the poetry knook, the poetry of stephen m. james

Poems with the tag ‘singing’

Pandora: the search for a siren

The search for a siren,
the perfect song,
to hold and
to squeeze all along
she silently sings,
bought for a harem,
that would shame Salt Lake–
even Solomon.
She’ll concubine your mind,
with the touch of a note
and the sound of a mime.

Waves of tongues

I want to straddle the waves of tongues,
ride around the sanctuary on
winds of voices that lack skill
but lost in unity
blend polyphony into monophony,
piecing together an unspeakable sound that can only be said by many

There is no space; time stops

There is no space; time stops between thoughts of you.
Which is greater? My anxiousness at seeing you or
my disappointment when it is not you?
My happiness for
The scent of your body is my food restoring me
Your hug pulls me along as I plod on my path
“Mercy!” I scream when you look at me.
Thankful you are four seats down from me
For I would never see the chapel speaker,
If you were across the way from me.
It scares me when I imagine spending a month without you.
I’d make it through holding my Father’s hand.

Asleep in worship, unaware I see you

Gazing at you gazing up in Hughes,
more beautiful than you in my blues,
Asleep in worship–unaware I see you
Resting on one stronger than me.
Smiling, secretly craving falling into you,
Breathing in your life, grasping for your touch,
But to pull you from your trance,
Your beautiful steadfast stance!
Stretching into the air for your God.
Am I selfish in my stare,
marveling in the radiance, wanting to share
in the light resonating off your face,
never let her image be replaced!

Concert’s over

Closeness-stickiness of humid humanness
urges the closeness-stickiness of humans,
among the crowded crowd
threatening minds not to bow
to anything but selfish cares-
in the woods? Would you care
never seeing me again, girl?
I, aware of your presents
indwelled in your presence?
With females flopping round?
Called to bend, mend,
Or scare scared hearts
all but dead bleeding?
Lights fade-intending to return to my tent.

Where have all the butterflies gone?

Blues, coppers, hairstreaks, gossamer-winged
You became sick feeding on foreign foliage, and have fallen.
The monarchs have left to acquire another king,
The swallowtails devour deceptions of the present pollen,
Instead of the life giving, renovating, nectar everlasting.

You see your reflection; all hues now drained, faded,
You left to pursue a seemingly sweeter flower
You regurgitate the memories of long ago now dated.
Adamant, steadfast once with cross tattoo needled after one hour,
Now apathetic, depressed, self-centered, and sadly jaded.

Lying to yourself, wanting to be a dragonfly
Thinking you were embarking on freedom; but instead
You are hopeless as an insect in a jar left to die,
Out on your own, fluttering in the careless wind almost dead,
Come home to your Creator, beautiful butterfly.

© 1993-2024 by Stephen M. James.