ashamed to be ashamed, angered by anger itself, life becomes less lively,
lost eclipses reignite the English Sun; the blamers are to blame for this
blithely contrived contrivance
getting in close and surgical, seeking to remove pain
looking at each other to pause, looking at each other for cause
looking at each other to remind us, looking at each other for love
self-denial is core actionable for attainment of a state of exceptional grace;
on the perchance we’ll arrive to see it, we have dismantled paraphernalia of doubt
accepting perforce our own imperfection
the bonesetter of dreams hones consciousness to razor sharp awareness
of just how unsuitable are the suits of science, summit, defense, medicine
religion, business and finance
lost self alone may find itself, push the wrong button, maybe, and delete the last word,
sentient sentence, incumbent sentiment, incubative emotion, breathless breath
to err on the side of error
hjakajohnleake 62516


Poem Composed Reading a Twitter Interview



Had I stayed elsewhere, I would be part of that not this

crazy emblematic universe of hemless fabric we shared

before either you or I were born into humanities’ cradle

launched complete with contrails of previous time spent



Holly, is that your name? Tell me if it’s all the same to you

to spend time getting acquainted with what it is we want

to experience first dealing only with under thirties people

where genius hangs its hat during literary lags’ smattering

its names


Bitter comes to mind in a telling way pursuing/preventing

even legitimate circumstances by kindling outrageous fibs

scores of operatic stature, elementary to my dear Watson,

loathsome to Keats, Shelley, Rimbaud, Sodergren, Mozart



Also live that grow old but practice lively lyrics for the ear

flaky as snow lines float dreamily kept in their sky palace

thence to whiten the page with ground cover white spice

diamond wisdom fallen reflects back on a wholesome blue

welcome sky

Sonnet Interrupted

Invincible as ghosts,

no longer need we cross thresholds with elbows and shoulders,

hips and knees, piggies and pinkies free from rapping solid jambs,


one extremely angular body part or another

glances off a dam hard surface at each pass or so it seems

a nothing, truly, still important not for provincial pain,

self-imposed encumbrance tax getting on in years, not

for the moment’s loss of focus or the limited cussin’,

nature soaked to forge organized minds organic belts

Within a half decade of birth captive to whelm logic

of doorways, humans are in route to barter consciousness,

second nature awareness attempts to wax dramatic

though your modest showroom saint squared unworthy to bear the cross.


Indivisible as ghosts within impregnable castles beam

flouncing stoop to stoop, we made door stoops stoop

Are those days gone? What never seems?

Perspicaciously, I predicted a coup.

With passionate mantra of desire taking the host post

increasing fleshy excrescences, invisible as ghosts


Energy of Virginity

“The story is long, a life too short to tell it” Robert Johnson’s Shoes

Wet nose pilfered sweet sleep from me again
zonked out me on the Naugahyde again, again
when will it come again, again, again
back to me again, again, again, again
again, again, again, again, again

Deep in the heart of exasperation
Southern Belle metropolis Atlanta
Greater metro Atlanta, poor gir

Let the mind roam from Buckhead to Decatur
proud as windblown from fate to fascination


And Molecules Dance

(Ode to Woodlands)

The garden bowl the Morse family created from land
is a perfect sampling of southern handiness at growth
dense with renewal, a noon stroll through it awakens
walkers’ organic awareness as the park betokens

neither time nor encroaching community carries sand
in this aquiline miniature venture in nature, both
are wayward tourists at the molecules’ music hall dance
to Woodland’s rooted rhythms and uprooting variance

Mother Earth’s shock of roughhewn galleys attached to the wind
fascinates wanderer and wonderer along the path.

Tour takers, first timer or old hand, walk a few minutes,
time well lost by today’s standards for moments interfaced
with one’s inner template as micro- by macrocosm
enthralled like a baby or a man seeking its bosom

What comes next occurs as the promenader executes
a hail Mary pass out of day’s rush into green space graced
by full maturity of vaulted terminal joy
nested in natural recess of cardinal and blue jay

in Woodland’s shadows even the brightest sun contributes
mashing rays through the cracks left by limb and branch  interlaced

The grove’s quill pointed silhouette recalls quotidian
season’s contest of skies in step with nature as winter
mixes curled secrets of foliage slumbering, silent peace
with tinctured romance of her rejuvenating beauties

Park lumber sheds old growth in step with its expanding grain
resurfacing park alleys with fallen bits of splendor
moments to audit the orchestral pop and crash of woods
in the otherwise stillness of Woodland’s creatures and birds

no place for motor cars, compare it to a Grecian urn
where musings more than Mustangs transport nature to nature
a place to brood, a place for banter Woodlands fosters each
Mother Earth alert in study, in boudoir merry elf
mirrored in luminous humidity a bounteous dame
well loved, well understood, still mysterious all the time

this corner of Eden wedged in an intersection’s arch
far enough from traffic’s zoom and screech to find ones true self
the frank incense of serendipitous serenity
gives each visitor’s sixth sense special moments of beauty

the garden goer enters a world of laurel and beech
a preserve of natural piedmont forest off the shelf

talk is cheap, don’t hold my word for it, Woodland’s charm grows,
magnifies time spent amid hibiscus and camellia.
Stroll through the ultimate getaway, an urban memoir,
a unique educational experience and more

moments to synchronize yourself with your day, don’t you know?
you can afford to lose a half hour to euphoria
energize your bio, think about you and all you mean,
sashay out of doors enjoy an idyllic scene

The Morse family love for community in all this shows
the words Lord Jesus spoke about giving, alleluia


My Love is the Thorn of Rose

My love is the thorn of rose her beauty accessible
only to wind for caresses I long to supply but
what is your longing than your own self – contagion she
smiles sweetly and pricks me when I am near enough to touch

I reply with shyness in the presence of her beauty
I offer my honor in pursuit of a dream we share
I suck blood from my wounds she has deigned to bestow on me
ready as always to accept the wrath of her needles

Whatever you are you are no great bargain at present
she opines go find the way then come and sit beside me
we shall find happiness where success runs in between us
I note your dissatisfaction, you note my displeasure

what makes a great dream I must discover if I will win
my rose to me
hjakajohnleake 111914

mea culpa

Nothing in what I say makes you make sense of my sadness
dawn noon eve night I hang on the sheer delight of thinking
you may come although you never did, you will not, will you?
You chose instead to blank me from your thoughts from your presence
listening to the dripping water of my tears, I drown
noting in what I say a forgone sense of helplessness
hjakajohnleake 111614