Best Regurgitate Poems
Nauseating thoughts about noxious, and demeaning words
that smell worse than stinking socks on sweaty feet ,
replay in my head making me feel so small .
They swell in my mind , twisting my stomach,
urging me to throw up poisonous venom
of false accusations ,you've pumped into my blood stream.
But I know then , that after I regurgitate ,
this migraine you've caused will be gone, I will be relieved.
I will celebrate the accomplishment of living
without ever thinking of your existence again.
This time there'll be no effort to repair
nor would I feel the need to defend myself
for things I didn't do. This time I make no wrong decisions.
No , I will not be coming back to your illusional lies'parasites.
No, I will not cling to memories of better times ,
and inseparable moments, of sugar coated sweetness
and diabetic aftermath. My subconscious will memorise ,
but only the final act of your dramatic moods.
Our friendship is at permanent loss
But , I won't waste precious time scattering its ashes
nor mourning its death. No there 'll be no regret .
I will walk away from you , from all We ever had ,
I'll let new arms embrace me , and steal me from our past.
This is a revised poem . A big thankyou to all of those who helped me
with their suggestions.
You found me in a shadow,
By chance alone, and still.
Within a hole I came to know:
A burden; can't fulfill.
Buried nether stories,
I've welded to my spine:
Biopolitic territories,
Ancient ruins, un-divine.
I floated in that shadow,
Embracing darkness wet.
Drenching moisture—catacomb—
Until endured my Privyet.
Flickered 'hind the window glass,
Your eyes puckered in the lime,
To return and pass, iconic sass,
Greet, regurgitate its rhyme.
You saw me saunter by.
A passing pigeon cull,
Lulling dull, unknown to why,
My eyes, by yours, still pull.
A less than pass for fancy:
American tell-tale trope.
Annotations, future necromancy,
Proof for school: A dope.
Until I knew I wasn't still.
Like you, a passerby.
You—the moon—light could spill,
On I, an unused satellite.
We're meant for darkness,
Designed in light,
To be without its touch.
In spite of sight that drives our might,
Yet without you, I don't see much.
To the fourth grade quiet kid crying on the playground:
keep crying.
Let the burning blur in your pupils reverberate your vision
envision maculas becoming galaxies of simultaneous starbursts
normalizing irises marbleized in emotional flow
Drift
in whatever you are feeling at this very moment
Drown
out cacophonies of every synonym for “crybaby”
your classmates can regurgitate
Hold on to your emotion regardless of how hard it’s pulled from your grip
The greatest thing you can be is emotional
because breakdown doesn’t equate broken down
doesn’t equal malfunction error glitch in your system
The greatest thing you can be is broken
metal bends beyond repair; skin is resilient
cut wrists will heal; cut wires won’t regenerate
biology is not biomechanical.
It took until nearly twenty-three for me
to learn having heavy emotions
is just in my biology
and I will never let shame be programmed into me
for being that fourth grade quiet kid
crying on the playground
that crybaby
tracking muds from trailing tears in the dirt
I learned
the greatest thing you can be is yourself
when nobody is watching: yourself
as staring gazes and whispers fill space
asking why you’re sobbing so much
It’s because you’re human.
The greatest thing you can be
is human.
Well they are here again
Knocking on my door
Monopolizing my television
Decorating my neighbors homes
Blitzing me at every store
And corner in every city and hamlet
Between here and Buzzard Beak, Idaho.
It’s like a virus
A pandemic
Santa Claus is coming to town
Well I’ve been bad, very bad
And if that bastard shows up at my house
He ain’t getting cookies and milk
I’m been talking to Jesus and he tells me
That Santa is a fake, a sham, a trick on the poor people
He’s just a way to make the rich richer and poor poorer
So I ask Jesus “Why do you let this happen?”
And he smiles and tells me a long story about faith and forgotten dreams.
Then he fades back into the egg nog and I sleep with the devil.
Fitful dreams and reindeer back strap for breakfast
I eat the fake snow and regurgitate the Christmas balls
Burn the tree and bury the trimmings
The fat man can’t intimidate me.
Nauseated thoughts about colourless, odourless, demeaning and hurtful words
replay in my head, making me feel so small .
They swell in my mind, twisting my stomach, urging me to throw-up
poisonous venom of false accusations you've pumped in my blood -stream.
But I know , that after I'll regurgitate this heartache you've caused, I will be relieved.
I will celebrate the accomplishment of living without thinking of your existence.
This time there'll be no effort to repair, nor would I feel the need to defend myself
for things I didn't do.This time I'll take no wrong decisions
No, I will not be coming back to you , to your illusional lies'parasites.
No, I will not clinch to memories of better times and inseperable moments
Of sugar- coat sweetness and diabetic aftermath .
My subconscious will memorize , but only the final act of your dramatic moods.
Our friendship is at permanent loss, but I won't waste precious time
scattering its ashes, nor mourning its death.
No, there'll be no regret. I 'll embrace new rose-gardens
without feeling bruised , without feeling used, after all has been done and said.
Fiction poem - just in case : ) ! Though in reality not all friends
we so call friends are true.
…the greatest poet who ever lived
…our Lord Jesus Christ
Wishes that wash upon the shallow shore,
Lacrimal lesions of the holographic whore…
Tectonic temptations, the lava shall pour,
Unleashing emotions, entombed we gore.
Mangled monuments of ruins regurgitate,
Surfacing megalomania of demons dominate…
Demonic destruction encroaches to infiltrate,
Demigods of desire will position to penetrate.
Distant horizons dissipating within plain sight,
Frigid frustrations amidst fore playing frostbite…
Detestation distortions of Hell’s agape appetite,
Antagonizing warring Angels take feverous flight.
Falling into oblivion within the blink of an eye,
Idempotent illusions making macabre to justify…
But there stands one soul, whose words do magnify,
Their love spreading thru asphyxiating air to clarify.
...background music by 'The Metal Heroes'
A tool tribute band... copy of 'Sinkfist'
Using a male virtual voiceover
June.24.2019
More To Me Poetry
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Placed 1'st...
Premiere Contest...
Thank You
Within oppressive oblivious organisms,
a tyrannical tormentor here lies;
Amidst the scheming sinister schisms,
another moment within us dies…
Reflecting resistance upon dualisms,
the chasm clock brings our demise;
Where present perpendicular prisms,
create illusions in their disguise.
Barbarian black holes in their abyss,
ruins of ticking tyrants regurgitate;
Annihilator’s of the past in their bliss,
for time devours all to recreate…
Death and destruction a Judas kiss,
as the giants gorge and alienate;
In purgatory, we shall reminisce,
forever’s are gone as they separate…
A chronological continuance abides,
escaping from the eternal abode;
Thoughts lost as destiny divides,
infinite space sequestered to erode…
Dreams dormant the universe slides,
consciousness begins to corrode;
I shall soon disappear with the tides,
for my words will now implode.
June.30.2020
Time- 8 Word Challenge
Sponsored by~ A Dear Heart
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Ammmazing how many blithering idiots
sip silently while from their
purpled tongue
horrors regurgitate...
a ripe bachus regurgitation
soured by the tilt
of goblet and the howling
incessant banter of
bartender
Blithering idiots who the hell
what the heck
geez my glass in almost empty
HERE maitre DEE
fancy BOY!
MerrrrrrrrrrLOW pllllllleeease!
get the damn ice away from me
that’s real cheesy
You know NO FOOL puts
ice in red wine
Yeah yeah…git a bottle
gimmee that cork I wantta
sniff it
YOU
BOY!!!
Clink? Clink where? WHAT?
oh fork YOU
Buddy whatzit mean
when ya drop a fork?
Bill HERE!
Pen? pen WHAT?
I don't need no damn pen
can't ya see
I'm writting
wid one?
Rain falls like the tears of some unseen god.
Tapping against my window like the persistent fingers of a pianist.
The music is out of tune, and the wind provides the groaning song.
I'm so used to it but I'm tired of starting over.
This emptiness eclipses the memories of feeling whole.
My life is a book full of pages falling out.
My tears race down my cheeks eager to escape my ugly face.
Sifting through discordant thoughts not sure which are real.
Mind trapped in a haze forever damned by fear.
This buzz in my ear is all too familiar.
Ringing out like church bells but also like an alarm.
If bliss cannot be found I'll drink until I find the abyss.
We're born to die, to be expendable.
The life of man is unceasing agony.
A wall once full of friends and loved ones is devoid of life now.
And all I have to show for my experiences is hate and crippling anxiety.
Every shadow becomes sinister.
Every noise is a nuke dropping on my mind.
I have been forsaken by reason.
And as the rain washes over my face I close my eyes.
With these tears I regurgitate the lies.
I'm a loser and sooner or later you know I'll be dead.
Sooner or later...I'll be dead.
MOTHER GHANA
I was told about your retrospect, after that scene, I burst into tears. I learned they came to genuflect like angels and took away your possessions. They dehumanized your progeny like animals. They dragged them as if they wanted to tear. Your progeny toiled just for us to cheer. They (the visitors) hypocritically played the drum expecting your progeny to dance. Your progeny suffered for my emancipation especially when the visitors wanted their nod consolidated. Your bold progeny tried come hell or high water to get it emasculated, but the more they tried, the more it got devastated. They fed your progeny and told them to regurgitate. They forced them with the rod anytime they tried to hesitate. They (the visitors) searched the brave among your progeny and escorted them to the grave. Wherever the deceased are, I pray the creator keeps their souls. You suffered but the battle ended. We thank those who toiled their blood and passed through all holes. We live confidently because of their fight. I couldn't stand the sight when I watched pictographic scenes of the battle. We were discarded but have been found. Today is your day for you were freed this day. Although I am happy, I am sad and I hope you know why. You were freed long ago but as if we have reached an impasse, we can't go. Anytime I think about it, I have no option than to sigh. Your present progeny need to wake up and work relentlessly, for your name should climb higher than I can see. You deserve the world's priority for you suffered immensely. It is unequivocal that your womb is blessed. We see bloody things in your neighbor's houses but we live happily on your compound. Awake present progeny and make your mother proud. You have tried but looking at your mother's grief, it is very minimal............HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL GHANIANS
It's in a turtle soup shop where I'm employed
It's my duty to cook vomit-inducing soup turtle
which no decent human palate could stand;
a horrid job and a salary which is even worse,
an insult to my brilliant overdeveloped mind;
Not to mention the iniquitous schedule,
though there's something much worse:
the appalling uniform which is an insult
to a nonfrivolous mind like mine;
and in no way instrumental in contributing
to social elegance but a pathological attack
on good taste and gumption!
a distorted regurgitation of undigested
food for thought!
A lavender cup with the grotesque company logo!
The unsightly checked fuchsia and gray pants!
And to top it all: a striped khaki and purple poncho!
My odious uniform! Imported from Togo!
A lovely idea had the company's honcho!
An idea that my Togolese friend rejects!
I hug him! I look up to him!
'Cause he abhors both poncho and honcho!
Cripes! Yikes!
Dinner's ready! Yucky turtle soup I shall regurgitate!
For lack of attention
And lack of invention
They couldn't help it
Now we can't stop it
With mustered pretention
Living in the keyhole
The pretty lies are sold
Women of appetite eat
Cannibal spawn tweet
As our credits roll
Just out of light
In the shadow of right
Men counterfeit valor
Then duck and cower
Lacking a will to fight
Fast forward life time
Wonder past its prime
Cut and paste history
To create a mystery
Of victimless crime
Remember what to say
Regurgitate yesterday
We salted the earth
And lost its worth
We lost our way
Alone in the corner
The facts adorn her
Through rise and fall
Truth awaits us all
As we learn her cure
Folly laughing loud
The trashy and proud
Can't see it there
Behind the despair
Death with its crowd
Rainy day clouds
Ominous shades;
Wet, wet, wet
~~~~~~~~~
Dawn unzips
Light spreads far;
New birth unravels
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy face murmurs
Echoes of last dream;
Blurry awakening
~~~~~~~~~
Coffee brew
Caffeine fix lingers;
Eyes wide open
~~~~~~~~~
Hibiscus florals
Pink, orange and red blooms;
Bright sensations
~~~~~~~~~
Stylish flower shoppe
Punctuates busy avenue;
Brilliant conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Meal time escalades
Hunger pangs loiter;
Food court queues
~~~~~~~~~
We are prisoners here
Minding our business;
Mental cells confine
~~~~~~~~~
Draft after draft
Regurgitate old biases;
Emperor's new clothes
~~~~~~~~~
Bamboo grooves line
Passageway to nowhere;
Meet you there
~~~~~~~~~
Moon gate moments
Lavish garden tryst;
Find hidden gems
~~~~~~~~~
Pleasure is nice
In simple finds;
Beauty shows
~~~~~~~~~
Ants crawling round
Winding worker procession;
Purposeful ventures
~~~~~~~~~
Home kitchen commotion
Awesome flavours;
Discerning moments
~~~~~~~~~
In a fond touch
Homely welcome;
Purge all pain
~~~~~~~~~
Drama entertains
Catchup TV;
Feisty commentary
~~~~~~~~~
Digital age flings
Gadgets and tablets;
e-Everything booms
~~~~~~~~~
Crazy greets touchy
Dramatic escalations;
Zigzag world alarms
~~~~~~~~~
Late night silence
Stormy rain hurling;
Sleep comes quick
~~~~~~~~~
Routines prescribe
Certain repetition;
Muse finds room
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 December 2014
Singapore
(continued from PART ONE)
Why I’ve seen him countless times, regurgitate old dog faeces onto fresh bread
And listened to his quiet voice exhorting me to do the same.
This fly was a born teacher.
There can be no greater accolade for a teacher than to be followed by his students.
He used basic good common sense, but spiced-up with a dash of excitement.
The well-known excrement-with-fried-egg, the easy-to-recognize urine-flavoured
Chips in the gutter, and the now commonplace saliva-over-spoon trick,
Are today almost standard delicacies for us all. Yet it was Hector who pioneered them.
He ignored the scorn and catcalls from younger flies, as he disdained a baby’s diaper
In some trash can, and went winging his way up to the second floor of the hospital
To select the juiciest old blood he could find.
No - Hector was independent, he was truly his own fly.
He stuck with pioneering ideas like the then-untested skid techniques
For escaping fly-swatters wielded in kitchens. It was Hector’s brave soul
Which brought standardized fly-patrols into being to catch a greater proportion of
Unsuspecting open-mouthed sleepers at night.
Uncle Hector went where no fly had gone before, and he did it with style.
He often said,“If you can make it on this heap of cat-dung, you can make it anywhere”
And there’s the lesson for us all today, ladies and gentlemen.
Let us not grieve for the loss of such a fine fly, but rather
Celebrate his life of discovery and progress. Let us go forth from this cat-crap
To a brighter future illuminated by the searching curiosity of Uncle Hector’s mind.
Younger generation, you must go forth boldly and find your own rotten cucumbers,
Your own half-eaten porkchops, your own dandruff-laden combs,
And be not afraid to mix them with relish as you choose from the delicacies
Of the knacker’s yard or the remains of a crow hit by a ten-ton truck on the road.
We stand - or hover - now in silence for one minute, as a token of respect -
And as we enjoy the gentle aroma of this cat-crap heap,
Allow the memory of Hector to inspire us.
God bless you all.
Life is much bigger than I imagined it could be,
There is more beyond the horizon of Hope through my Faith.
I am Uniquely made as seen by the different shades of me
With the out -bursting of colors depicting a side that some
May never know - happy and gay, rejoicing, celebrating, funny,
hilarious, witty, caring, loving, appreciative, satisfied.
Strong of character but often self-willed, and usually turn the "other
Cheek" too.
Reminiscing on good things in bygone days and share
Experiences, direct and indirect which propels the renewal of thoughts
of what could still be done,
By using learned knowledge and skills in other ways, I
Create, evolve, develop and initiate whatever God directs me to do.
I cannot imagine how vast a prospect God's Purpose is for me,
But I do remember that Life is much bigger than I imagine it could be!
So, I regurgitate past achievements to Capture the color and mix,
To be a fit in Society's go-getting World!
Emulating the Lord when He asked: "Who do men say that I am"?
I use the gift of penmanship to excavate what got hidden inside of me.
I endeavor to search deep within and skillfully share in philosophy,
Humanity, nature, emphatic for emotional and physical pain.
Look deep into my soul and glimpse what God sees
Simplicity does not mean "Walk All Over Me."
My pen gliding over the page as I write, can tell from images
"Painted" the true quality of me.
It establishes a "blueprint" like in the DNA when mRnA transforms
And transcribes " messages". So like the pens of Poets I opt to portray
The best of me, striving for that Perfect point to be
Released through the "window" of expertise that God loaned me.
God too is engaged in poetry as some Psalms of David show.
Like Reverse Mortgages He loans gifts and talents by beginning from the
first to the last. Thus, his subjects display talents with youth and taper
off with age.
Even switching from skill to skill, the "blueprint" is the same DNA.
What I develop, evolve or initiate, the background is the same!