out but still sells.
Left out too long the ice simply melts,
you ache to forget such repetitive bells.
I’ll slam just a little bit harder and crash,
rather than stay secure inside of a net.
A filed down road is so ambivalent
it lacks the character of sharp turns.
I said what I said let’s have some fun,
breaking the eggshells a battle’s begun.
A cat sits on a chair
and hovers over me
as I lie in bed.
It’s December 31st
as a soft rain falls.
As I get up
I ask myself
if this is
an ending or beginning.
I’ve been back in town
full-time for five years
but embrace memories
of highways travelled
throughout the Midwest
when I worked
for road construction crews.
Now I’m left with my poems.
Bare limbs in the yard next door
wave and dance in the wind
beneath the cover of grey skies.
The cat brushes against me and mews
and I know it wants to be fed.
I take it downstairs
and fill a dish on the floor.
It eats in the kitchen while I call
my older cousin and we peer
into our younger lives.
When asked I said
if given the chance
I say
I’d live my life again.
Outside the window
rain has turned to snow
and the dormant yard
bears the change of weather.
Sunshine on the deserts
Snow high up on the mounts
The world keeps on turning
As if nothing else now counts
Footprints on the shorelines
Are quick washed out to sea
Three ships left on the morn
In search of a new country
Leaders of the cities
Watch people leave in droves
They've heard some have set camp
In amongst the mango groves
Farm lands still stand vacant
For youth have long moved on
Houses crumble to dust
And small country schools are gone
Three ships in the distance
Now struggle on the breeze
All three captains on deck
Appear to be on their knees
They've been gone near two years
And at last they are back
Ships by three are limping
Nary a sail's left intact
One man woke this morning
For the past he now yearns
Yet there's no going back
While this old world still turns
They say there's more of you,
back in the day.
You're a shell of a man,
that's what they say.
Go back! Find it, find it!
Less, less, you cry.
Not sad; angry, empty.
Try again, you lie.
Yet it spreads further,
beyond the now, the why, the how.
Never better, but sometimes worse:
what will time allow?
Do you know where to look?
As you close in, it fades.
Not away, Not ever away...
It turns back, the deeper you wade.
a gratifying and unexpected delight
one last kick at the bucket
summer's claws hang on
tearing a strip off autumn's plans
to settle in for the stretch
i answer the call of a seductive sun
that leads me on a determined hunt
for a terrasse that awaits
where i can sit and soak in
these most precious solar rays
ah success... i find a nook and unwind
as i enjoy the embrace of a loving warmth
its energy penetrates to my very core
i'm happy to prolong my goodbyes
and feelings of intense gratitude
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
someday it’s gonna ,
be spring again now autumn
some so call it fall
~
seasons change bird’s talk-
Tweet, tweet, tweet outside walking
our birds reaping as…
~
they’re tweeting sonnets
crickets rubbing bended legs
as summer turns fall
9/19/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
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