Best Automatic Poems
Spiderweb phantoms of the energy lattice,
tension spires where emotion opaquers
draw from the void.
She'd get up early
and rent a hotel room
where the staff would remove
any paintings or pictures from the walls.
She brought the Bible and a deck of cards,
plus a thesaurus and a bottle of sherry -
ha! you know this sounds good -
she'd play solitaire if she needed to get in the mood,
she'd write on yellow sheets of paper with lines on them.
That's the way Maya Angelou did it.
If there's an intersection between physics, philosophy and religion,
then I'm going to be very pleased, incorporated,
maybe even superluminal.
The layered ziggurat that you climb,
the humming iridescence coming from within,
the high priestess is at work.
Counterfactual definitions,
waveform collapses,
conservation of information.
Can random data be generated?
Derived forms,
ancient watercourses,
rapturous from trying too hard.
So, let's kill the essence,
leave ourselves hollow silhouettes,
fast-moving blanks,
or the ultimate satisfaction
that goes so slow we won't live long enough to touch it.
December 13, 2016
For Lewis Raynes' contest - 'In your head'
when he was younger
he jammed out on the guitar, bore a fro &
then graduated from brown---
following this, him & his hippie gal got married,
popped out a few rug-rats &
sooner than later he was at grad school,
then the ph.d & then
writing papers on meticulously fine-tuned
areas of literary theory
at the corner of where philosophy met with it in
a new postmodern paradise
free of the restrictions that modernism posed &
free of the comfort that it brought to those seeking
well-thought-out stories,
bringing with it the death of the meta-narrative
as well as a thousand other aesthetic flip-flops,
reversals & complete toss outs---
he sat in his little office at his little state university
teaching english courses &
weaving philosophy &
actually interesting works
whenever he saw possible,
inspiring those who grew as bored as him with the everyday
mundane reality of the university &
in his spare time,
when all the students had gone &
he didn’t have to be home yet to do the family thing,
he labored at the pc
trying to find a way to write automatically---
something that would surpass or at least impress
someone like william s. burroughs,
whose work he adored---
and with every few hours stuffed into a week
where he tried to focus on inventing some kind of
new writing,
he simultaneously forgot that with the meta-narrative
went the origin of authorship,
as derrida himself declared &
so to this day
the lone one sits in his little cage trying to break out
by writing with his spell check or
some other dreamt up attempt at
carving a place amidst those that are studied by history,
unlike those that historically
study.
“Automatic”
Push me back into
a body of work
written
Taken three by ten plus two
I visit her to hearken you
Love never left the leaves of
a book written for three
I love green more than blue
I was taken three by ten plus two
I am here, You are there,
yet hear this, see these words
I never left you
Push me back into
a body of work
written
For three Graces to read
I never left, I am eternal
I never left, I Love You
I miss the years
you have all forgotten
I love green more than blue
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
ljb
mlb,klb,llb
Kate Bush
“This Woman’s Work” 1
https://youtu.be/hAJM_GqdZj4
Kate Bush
"This Woman's Work" 2
https://youtu.be/HYYLAY8mQCo
1. Automatic Writing
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automatic_writing
the mighty bees came out of the walls with weird attitude
they entered the infant which ended up well-baked.
all the bubblegum streets suddenly turned ice-cold
but meanwhile everyone sleeps and blood’s being sucked.
it’s been proven that the father is younger than the son
and that he threw him out of home before he was born.
the magnitude of the giant mantis invasion was outstanding
the torches, the flags and pink gas masks were no joke.
a never ending nightmare runs through the kitchen
through every chimney and sandbox in the neighbourhood.
the water clock on the east wall kept spinning around
we extinguished it with our sad moaning flame thrower.
every kind of vice needs a different kind of spice
as we heard it from a one-armed man with seven heads.
showing some manners in front of the oncoming train
there’s no mercy nor dignity in drooling western faces.
the future year has already ended before it could start
and there’s absolutely everything we could do about it.
there were families and clans that were safely averted
by sisters killing the mothers that killed their daughters.
and we’re still standing in every bathroom in every house
on top of each mountain and at the border of every world.
it seems like it goes on and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
ad non nad on no dan do ann na nod da onn .....
calling all mistreated jugglers
and wretches of condemned madhouses
bewitched by fingers of freak fame
the spindly fingers of trickster twins
that open the floodgates to occult caverns
unleashing the brusque wraiths
the brittle symmetry of her glacial eyes
cast down from the empyrean skies
as a sanctified abyss from ancient past
eyes as candlelit rectory windows
shining bright like voluptuous pyre
and ferryman’s lantern on turbid nights
calling all gritty peyote coyotes
gargoyles of noxious mind germination
whistling by the graves of stars
in the form of ravenous black holes
so vexed by the self-immolation of lovers
the musicality of their hearty asphyxia
tantalized through thick and thin
falling in cascade down the wailing well
how do we always end up vampirized
singing the longeval sardonic litanies
outliving the meteoric tremors
as monuments of the past tumble down
calling all incorporeal beasts
to swing the fate’s pendulum in effigie
and mourn the motheaten grandeur
of lofty and aged Victorian ancestry
within the reach of eternity’s gate
disemburdened and lost to the ether
melting at last in the muse’s embrace
eclipsed by the fading night gyrations
there’s no excuse not to leave in rapture
one last rainy walk by the derelict wharf
ready to fall down the fissures en masse
into the ruptures of our narcotic glossary
27/03/2018
With the need for Gun Control so axiomatic,
Donald Trump is acting increasingly dramatic
Continually sprouting that banal NRA rhetoric,
Facing children’s voices like gunfire has him apoplectic.
People may take notice of a Presidential assassination,
Except American gun nuts will still hold some reservation.
The March of our Lives is surely an asservation,
We need Gun Control now and without hesitation.
The youth are making altruistic assertions,
All with the purest and most resolute intentions.
The Second Amendment needs some small calibration,
Adjust the use of automatic weapons regulation,
Make it illegal for this reckless guns registration.
But try taking away their guns and you’ll get annihilation.
streamlining trough the objections life presents
the flower had a leaf but it repents
sunshine through thou darkness while we blend
the mixer destroys the suspect
hopping hop-hop
raining down with tone
it struck his mind with bedazzlement of
and grabs him out of cinema life
swimming on the checkered floor
splash-splash lick the platoon
fingers rushing through the unknown matrix of men
life by machine while the bird songs bend
ghost grass fling for the sarcastic wind
mumbling back pain eyesight on the swing
his name is clustered from surreal things
mind the oblivion of fascination the holocaust of nature
fly-fly cause what happened left
humbleness has reached a point of gloom halo
why not this parking lot?
broom-broom as she swings wildly into the horizontal
distortion of imagination, jack-in-the-box had some luck
feet spindle until air hides
we are to ask the narrator
no comment from the flower gallery
magnetic shadow finds no pole
drunken trolley is the only one to catch the sun
stitch the camouflage great oceans of the world
a neutral switch no coding attached
crook robbing the forest from its daily affairs
moonlight blues for the wolf of man
revolting against integrated logic
they all shake heads as he drives down somewhere
grudging through the city y-tic
tic-tic-tic we turn left from right
the bass coughed man has a trailer to his mind
absolutely nothing harass the plane with a face underneath
this is universal undercoat
Automatic Pen
Pure white paper laid wide open on the desk
Virginity called into question from four sides
Paper never gives interviews before retiring
Never past 7:00 pm or there about that time
Pen attacked the page with explosions and burst
Black and blue rained down pure and furious
A case of pen to paper abuse
Residual ink spattered on shoes
Pen bled out, flew everywhere with oval droplets landing
Like blood splatter spewing on ceiling, walls and floor
Pure white paper had no chance against this rage
Pen hit it hard in rapid succession of random words
Scratched on the surface of the frightened white
Scarred for life
Pen had no owner or mind behind it
Cruel actions come naturally, automatic
Untouched by human hands
When confronted with pure white paper pens go crazy
They were raised that way
mystic power's might
brings automatic updates
in womb of nature
This could be called an ode
a tribute, but what good would that do
Call it what they call themselves
Automatic Loveletter
For I love this band, this group
but I can't help that my literary experience
lacks just that, experience
Her voice is softly spoken
with a touch of edgy hurt
mine is short of a heart song
ruptured and cracked like an earthquake
hitting a scale of 8.5
She can make a gun shoot poison into my ears
so I die fading into slumber listening to her sing tearfully
Under a weighted sunlight
in my head I say if I was face to face
with them
What would I say
same thing I'm saying now
My words have been taken away
fade with the wind
I'm too starstruck, awestruck
melting to the melody
like I'm clay burning in the furnace to become whole
and I'm struggling to keep together
but I'm shuddering apart
cause it's another scenario
where I put myself a million years lower
beneath the same people I adore
while I just explore the lower depths saring up
wishing to be the stars
I wish upon
See the U S A
Drive a Toyota today
Remember when it was just General Motors
Ford
Dodge, Chryslers, Lozier's??
What's the matter with driving a Yugo?
And does anyone manually roll down their windows
Impala then Caprice then Impala again
Demon Plymouth, Mustang
Audi be driving Honda, Miss ebute she??
Cadillac across the railroad tracks
Dodge Ram truck stuck on the railroad tracks
Auto driven diesel fueled electric
Hon
da!!
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
A.I Chat GPT just type a topic in
and that masterpiece will spit out;
That’s all you really need to begin;
It’s the most unforgivable sin,
automatic art shouldn’t equal clout;
A.I Chat GPT just type a topic in;.
Poach what it means to be human,
write feelings you know nothing about;
That’s all you really need to begin;
Bots are a cheap impersonation,
broken tech leads to an idea drought;
A.I Chat GPT just type a topic in;
Pass us that false bravado no question,
incapable of a complex route;
That’s all you really need to begin;
You’re selected for instant publication
drowning without any depth no doubt;
A.I Chat GPT just type a topic in,
that’s all you really need to begin.
We never think of how we breathe
Unless we’re stuck with asthma;
And who wastes thoughts on blood, unless
We’re weak and needing plasma?
We use our eyes to focus
‘Til we suddenly can’t see;
And run for tennis balls until
There’s pain inside the knee.
If things are fine, our bodies
Let us run on automatic,
But unexpected changes may make
Life a bit traumatic.
And so we switch to manual
And contemplate each move,
Until we get the hang of things
And settle in a groove.
For when our gears begin to go
We must accept the fact
That no one gets through life with all
Their body parts intact.
Where a newborn star lights
the vault of heaven under the sky
sapphire, high!
You can find it there,
Not the product of a god or some such!
But, man in his madness brings annihilation
to the makers, the father of the nation,
a nations ghost the dire lands divide….
Figures in raven cloaks flock in murders
of black cabals each a deity in mind
each a quest for inner peace
or damnation an automatic life…
When deviations dire provide the profits of war
and genocidal corporations' greed, seed, needs
and design desires flesh and bone born to non!
Black suited witches and three-piece warlocks
reside in cathedrals of suicide watch!
The automatic atomic night rises like a mantle
of ravens at mass genocides, men of madness
and dire means drive engines of earth demise!
The destination and ruination of all our lives…
Where a newborn star lights the vault
of heaven under the sky sapphire, high!
Where is the happiness I knew just yesterday?
It's gone along with the love I felt from you.
Now everything's ice frozen cold.
Where is the feeling of peace I used to feel?
It's gone along with the feel of being
Real instead of automatic, artificial.
Where is my heartbeat, pumping in my veins?
I can't feel anything but pain and loneliness;
Show me how I can love you once more.
Where is my soul, now a shattered mess?
I'm being split into two, give in or leave now.
I don't want to be stuck again loving you.
Where is the time I had wasted on you?
Gone, along with the scars you left.
I patched up my heart without your help.
Where is the pride I used to hold inside?
I'm picking up all the pieces you broke and
I'm finding myself through your mistake.
Where is the last puzzle piece to connect me?
I need to reprogram my mind;
I'll erase the pain caused by you....