Collected Poems 2

By Lee Rector

Part II


♦ ♦ ♦




The House of the Real Poets


Here I am in a house like no other house

Filled with real poets.

And I must write “again’ ‘em”

Lest I be counted out.

In so many ways it’s a game –

Posturing words into immaculate expression

Twisting, turning thoughts at angles

Not yet calculated, not yet exhumed.

In some ways I’m afraid, yes afraid!

I had it made in the shade

Where I laid un-a-ba-ted

In a house filled with no poets.

Now I confess, I’m a mess

I egress with the rest

In the morass that I pass

On the way to display…

In the house filled with real poets.




1981 Xmas Card Sentiment


Have faith in your heavenly Father

Trust in his watchful overcare

Believe in your worth

And know that he is always there.


Know that the path of life is good

And that to lead is but to follow

The urges of your higher self

Into the light of a new tomorrow.


Have trust in your heavenly father

For he will provide you with your needs

Give him your heart, your soul, your mind

So you can work his wondrous deeds.




No Fight

Oh roaring dancing flame of manly blame,

The teeth grow stronger with every motion.

And, “Aye,” you say that you shall repress the

Injustice by rebellious rogues of youth.

Tense times, tenacious tyrants trouble you

As fleecing through boudoirs inside your bowels.


Beware of the fight that has no fight

For the curse of the might may prove riot right.



Suited Man

And what about the man who has no tune and sits

Alone in a strange saloon

Looking at the TV over the bar?

The man who sits in half-lit rooms

Accustomed to the sound of pool balls clicking

Coins dropping into long distance pay phones

And what about the man who has no home?

The man who stuffed liquor into his stomach

To spin his head into a warm soothing loneliness

The awkward man who walks carefully

Trying not to stumble

Though the liquor and the pavement

And the shoestrings challenge progress

Least he bumble.


The suited man

As he tightens his tie, after carefully

Buttoning the top button of his shirt

The doorman greets him with, “Good morning, sir”

And the bellboy winks his insinuating grin

…on one’s way up to bed.


And how about that barmaid who looked at him

With her sharp eyes through the ice

And the yellow of her Bourbon glass

Blowing her stinch cigarette breath

Past a chomp of stale gray gum…

She spoke,

Or so it appeared.


Her false lash caught his eye

Her lipstick smiled. She fluttered.

Did his heart jump as she walked by?

Was she almost…distinct?

Did she have the trademark twitch

As she picked up tips and drinks?


What a show, what a teaser

Tight hot pants. What a pleaser…

And the way she wards off men.


Longing for the smell of a woman

Unscented of canned perfumed spray

And cheap bottled cover-overs

Real woman, real smell.  


But not tonight.

Over is the a chance to see

Warmth in someone’s eyes

To savor the taste of a wet smile

Hear the rat scream?

Now slip your tongue

Inside your mouth

And live or die…

Your dream.




Good morning!

Oh, your eyes are still closed?

The most expressive part of your body

And not even exposed.







A Dark Thought

He had a dark thought

It brightened his imagination

And as it hung in his mind

It turned to infatuation

It wove a tapestry too rich to be ignored

Consisting of taste, touch, smell,

So real, was such a place to dwell

Through cultivation, fertilized

The thought took flight before his eyes

And in his ears it did resound

It came to life and left the ground

He had a soaring thought

Given mind, and soul, and form

Through breath of life

It was turning warm

And as intensity increased

A flower opened and released

Pollen to multiply … this thought.

All of my life led up to this moment right here

Every thought, deed, emotion

It’s quite clear

And as I have this quiet reflection

I see how I can change direction

It’s suddenly all so clear

By laying down my protective spear

How shall I make this moment dear?


Copyright 1961-Present, Lee Rector. All Rights Reserved.