HARMLESS WASTE
-------------------------
Transuranium Elements
Sound is Produced when something
vibrates. Shockwaves in
the surrounding area.
toroidal and poloidal
magnetic fields.
Vacuum vassal, plasma
chamber
torus shaped
tokamak.
blanket system
coolant system
diagnosis
Plasma
Cryogenics
neutrons released from fission
two or more atoms
are forced together
to form a singular more heavy
nucleus
magnetic fields and lasers
after combing deuterium and
tritium to create helium
100 million degrees
tungsten metal is used to create the reactor.
atoms are invisible and turns into plasma
which too is also invisible.
Sitting here in rush hour I moan and sigh
Horn’s honk, engine’s rev, a Monday to miss
Birds whooshing overhead as time ticks by
When from below I hear a squealing hiss
The tire! Is murphy's law to blame for this?!
I hop out to check and PLOP! That damn bird!
I pop the hood to a clang, clunk and creak
Was that the beep from the engine I heard?
I grumble and groan, I just want to shriek!
As cars whiz by, what a start to the week....
I start to tinker around when VvvROOM, SPLASH!
Surrounded by traffic rumbling past
One zooms through a puddle, my suit is trash
Coolant sprays up in my face with a blast
First day at the new job might be my last…
July 6, 2022
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
It's through lot of pain and hardwork,
Using lathe machine to do metalwork,
Struggles in doing all the piece work,
The individual work and group work,
Before the product gets a trademark.
Day in day out we advance our skills,
As machines cuts, shapes and drills,
We work with passion to pay our bills,
The bad smell when the coolant spills,
Daily we operate a machine that kills.
As we wear the helmets on our heads,
We operate with dirty and oiled hands,
After plain turning we make metal bends,
Cut the metal into pieces 'n' make threads,
And take rest when the whole project ends.
An Autumn thrill of red atop a bed of crimson leaves
a rustic mitted October sweetened by coolant scents
five dormant branches beneath a canopied heaven
respiring with the memory of lingering summers past
a rustic mitted October sweetened by coolant scents
whimsical leaves dancing by the firelight of afternoon
respiring with the memory of a lingering summer blast
a short excursion pleasure in a child's angel laughter
whimsical leaves flutter by the firelight of an afternoon
five dormant branches beneath the canopy of heaven
a short excursion pleasure via child's golden laughter
an Autumn thrill of red, atop a bed of crimson leaves.
December 16, 2020
A day to drive,
Coolant sunned,
Last leaves scattered,
On a pedal-fly,
Ignition lust,
On mother-piston,
Pointed beams like bone fingers,
I sit upright alone,
Dark storm racing,
Lightening spoken to.
Weary of the voric-tendonces,
The telly I left,
From Demille's close-ups,
Of Towers steel rain,
Hand holding Jumpers,
The day of the terrorist tools,
At home I got car sick,
When I was a replay witness,
And our behooved king cow poke,
Started his info-spin,
Telling a child his dad would be ok,
It's a noise vio-licked.
Beget, to begot,
A day to drive,
Needing true air,radio off,
For the ones gone
O' coolant water flow brews
Steadfast standing cool
Clear vibrating circling rule
Lowly land hill drools
6/12/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020
sleeveless arms on fire
bare feet harbor Summer’s heat
— splash of coolant sea
4/6/2018
I SHALL RISE
Who said when you brush me aside,
I'll not gather my gusts and form a tempest of ascent?
Who said when you cast me away,
I won't spray the aroma of my breath upon your palm?
Who said when I wilt in the desert of solitude,
I'll wane before I catch a glimpse of the oasis of hope?
I'll rise, and rise from the ashes of beauty,
Filled with antidotes of cheer and fortitude.
I'll rise like wispy tendrils of heat,
With the heat of triumph and move forward.
I'll rise like a soaring eagle,
That spots prey on its peak.
I'll rise as towering as Mount Everest,
And quell my rage with the coolant of ambition as my armor.
I'll rise because your ridicule is the foundation of my rising.
I'll rise to tell Mother Nature, I'm not the mold she shaped me in.
I'll rise, 'cause rising is what can silence me.
I'll rise, 'cause the sky is not my boundary.
Oil Change
I’m not a poet never was, but I like to tell stories
Most of the stories are for my inner ear,
But for some reason my collections are called poetry.
I’m a practical chap, just changed oil in my car and
Filled up the coolant, which is pink coloured.
Later I will drive to the local garage and see if the tyres
Have the right amount of air; and then clean the car.
When I write about carob trees and my special tree
The almond, which in my mind, strews flowers on my
Fevered often walked track, I do so in tenor like oiling
The hinge of a door or hammer a long nail into a wall,
Nothing can be less poetic. In Kaleidoscope once I saw
My future lover’s face, can that be called poetry?
Understanding like respect can be earned,
It is a classless, fool less image to be worn.
You can learn understanding but never teach,
I am smitten with your understanding of all things.
Feel it surging with the rolling ocean,
It is fury, biting the very core.
Something is not ignored, only covered,
In time, soil blows away, your cover forgotten.
Once again you captured the understanding,
What will you do with this powerful tool.
Will you wield like the lady’s sword of time,
Or will you let it calm your troubled waters.
Come with me, walking in the rain,
Let the skies coolant work an age-old charm.
Our thoughts drifting on a baring wind,
Your words entwined with comfort and consolation.
The search for the truth can seem a little fruitless,
As the understating, puts truth into place.
Carry on searching, for the truth is never ending,
The truth can only be sought, never fully learned.
I will never forget all we have shared,
I will wonder through time with you in mind.
Eternally embedded on an eye that sees all,
Eternally waiting our next, unplanned re-union.
DRIVE
A day to drive,
Coolant sunned,
Last leaves scattered,
On a pedal-fly,
Ignition lust,
On mother-piston,
Pointed beams like bone fingers,
I sit upright alone,
Dark storm racing,
Lightening spoken to.
Weary of the voric-tendonces,
The telly I left,
From Demille's close-ups,
Of Towers steel rain,
Hand holding Jumpers,
The day of the terrorist tools,
At home I got car sick,
When I was a replay witness,
And our behooved king cow poke,
Started his info-spin,
Telling a child his dad would be ok,
It's a noise vio-licked.
Beget, to begot,
A day to drive,
Needing true air,radio off,
For the ones gone