Digested Poems | Examples

Dwell I in a Conjuration

Curled as when unborn,
In amnionic ignorance,
Chaos drifts to outer vacuum,
Flown out to nothing lands.
Left in stillness are but blinks,
Flicks of twitches, nightmare flashes;
The molten shadows, upset ink,
Pouring out a realm of lies. 

Eloi, Eloi, why do I forsake me?
The mind that playing God,
Pretends to be myself,
Perverse passions, dreaded fears,
Thrown at me as real.

I know not when the conjurations,
Are born but all internally,
Only then in hindsight seen,
I lived in pure deception.

There dwell I in mind’s invention,
Years that last but days,
And hours but mere moments.
Worlds that all a blur,
Conceal the coffin’s nail,
Purgerer’s conviction—
Of rat king imitation: serpent knots;
Thus seen—

Squeeze the throat — make glottal stop,
Force out the lizard head,
Still breathing—
Half digested, hydrochloric mess,
Alive on technicality,
Headless reptile forced,
Back out where it was consumed.

The days pass, the weeks pass

Could we not at least exchange some crummy
anecdotes about our recent pasts
some poorly recalled bus stop or shop incidents
semi memories of there was this time when

I'll take any half digested subvocal passing thoughts
and an inappropriate and unvoiced yet sincerely held
opinion which you know is safe with me

Throw me a crumb here and I'll toss you
the whole hog utilising my award-winning
(and vigorous) masculine muscles

Instead of flinging it angry apelike
into the webvoid in the form of
incoherent cackhanded freeposts
begging for any minor engagement

Reptile by Birth

Into the abyss
I look in to see 
Peeking over, to discern 
Her looking up at me. 

Reptile cold and slithe,
I slither through the dewy blades,
And writhley race across the glade.
A lumping creature, 
Limpling, legless loping,
Filled with their plastic dopamines. 

Wet with amnion, glistening,
Halting in the flatlands,
No colour lights my way,
My brain is shriveled, stupid 
Human thought so far away. 

My mind a blackhole vacuum 
Leaving naught alive 
I eat up ash and dirt 
Living only to survive.

Pulsating log, flicking tongue
To smell the sour air. 
My mind consumes it
Swallowed whole, 
Leaving me no feeling.  

Absent, that sacral dome of thought, 
Vacuous cranium, filled with
Negative nothings, 
Not a word of right or wrong. 

In that chasm, to which I look again 
I see my steady gaze returned 
Regurgitated, digested meat
A meal for hungry birds.

A Career in Undercover

It's no surprise
that I'm back here
looking out over the river,
painting thoughts, dripping
memories, smearing streaks
of the here and now 
across the canvas of a dull,
overcast day.

There was a time 
when I had ambitions to be
an artist, high school dreams
of a life in smoke filled studios,
tee shirts and paint splattered
Levi jeans. ( A la Jackson Pollock )
Fate though had me 
nine to five dressed in a suit, 
white cotton shirt and a tie.

Over a long career I digested
libraries of corporate jargon,
studied the intricacies of office drill,
the dark secrets of management
all with consummate skill. 
To survive, I mastered the art 
of disguise and deflection
as an undercover poet 
learns to do.

Rattle

In light industrial units, sheet-metal roofs
ping under the rising heat of the sun.
Sounds of tin stretched into rhythm.
He tumbles out of a fuzzy dream
tramples over himself, sucks in
half-digested thoughts.
Morning on the edge
of a medium-sized mid-west city,
Mourning doves throttle a coo or two.
This late chiming morn,
he shares a first-rate breakfast tea
with the chug and chur
of a de-frosting fridge
wallows awhile in flabby abstractions.
Minor keys ding aluminum sidings,
gradually low-grade whispers
stutter into words, a kind of poem
he can almost hear.

Betrayal

Betrayal,the ignition of feelings unknown,
Driven,yet at equilibrium.
Surrounded by thought's 
Dejected,Vile,and Bile
Yet beautiful when digested.

Shattered, and crucified on the inside 
yet admirable on the outside.
How sour I ask
Shall the medicine of bitterness be.
As I find myself drowning in the pit 
Of one's spit.

WINE WASTE-

If apple ate a pear?
And digested it, would excrementbe wine?

2/25/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©

Therapeutic Lying

If you’re older and somehow not dying,
Yet live with dementia or worse,
Prepare to be hit with some lying
Before your last ride in a hearse.

This strategy’s gaining approval
As nursing homes struggle to cope
With patients whose memory removal
Deprives them of reasons to hope.

So little white lies are suggested
Like, “Your husband will visit real soon”
Since the truth often can’t be digested
And no time will be quite opportune.

Or, “Let’s visit the nursery; maybe
You’ll help rock your child to sleep,”
Where a doll substitutes for the baby
Which remains where the memories keep.

If deception brings comfort, I wonder
Why, to me, it just doesn’t feel right
Reaching into one’s psyche to plunder
What the mind has kept tucked out of sight.

Tears

God, who never gives us more than we can bear…will always make a way for our over-whelmed souls to find relief. Amen. And we press-on.


He said…
he awoke…to find…
Tears…
streaming… his face
and wondered, but
even more than that…
yearned…to recall
the dream? the vision…?
that place…
Where his…
well-built, secure…
impenetrable …dam
which received and harnessed
the compiled agony…of
all…digested pains…
all his life…
had begun to …fissure.
Tears…
from sleeping eyes…ran…
free of constraint
billowing forth from pent-up…sores…
unhampered by objections
escaping from, alas…a man!
Waters…
which only once before
in his entire living 
 so long ago yet, while awake
…had he bore.
And…
he pressed to remember
the…local
not consciously…no, never
consciously…!
but to imagine that
unconscious moment’s ember
When God…
in His Great Mercy…reached
releasing the grievous
accumulation of cruel,
oppressive, stagnated…
waves …
ere…that which his soul 
could no longer bear
…Tears

Ps 126:5, Ps 56:8, Ps 30:5

©jmsbell 9/03/22

Embodying the Light

Line of inquiry: 

truth imbibed
awaits assimilation
we feel it in our bones
in time dissolved meditation


Man's Advocate, Christ, returned to heaven's gates
yet, earth's need for Light remained paramount.
God had planned remedy which illuminates
man's body and soul from within like a fount.

Thus dwells seeds of truth in all those who embrace
God's Spirit, causing man's spirit to be stirred.
Light makes Himself known and His raw truth we taste,
digested daily from the truth in God's Word.

With prayer, conscience matures and converys
nourishment for a new diet of service.
Reproof brings discipline when our spirit strays
feasting with him who vainly tries to swerve us.

Wisdom absorbed into its mind, soul and frame,
our being can bring glory to our Maker;
with thoughts, words, deeds that proclaim His holy name -
three-fold - Creator, Savior and Caretaker.

For its worth in forgiveness and redemption,
our faith is sustained to the endpoint of sight
when we join our Christ at the doors of heaven
hearing, "Well done, you've broadcasted My Light."

The Cost of Inflation

In an age of abundance
When every thing and thought
Is at our fingertip
What is left to discover?

As we expand and consume it all
On the back of a collective soul
What is the cost of this instant gratification 
To a life once lived in full?

Hollow experience, chewed and digested
By every other
‘Til all that’s left of the true is crumbs
Only a hungry mouse in the night could find.

12/31/24

Electric Blue-The Plugged in Biograph

My first recollection of life was "Hey Jude" on the car radio
I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever heard
But at three years of age how much living have you really done
And from experiences what have I learned?
Looking through electric blue

Then I was ushered through The Seventies
Outside a world in turmoil, inside me a battle raged
As this introvert digested all that he's seen and heard
And at decade's end was coming of age
Still looking through electric blue

So came The Eighties and poser's dues were due
This dilettante joined an air band every Saturday night
Loved'em and left'em
Does that light have to be so bright?
Still looking through electric blue

Through the Nineties and as the Millennium approached 
                     things seemed out of place
Kids seeing things through a kaleidoscope
A change of guard I suppose but I don't leave my post 
      willingly, but I do leave a legacy in my poem tome
Still looking through electric blue

I forgot to mention the most important event
And before I close it must be said
That even though one day I will die
I will not be dead
Now looking (with a new perspective) though electric blue

Hell is Going With Him

Relentless, empowering, with so many mountains to climb 
Remorseless destruction, given on those who idled around
Youthful years spent wasted on anger never worth its time
Pursued until driven under this cold, listless barren ground

He had a mission given to him, before his own birth breath
Centuries before him, a devil’s power on his enemies to ail
Bring them all down, then left to wallow in their own death
Just to sight him was enough to render those demons pale

He was going beyond any hell known that all feared but he
Wiping this world, of those who would afflict beyond belief
To make all a better place only for the likes of you, and me
Not to be burdened with their woeful cries, thus their grief

Where God’s beyond, will feed upon, their perishable souls
With all their knowledge on a platter digested, as achieved
So, peace upon this world can reign once more, we control
So evil will no longer exist as we have all always perceived

Seijaku

I swallowed the Little Book of Calm
to become a soothsayer, 
a seeker, a crier, a prophet for peace and solemnity.
For only then could I calm and relieve my troubled black book soul
torn by regret, envy, greed and jealousy.
Once digested it imbued my inner being
to emulate and enunciate
the well pond of calm within and without.
It quelled the quiver, quake, swell, ratter and roll
of a troubled world, both inside and out,
to be still, quietly moored, satiated in peace.

STORY INSCRIBED ON JULY 13

“not every story has a beginning 
some are told in the dark, 
some begin at the end of our lives 
& some end at the beginning of pains”

there's a glue that has a name—July 13
strong enough to glue a diving eagle to the sky
i hop on Sleepless memories outside my body
to watch the sun swims in the ocean 
i write epitaph too
i stand in & watch life through my window bar too
as he bird hunts fireflies to lit up his hatchling intestines 
i, an artist, 
next to canvas with beautiful painting in mind & Sleepless pain on palette 

i stand alone in his footsteps to watch the sunset 
as a man laughs in his children's names, i imagine my father's face like a country buried under my tongue
then go home with digested depression in my belly.

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