The Promised Land
I stand on this bare rock
The land of milk and honey
Solid and soft
Gaia at my feet
Lost and wandering
In silence of night
Full moon bright
I am from the dust of stars
And a child of the dirt
A desert breeze
Whispers the prophets' lies
Carrying the warriors cries
As they lay dying
Their banners fallen
West is the Promised Land
But in the east Venus is rising
From the mountain
A new dawn dawning.
poem by Roy Lee
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Blog from Ai Weiwei
Looked at the blog from Ai Weiwei
Go elsewhere the censors say.
Twelve days past the first of May,
Where now do the children lay?
Those that died that dreadful day
The tofu crumbling as they play.
Five autumns now the mothers pray
For bodies buried under Sichuan clay.
Suffer the mothers who daily pay
Tears torn in silent stoic display.
'So sorry' there's no right to disobey.
No rights for a dissident to portray
Wrongs or crimes of authority's decay
Unseen the blogger's censored dossier.
poem by Roy Lee
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in Oil we trust...
Concrete claws challenge the sky
Sacred stairs towards a glazed heaven.
Glass and steel that shimmers
Like statues of gods standing high.
Black liquor leached from nearby sand
To quench the parched prayers of bankers
The earth’s entrails full of hell’s holes
That smote deep gashes across arid land
We worship this iconoclastic creation.
But these aren’t built solid on rock
But are parables of straw on desert sand,
An idolatry of oil production.
Comes the storm and the clouds turn dark
When financial ashes blows across
There’s no comfort in Fibonacci charts
No salvation in a concrete ark
[...] Read more
poem by Roy Lee
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The Mating Mind
So evolution has made the human brain a phallus
A frontal protuberance that is rather callous.
It’s Darwinian lust that turns out these rhymes
For a chance to copulate and have some good times.
To quote a sonnet here and sing a song there,
And to paint a panorama for a procreating pair.
Lines of iambic pentameter are but a farce,
Have no more meaning than a baboon’s red arse.
It’s all in the genes and it’s all in the brain
And love is the demon that drives artists insane.
A picture of a pert breast and a moist massage
The passionate pant from a lingual lavage.
It doesn’t take much to get this member erect
It has bugger all to do with intellect!
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poem by Roy Lee
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Refugee Rodent (A Mouse of Colour)
A mouse has moved in under my bed
A refugee rodent looking to be fed.
He has no religion, he has done no sin
Only soft sounds scurrying in the bin.
And I have tried to discourage it away
But no, it just seems to want to stay.
He gives no squeaks nor chants nor cries
Just silently stares with deep dark eyes.
He is rather cute like a brown furry ball
That slip slides across the tiled floor.
He likes to explore on top of the fridge
And swing along the TV cord bridge.
If he was white, he would have been a pet
A legal resident of my bedroom set,
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poem by Roy Lee
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A Walk In Vienna Woods
In the Vienna Woods, I took a walk
A March dampness in the air
The trees were still Winter bare
Standing stoic as if in silent talk.
Sunless snow caked in crevices and cracks
Biding the time that would bring
Mortal melting from the Spring
As I plodded onwards down trodden tracks.
In the gloomy skies no birds could be seen
And there was no wild life here
No lizard, squirrel or deer
Nothing to bear witness that I had been.
These woods have made music and ancient tales
But I heard no songs this day
Just leaves dropping in the way
Like fluttering souls caught on windy wails.
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poem by Roy Lee
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A Night In Hospital
I had a vague discomfort in my chest
So I was admitted for a cardiac test.
In the heart ward the machines go beep.
It was somewhat difficult to get some sleep.
That night was dark and seemed too long,
Beep, beep, beep and an occasional bong.
I stared at a monitor on the opposite side
Attached anonymity the dark did hide.
Across his screen are jumping green flashes
An irregular rhythm of dots and dashes.
Each minute was a hundred and five beats
On this line balanced his life and feats.
There was a golden line that also jumped
His chest controlled by an autonomic pump.
Up and down that continuous line goes
Twenty per minute he continually blows.
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poem by Roy Lee
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Trekking Biblical Lands
I trek the Biblical valleys and hills
Seeking salvation in desiccated dust
Ambling along arid ancient routes
Holy signs being the holes in my boots.
I look for the light of that shaken foil
But it is a shine of the shimmering sun
The scriptures shift like sand under feet
And exhausted I fall in the desert heat.
In the land of Sodom and Gomorrah
Where angels came and vice got its Lot
Under a shady Jujube we come to halt
I eat my lunch with a pinch of salt
The Promised Land is the path of pilgrims
But I travel on the tracks of an ass
I climb not the tree of life or to paradise
But to the Exodus of a cola and ice.
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poem by Roy Lee
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Young Lovers
Love like a blanket descend
Lovers as two people blend
We are wrapped in each other’s caresses
Floor piled in cast-off dresses
I could see and explore some downy hair
That I was not aware that was there.
Slipping snail tongue to sensual ripple
Grows and flows to upright nipple.
A crushing gushing desire
Erupting in tortuous fire.
Looking into fluid blue eyes
In the dark when you and I
(stifled cries)
Are apart:
Can we crawl through this emotional maze?
Distorted, convoluted
Lost as in a juvenile craze.
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poem by Roy Lee
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Forgot Paris
Twenty five years since I walked along the Seine
It was April then and now
Spring chills and sunny spots
Lovers hand in hand search for romance
Tourists clambering with cameras and maps
Avoiding paintings on sidewalks and tourist traps
We had bought a cheap etching then
A bicycle on a stand
Leaning besides the river
Meandering through the Parisian land.
For years I had it hung on a wall
Until one day, broken by a swinging door
I had a Kodak camera in my pocket
And in a dusty album stored somewhere
A faded photograph
Of her lying on the river wall
In black leather pants and enigmatic smile
Resting between walking each mile
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poem by Roy Lee
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