Best Digests Poems
She steals my sleep and invades my dreams;
she cannot be silenced.
Goddess or devil,
wise woman or ancient sage,
no journey is complete without her companion ship.
No rest will come;
no meal digests
until her insatiable cravings are appeased,
She passes through the dreamcatcher,
in a different disguise, each night.
She is a creative alarm,
awakening me,
so I can produce her meanderings,
upon the page or canvas.
Her interdimensional insight lifts my spirit.
Muse is a prideful shadow;
she never leaves me bored.
sole am i
meat locker are we
apeiron births god
pith distills self
self distills pith
god births apeiron
we are locker meat
i am sole
already dead am i
nihil gestates genesis
corpse digests worm
bone ensouls flesh
flesh ensouls bone
worm digests corpse
genesis gestates nihil
i am dead already
damned am i
yesterday flays tomorrow
flesh exuvial are we
pitiless is time
time is pitiless
we are exuvial flesh
tomorrow flays yesterday
i am damned
alone am i
nothing begets thought
clay invents god
dust unbegotten are we
we are unbegotten dust
god invents clay
thought begets nothing
i am alone
nihil kills nihil
Nihil Kills
Metaphor of fraud
In the road of loneliness I remake my morning prayers
Yellowed silence buries last memories
Autumn and curtain above my book are broken
Yearly rain writes an anonymous journal
There are no words between metaphors of tears
I bite darkness, fonts and white letter
Due to the rust of time the promise digests
In the corners of ignorance a broken violin hushes
Char lips I begin the ballad of fraud
A frozen key cannot reopen any door anymore
The same you walk and smash, the same you wake up,
the same you raise and fall,
Lie and cry or be quiet, but kiss the mornings in the heart
There’s a billy on the open fire
Piles of beech wood by the door
Smokey stains adorn the iron roof
Wax drips on bench and floor.
Old cobwebs drape the windows
Dog-eared cards upon a shelf
The half a dozen Readers Digests
Will fill the evening by yourself.
Outside the rain is pouring down
As you brew your cup of tea
A candle betrays a subtle draft
But you're warm and quite comfy.
Bunks line against a single wall
You see where mice have chewed
Checking socks upon the mantelpiece
Again enjoying the pleasing mood.
As you sign within the guestbook
A chance to read the travellers tales
Of epic journeys, in stunning land
Huge success and classic fails.
Lives saved by simple shelter
To casual stops along the track
Unplanned stays for many a day
Seen as palace, a villa, and shack.
And to you this place is special
It’s a place you just adore.
And though you’ve never visited,
You know you've been in here before.
*The NZ Department of Conservation manages a network of over 950 huts of all shapes and sizes. They provide unique places to stay, refuge from bad weather, or rest and recover while experiencing the great outdoors.
“Well now,
I’ve enough dirty knickers to be washin’,
That’s why I never got married”.
Now listen to them talk
For it’s hard not to.
He never got married
or any of that other nonsense
That people bother with.
This friendly meeting at Stop No. 2-
Two warm bottoms nestled upon
The red bench that’s ridged like
Unused strips of play dough-
Has them engaged with heads near,
Eyes scanning the square.
See the pigeons flitting between
All the unloved and unexposed crumbs,
Petty ones mixed with big ones.
Hear the funny truth left behind,
The crumbs too small for big beaks.
No borders with these two,
Only the flowing of words and
Speech without shame.
Thoughts of the day pass
Naturally and unpasteurized,
Rough and ready from the soil,
From one old head to another.
“I never dyed my hair.
No, never. Never will.
I’m an ugly little thing I am”
He hums briefly,
Nods at her words
As he digests them and
Gazes at the ground,
Then quickly up again.
Marriage, hair dye, underwear.
The topics of the day at Stop No. 2.
Then they part like the pigeons there,
Much in the way a flock sets off at once
In mutual psychic energy,
A resonant communiqué
That binds the chaos as one.
This rich stream that flows through
Two old characters also seems to
Flow through another generation,
But one I cannot fathom.
I wish for that flow of words
Instead of staccato formalities,
Stiff smiles, and fear of the strange.
No fingers to point and no
Inflections of the voice.
Nothing.
No big deal.
Just clean empathy and consent
Between two living beings.
So let’s sit here and see
What we can truly agree upon.
Marriage and hair dye and underwear.
Then let us part like two pigeons
After we’ve filled ourselves
With the little crumbs.
He stares into the lighthouse fire
an ant in the hole
Against his throat rests the wire
a life that his beloved stole
When suddenly the sparks' igniter
is pieces of a whole
Far from his ancestral shire
he digests the mole
Betrayal for something shining brighter
he takes time to patch his soul
She stole from him his final lyre
but he will regain control
After all that's transgressed, there's nothing left
No longer will he be drowned in the reft
Blink of an eye,
Buddha –
Achieved a state of perfect enlightenment
But this success carried,
Years of persistent determination
To look beyond the failures.
Blink of an eye,
Sprinter –
Upshots a sensational Victory
But this winning carried,
Months of sustained spiritedness
To look beyond the loneliness.
Blink of an eye,
Carnivorous plant –
Digests the insects with complete gratification
But this consummation carried,
Days of longanimity and diligence
To look beyond the mundaneness.
Blink of an eye,
Bird of Jove –
Hunts its prey with absolute precision
But this attainment carried,
Hours of penetrating observance
To look beyond the distractions.
Ice Cream Companions An Acrostic by James E Lee Sr.
Indefatigable brownies ingest eaten with chocolate cake.
Chewy candies treat nuts and cherries.
English toffees mixed in milk and cream boysenberries?
Crude digests absorb ate to fast brain freeze.
Red strawberries absorb flavor.
Edible earths erode moo cow liquids.
Adjacent frozen earths review.
Mixed topping drizzle chocolate, strawberry pineapples.
1/4/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
2nd chakra is centered around feeling, emotion, pleasure, sensuality, intimacy, and connection.
The energy of this chakra allows you to let go and move into a new transformation
Linked to kidneys & water elements this chakra metabolizes energy nutrients in Luminous Energy and processes Earth energy through Chakra 1. It digests emotional energies of the nervous system.
Vam
The sound VAM, raises vibrations and aligns this chakra
The color for the second chakra is orange, and the gemstone for this chakrais amber
Imagine a bright healing orange glow filling up your entire lower abdomen,
then bathe in the peaceful serene feeling that co-exists in you
August 25, 2021
You say in the name of Allah, before you slaughter a calf, picture agony split -n- half, while the air inhales my pain, but somehow I still laugh, turtles see a different sight than a giraffe, picture an alligator biting a hippo in his ass, -n- the moon stinks 4 it hasn’t had a bath, while my stomach digests the meat of a king crab, pouring honey all over my wife’s thighs -n- abs, jealousy comes when one man haves, what the next man had, power vs. cash is like a broken arm -n- a cast, I thought she was beautiful, then she took off her mask, my emotions changed fast, this is poetry mixed with jazz, with a pinch of soul -n- a hint of class, do I love her like a commode loves ass, I bask in her panache, after life comes a toe tag, the air inhales my pain, but somehow I still laugh, picture agony split -n- half, do I love her, why ask.
Life it seems
Like forever, but
It goes by so fast
Of course I love
Her, you asked so I
Answered with
A laugh, life, enjoy
Her while she last
Not the man who father me
For he lacks primary proof
He only digests what he was served
Mother has the knows it all
Woman fakes to outstrip any being
Fact surpasses chemistry of my existence
Not my mother too
Novice in which drop of sperm formed
Resemblance is not birth-proved
Intimacy does it perfect in chemistry
Neither birthdate nor birthplace
My due-date is out of grip
Only a thing I think i know
Yet I know with certainty
Love from me for real
All are pipe to you
This I know enough
Wings take flight
Right off the page
Flying toward the sky
As the words escape my mind.
Pen touches the crisp paper
Magic begins to glow
From the tip of my wand
Bringing thoughts to life.
Imagery imprints the mind
Visualizing words to picture
Transforming into a story
Becoming a part of the tale.
Each word written
Is like a verbal tale
That becomes a spell
Hocus pocus, abra-imagia.
Reading each line
The eyes chow down
The mind digests
As the soul feels.
Words speak more than action
Strikes harder than a sword
Touches the soul from within
Can bring tears to the eyes.
Words can be used good or bad
Its just how we use them
To inspire or dispire
Help or ignore.
They can inspire us
Intrigue us with mystery
Make us laugh with joy
When their arranged oddly.
Words can heal us
More than medicine
For stories and poems
Fascinate and lure us
Like sirens singing to sailors.
Words formed together
To form a sentence
Like a spell forming
To create a crystal
Letting it shine bright
In the sunlight.
Words are magical
That change and inspire
Those that take the time
To read and find meaning
In what magic each holds.
Is there anyone there? I read the eyes that stare
Mouths appear numb..must have been struck till dumb?
While media streams, out from foul drains (who cares?)
Who cares? It seems no-one but fools? Who concern with
The mechanic's of rules..There are rapists most righteous.'
Being quoted in readers digests and a religion traced from
Dante's inferno; indeed (not cool,) when will we awaken
Out of slumber? How our forebears would wonder.?
At such slackness and much lauding; of the current
Leadership of incumbent; macro-fools.!
Soldiers Thoughts
(World War One)
Memory is our contribution to life
and sleep the eternal dream.
This voice of youth has one last breath
and we give it to you.
My comrade’s corpse will be forgotten
like the ash from generals cigar.
Our blood will pour to fill their ambitions,
So sweet is the vintage they consume
at Christ’s table this night.
The claret of soldier boys
will oil the guns this day,
and prayers will be sent
In the glory of our annihilation.
The lines on the map grow restless.
The horses all know their fate,
for the rot of progress is in the air.
Our preachers gather their crosses,
we fight in the name of God.
But who does God fight for?
Is mercy beyond his gaze?
Was this his plan?
To create the widows vale
that descends upon the son of man.
Is a soldier to see the face of God?
Through eyes that burn in a yellow mist
breathed on by fallen angels.
Whose kiss causes him to gurgle
for fear he tells the truth.
Tells the truth,
to the last believer on earth.
Futility rules this slaughter,
we are the waste of nature.
Men and boys are but leaves
ordained to fall in the winds of war.
There is no sanctuary from the guns
that spew their rain of death.
It digests us all.
Sins and good deeds forgotten.
In retribution they take vengeance
on we, the poor souls below.
There is no dignity to be found here,
Only death in corrupted mud.
Life is the enemy
and reason the sword.
We are a disposable commodity,
and this land will feast upon us.
Mothers of England
let your children play.
For tomorrow they will come
to make angels on earth.
This generation will haunt the sky.
Sculptured in the storm clouds that gather
and you will see your son.
For that is where your boy resides.
Free from the sins of man,
free from the fear of war.
And your tears will remember him,
“Jack “, who was, your little boy.
Magazines
I used to read Readers Digest
it was like the Fox channel
before internet
and we believed yet thought
something was wrong,
Israel was great in a sea of hatred
and the magazine never said
a thing about Palestine whose land
was stolen.
Arabs want to kill Israeli
Bastards we thought forgetting about
holocaust which happened in our
back- yard. But then we grew and
read books
giving us a different view, yet we
sensed that being successful we should
keep our innocence of mind
we had when reading
“Readers Digests” and its odd sense
of humour which we were asked
to be serious about