Writing & Art Reblogs

Like a flower,

a gentle breeze

planted you

on Earth

where you were

welcomed into

a household

that cared for you,

allowing you to grow,

making the world

a beautiful place

with your faith,

your kindness,

& your love

Now it is time

for the gentle breeze

to pick you up

& carry you

above the clouds

to exist for eternity

You will be missed

here on Earth,

but each time

the wind dances,

we will remember

and cherish

Nothingness guts my tongue like a Stale beer, One stolen glance, And desire to be numb; Endured, Too many years under heel.

It’s then, the only semblance of Lucidity Resides within these eyes, In mirrors, And staring back With echoes of purpose.

My ambition, murdered and with Malice, Or so she’d chanted - Hummed in the dark, Rattled, this brain. I packed and granted wishes.

nature wears her mystery

like the cloak of an ancient deity,

leading a dance of

wild abandon

outside my window

she casts each season’s

bounty to the wind, mantle aflame

through a dreamy lens

ignited by a shining

kiss of light—lavish intimacy

tentatively bestowed by sunset’s

cascading emanation

.

open your windows let the world in let it up the balcony and into your lonely room

let it rock the walls with its fantastic silence

let it break your guarded heart

In the midst of what seems mundane lies a hidden world

Ghosts surround me, accompanying my every step

The lost, the unmet, the real, the imagined

These translucent entities haunt and console me

Wispy figments shift in and out of awareness 

Subdued whispers, their presence felt but never seen 

What may seem ordinary masks profound challenges

I push aside my ghosts who yearn to be acknowledged

Fragile mind oscillates betwixt clarity and confusion

A perpetual struggle to live in the present 

The universe is littered with daily reminders

of what once was… 

of what could have been…

of what I have lost…

of what was never mine…

of what will never be…

Every hushed whisper, every reverberating echo

My ghosts contribute flawed fragments to my narrative

An incomplete history of distortions and illusions

Leaves me feeling incomplete

So, who am I?

What may often be overlooked carries significance to me

Unanswered questions ignite chaos within my mind

I navigate an unsolvable labyrinth of mystery

External investigations cannot unveil these buried truths

Healing lies in reconciling with my ghosts within

Dialogue with them holds the key to my liberation,

Clearing away the misty fog that clouds my perception

By forgiving the past and accepting the unknown,

I can release my ghosts from my internal world

Empowered, I can forge my own narrative,

a gaping hole inside me

grappling for the edge

stranded in the past

sitting in the present

petals mulched underfoot

sticky liquor bottles

remnants of adventure

evidence of you

being here

romantic with me

last night

but no sign of you today

an unfinished song

a half-written poem

not even a whispered goodbye

just a faint echo of the lock clicking

and the memory of your back

as the sun continues rising

erasing any indication

seize them when the din recedes,

cherish the quiet,

remember them in the storm,

on the horizon they rise.

.

Spring Arousal

Stirred, by bittersweet aroma of spring by its fondling touch, caress upon bare skin; this meander, infused with nature’s hues, unravels a most magical world a silent spell spilling across an arboretum giant magnolia masses, petals as thick as leather tender drifts of plum, pink cherry blossoms rhododendrons eddying, springtime zephyr yellow daffodils, their jubilant heads a splash of sunshine at soleus-length

inviting dawn upon its throne

ahead, clouds stretch onto the horizon

lavender blue weaving and warping into its

blanket above fields of lime green

behind, orange ushers me into days

forward

a kite soaring high, waving

all the cash I have

in my wallet. He

gives me his name but

I’m not here. I’m in

a king sized hotel

bed in NJ. I mouth

the Spanish olive

because I can’t

kiss you, but if I

concentrate and

soften my third

eye, I taste your

IT’S TIME FOR LOVE

It’s time for Love,

chosen not by gesture,

not by deep thoughts

nor words well structured

not rich, not poor

Love does not judge,

forgiveness, a great pleasure

to see clearly, not condemn

emptiness, a hidden treasure

stillness to hear better

Love is patient,

delay is a past time leisure

Love is kind and gentle,

to groom any living creature

Persevering love

Love is a song,

an eternal overture

Love is mystical,

nurturing is its nature

Fruits of the soul

Love is timeless,

it is beyond all measure

Conquer thyself,

and thy Love will mature

It’s time for love

©Johnny J P Lee

14 March 2023

A Gogyoshiren Poem (25)

I wrote your name on a paper heart

and tucked it into a novel I read when seventeen years old

to let the taste of my desire become moldering cellulose

along with the never-sent letters of kind regard

//

So maybe this is us concluding

locked away tightly in library shelves

(and isn´t this a reasonable way to end?)

until some kid – maybe seventeen themselves –

finds your name written in the architecture of my longing 

untenable under closer examination. click for better quality. transcript under cut.

Look I'm really trying hard

(Mmm how hard)

Not to get carried away

With wanting and longing

Trying not to picture skin on skin

Not to dwell on how amazing it'd feel

Up against you...among other

Unmentionable things

I'm not supposed to have in mind.

Oh no, I failed again

I'll be a good girl and get it right

Next time...though oooh yeah