POEMS BY JIMMY TEE FOR BWW SEPT 25

By Design

Nature as subject sure gets the words flowing
and this poet never knows where they are going
there are sunsets and weather and trees with their birds
echoes from mountains and deer in their herds
glorious flowers that ring in the spring
a floating moon tugging on most everything
the crashing sea waves — well, you get the point
Nature is crowned as the pinnacle joint
but I see past this surface and it is there that I find
the gray foggy silence that is the sublime
it is there that the mystery of mysteries begins
and there that the poets will unfurl their wings
to raise every question and describe every balance
and find that the soul is but Nature’s resemblance

For Nancy and Her Birds

On the coldest of cold winter days
the birds continue to fly their ways.
How do they do it, you might stop and says.
Well they live in a scene
more mystery than seen
more grounded than any quick meme.

The cedar waxwing is reliant
on seeded kernels hung defiant
that represent the Tao compliant.
In frozen air they dart in parry
sent by the secret aim they carry
fed by the fruit of the hawthorn berry

that outlasted the storm of November
and surveyed the dark ice of December
as a skin wrinkled spot of summers bright ember.
Then seed is spread on Darwin wings
as we measure this cycle like squat little kings
and confirm our sacred human reasonings.

But tell me what drives the forces of natures bent ?
Where is instinct pre-packaged and sent ?
How can such feathers be so resilient ?
The answer is not found in vector sums
for meaning is beauty and with knowing becomes
a neat little soul that never succumbs.

Modern Packaging

The snot like glue peels itself from the glossy envelope,
falling unwanted, to my hand.

The seal on the blister pack cannot be breeched.
Use a scissors, draw blood.
Do not believe little notes claiming “tear here”.
Spouts open unevenly, dripping olive oil on the countertop.
Mechanically torqued plastic caps sealed at 200 foot pounds.
Tamper proof: true to its word.
Wire ties on loaves of bread : which way do they turn ?
Plastic ties on loaves of bread : where did it go ?
Frilly packaging that looks good on the shelf.
Unfortunate tears that cover the floor with shredded cheese.
Freshness protectors with forever vacuum seals.
Out of control perforations.
Welded tinfoil composites.
Shrink wrapped shrinking tuna fish cans.
Beware anything labeled “ E Z ”.
Hamburger wrap that could stop bullets.
Packaging that exceeds the cost of the product itself.
Impenetrable bags inside impenetrable boxes.
Eight ply cardboard with schedule 40 poly seals.
Space age hot melt adhesives leaving curls of paper everywhere.
Push down, squeeze, fold, and twist while turning.
Invisible tape, pound for pound stronger than steel.

Surrounded by consumer products sealed to survive a nuclear attack,
I now attempt my luck with a corkscrew.
Winters Not So Bad
Kitty and coffee
at my foot and in my hand.
7AM
four inches
of heavy wet snow
sticks, closing schools,
hampering the commute.
While I have nowhere to go,
vague simple plans for the day,
mostly observations to be written.
A professional sponge.
I cannot escape this person.

Back to fact, the snow
always silent
has shut down the world
under gray fingertip.
Once again the earth is forced
to sleep,
evergreen branches bow.
A row of snow commas
at the top of the stockade fence
shows the direction of the snowfall.
It is slightly above the freeze point.

Nice Line, Where Does It Come From ?

The power that ardor possesses
seeps deep into bone — then to burn
into flames of raging caresses
asking only for more at each turn.

There is a certain persuasion
that says lead with the head not the heart
but that does not fit the situation
and love seems like a good place to start.

The Game

the militants march in a terror parade
carrying cannon gun and rocket grenade
killing innocents in a publicized raid
a thousand year war, the latest jihad
where children will suffer, their concept mislaid
so I wondered after the latest tirade
where is this weaponry bartered in trade
and it turns out that the very countries afraid
are the ones that supply the terrorists aid
for war is a distant board game to be played
while we sip our wine, safe on the esplanade
profits are won but the true costs are delayed
as a spade will continue to be found as a spade
and our created misery nowhere near a charade

My Muse

staring at my keyboard
once again waiting for rhyme

there is a command key
but not a polite request key

same with delete
there is no reborn button

I have options, of course
but the control key

is countered by a shift
tab, useful but surprising in its effect

function buttons rarely function
I overuse the escape key

no secret why the space bar
consumes the board

space is what I’m trying to fill

Love Poem Champagne

I flow in sweet moan
wetness caresses
a softness like no other

corrugated moonlight
on knotted sheets
breath is interrupted

desire no longer mute
as bellows feed flame
finger tips and grasps

soothing release shared
the night as witness
the stars curious

Strength

It serves no one in the least
to leave idle, unused strengths
while battling the crooked beast
of reality’s far lengths.

Gifts of might have been bestowed,
discovered by commission,
the Givers interest clearly shows
the depths of our constitution.

Remember : armor’s steel,
hammer forged in the hearts fires,
falls to pillow at nights peal
requires rest, but never tires.

In my existential sleep

Last night in dream I was bent in argument.
An anti-epiphany hit me hard.
I was jolted. The plain truth appeared.
The subject of the human soul as entity.
The soulless side of the debate was compelling.
That the thing we consider to be ourself,
our base core of beliefs and mental habits,
is only a narrative, based on the input
remembered through our senses only.
The stone cold silence of the void
answers to no one, despite our plea.
A friendly “ hello, how are ya’ ’’ from God
would really go a long long way.
Anyway, it was only a dream.

This Poem is a Blatant Ripoff [ is there any other kind? ]

theres a startup in my head
and its books are in the red
from a disappointing I P O

for my corporation brain
needs a broker to explain
what to do and where to go

I have seen somewhere in a dream
that behind every rhyme is a dollar sign
waiting impatiently to increase my equity
avoiding recession topping expectation
selling high
buying low

I’ve a golden parachute
when the numbers go kaput
in a fancy quid pro quo

where any liability
is not attributed to me
when the proxy board votes no

you will find in the bottom line
that your entity is but a commodity
with so many selfs sitting on a shelf
lawyers galore serving writs keeping score
selling high
buying low

Inside a Crowded Fire

short on facts
long on opinion

blue eyes that appear
unworldly

sitting in restaurants
that somehow signify happiness

while popular culture
drives society

all human events appear fresh
despite their repetitive nature

its all overly dramatic
like a quick dip in Superior Lake

I must have my foot pillow
comfort is etched into every decision

everythoughtinyourheadwasputtherebysomebodyelseincludingthisone

everythoughtinyourheadwasputtherebysomebodyelseincludingthisone

every
thoughtinyour
head
wasputtherebysomebodyelse
includingthisone

thought
every inyourheadwasputthere
bysomebodyelse
includingthisone

everythoughtinyourheadwasputthere
bysomebodyelseincludingthisone

every thought inyourheadwasputtherebysomebodyelse
includingthisone

every
thoughtin
yourheadwasputthere
bysomebody
elseincludingthisone

everythoughtinyourheadwasputtherebysomebodyelseincludingthisone

The Maelstrom that was Ryder

his landscapes tasted as mine
victory in a triptych frame

quietly painted scenes
the world went crashing by

emotions are mapped
in renditions of color

your hand to moonlight
consider its source and travel

a large audience or none at all
art is loneliness through endeavor

vellum, wood panel, canvas
using the mind as pigment