Long Regurgitating Poems
Long Regurgitating Poems. Below are the most popular long Regurgitating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Regurgitating poems by poem length and keyword.
The task commissioned,
the black sand tested,
deemed worthy
of hard use.
A sword-smith's prayer
lifts aloft to the Shinto shrine
requesting his soul be captured
in the mirrored grain
of this, his finest blade.
An earthen furnace raging,
flames licking the entrance.
To smelt, to cleanse,
charcoal carbon to mix,
breathing strength
into raw tamahagane.
Shingane, kawagane,
one brick of each.
feeding the mouth
of a greedy forge.
Regurgitating and melting,
making pliable these.
Leathered craftsman hands
drive out flaws and sparks,
hammering, bending,
meticulously folding
thirty-thousand times.
Tired and spent,
black eyes linger
over the polished steel,
to inspect and examine,
acknowledging a masterpiece.
Now, commission completed,
his motive revealed.
with an unthinkable descent;
momentum for a sickening plunge,
as his own life force
runs red the reflective hada.
---A big mistake and a parallel universe
School days filled with endangered species cumulonimbus inchworms by the feet
And whale songs sung in the deep waters
After the fire whirlpools of six degrees of separation
Are ruby slippers on the grand plan,
of walking cliff hanging I am grateful so ever thankful
Of fond brain teaser big news of Good Fortune
Listen carefully I feel rich soil planted produces pearls lacquer
It was good while it lasted from best to worse
As the grass Is always greener fig leaf ginkgo biloba glaciers under the full moon
Green With envy there's no place like home looking good
Magarita skyscrapers mix beverages stirred with lightning blackberry tea
In puddles of sugar filled with raisins and plums
My thirst and hunger quakes as I resuscitate, regurgitating my fractured being
And my just in a twisted strangled dream and my dreaming smells of cedar chest Corporal open metals grass stained Nike pearl white shoes
Skimming through the four leaf clovers forget me Nots
And as his nightmare seems to be over
I open mine eyes and I see slowly
that -alas I have lived happily ever after?
11/26/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Atonement
Words laden with regrets spilled over profusely
Regurgitating blobs of ancient narcissistic deed
Awaken realization for vanity obfuscates reality
Enchanted by the force of hallucinogenic greed
To gyrations life dances oblivious towards time
Sparks amidst a storm ignites portentous skies
As Earth navigates apathy decimates the clime
Incredulous eyes evokes counsel from the wise
When youth ebbs spider webs embellish a face
Engrained memories from yesteryear reappear
The future herald adversities he must embrace
Bestowed clemency atonement overpower fear
08/21/2018
11:34 p.m.
Aboard "Vision of the Seas"
Cruising toward Mykonos, Greece
Shallow people
in murky Waters
Dissolution
Sons and daughters
By no surprise
Beyond closed eyes
misguided kiss
Unrailing Bliss
We have capsized
Polarized land falls, sunshines
Shallow people in the Desert Storm
Shallow people alone
In the drought caught up
People standing in the shadow cactuses spit out
Regurgitating thorns embedded in my side
Spirit I rush there's no rains here
The floods have stopped
30 people in murky water
Downloaded drowned people no longer matter
For the solace sun has dried,
them all scorched fried now battered
8/22/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Butterflies don’t die,
instead they become Frankenstein
electric shocked and back to life;
Hot and cold heart,
hopelessly frozen yet fiercely beating;
Stomach just short of regurgitating,
butterflies are alive;
So blue you want them to decay
instead they flutter endlessly;
Electric shocked and back to life,
possessing traits of a zombie;
Butterflies won’t die;
There is no cocoon to hide in,
you’re stuck within your own skin,
and it just crawls;
Like a butterfly landing delicately
on your wrist;
Now you’re caught,
electric shocked and back to life;
Butterflies never die
instead becoming ink
immortalizing bloody tears;
Forever weeping
within a fly poetic tattoo.
Dem Tiff Our Pikin
Child Trafficking
Her echoing screams
pierced the night
unreeling an impending woe
rousing every slumbering soul
prompting a sudden madness
The other sits then strains
looking out with earnest yearnings
scarcely seeing the distance
streaming out the tears
remembering many sorrows
as she recounts her story
This one grows weary
as her mind wanders off
overly flustered
by the seemly misty dust
stirred by roaming feet
scantily clothed
barely holding on
bemused by this troubling reality
grasping weakly
to her unbroken will
The other held on to fate
even as she alter her faith
squatting with a furrowed face
staring blankly at the beaming sun
regurgitating their last words
visualizing her lost world
FROM ME TO YOU: APROPOS OF WISDOM, GUIDANCE, AND LEARNING
(A Teacher’s Reflections For And In A Labor Of Love)
Remember, “To not know is bad.”
“To not wish to know is worse:-”
Reading involves more than being able to pronounce words.
You must also know the meaning of each word encountered:-
It’s not about rushing to be first to complete the test.
It’s about taking your time to get the majority of right answers.
Hey, homework is equivalent to body and mind practice
in sports:-
Your mind is the home where you energize to become great
in academic challenges:-
Just because AI “solves” a problem for you, doesn’t mean
it’s solution is correct:-
Remember, AI only does what it is given by NI to do what you
input it to do:-
Remember, praying is not merely quick regurgitating
of remembered words;
Rather, praying is sacredly speaking with God, Saints,
and The Holy Spirit:-
Stop regurgitating, “I’m sorry”! Be in awareness!
“Don't be sorry; be aware.”
Hey, for me, teaching is a labor of love:-
Make learning likewise, for you:-
Be in onderful oneness onement:-
Peace and Love:-
If stars could see the sun~
slurping the grunglethorp grains
from sweat-soaked streams,
purging puddles of blurmorgris,
you’d hear the phazephonyx symphony
of my intestines churning chyme
into acidic rhymes~
releasing piled pain upon
a peezling palette of biled ballads.
But why are the whistling whirls
tangled in throttled thickets,
weeping amidst the periwinkle werifesteria,
grooving to the garglesome wind
that suffocated the cartilage
within the dry throat of wilderness~
ready to lure purple, perplexed pupils
to the reeking ruins of once upon
a rosy rendezvous,
where picturesque polaroids
of thanatophobic thistles
fear the pungent aroma
of decayed desires~
drenched in the stale shadows
of whiskey specters,
cloaking wisteria wishes
fluffed with puffs of fluorescent fleur,
designing a sky dressed
in the darkest dews of rainbow rhinestones.
So let the grotesque seeds
of passion-fruit moon
embrace the fossilized fragrance
of fated flames,
flickering mercuric beams
splattering grubblortz
sherbet of seven stars,
for between the rising of blortmusk blurs
and setting of fermented fog
you will see the light~
awakening the parietal lobe
of cracked constellations,
merging rivers and lakes
like the calloused corpus callosum,
while mumbling gibberish in
sheer eloquence…
If to live,
I shall master the sticky sails
across saccharine deceit,
I will forever steer
letters glazed with remnants of pests
to land in a canvas of magnified grey matter,
an embodiment of an aesthetic disaster.
A stoic
shall wear
it like a smuggled soldier,
masquerading eclipsed heartbeats
with crystal-clear
carpe-diem calligraphies,
until the sun and moon forget
the putrid recipe
of a philosophical ponderer,
waltzing through
corridors of cathartic crumble,
frogs cradling crashed
comets dusted with cosmic chemicals
regurgitating unicorn droppings
and cavalry waste.
She never gave up that recipe, the
boys' favorite iced tea, made
smooth and sweet. Women
sit in the kitchen going over
coupons and recipes, regurgitating
the latest gossip heard in the
pew behind at this morning's
service. men sit on the porch
tucking chaw in their
lip pocket, spitting in a bucket
on the railing. Waiting for the
race to start, supper to be
served, the clouds to pass so
lawn can be mowed. Another
Sunday without Mama. The
iced tea is off, just enough
for the boys to notice, the
women to know they missed
again. If only she'd learned
to write, we'd have the recipe.
Sunshine grows men on ropes
Similar with metaphors and similes
And cold plastic smiles.
Slim, shiny, at first slimy, Then…
Then mass produced body index
Fat and hypertension deficit syndrome-o-matic.
Failure due to faulty, underfunded, cheap union labor parts.
Broken and glued
taped back
to the semi-flaccid meat bag’s parts
Ad nauseam,
But worth regurgitating
for the sake of curiosity’s infinite lives.
Will you spare a tired old man a dozen redbirds?
All dead and empty.
Ad nauseam.
Entering ourselves head first, strong
Into the green-blue gluttonous mausoleum nausoleum
With fancy golden embryo.
Embryo cold ,
with teeth chattering loose,
Broken from gnawing the misconceived development
Of a prenatal worm-child.
The background was aforementioned “Thus”.
Inter-missionary positions
on all seeing eyed pyramids
Connect myriads of the labyrinth.
Run for cover before the light breaks the shadow fault line
Of what is right and what is written
Because I can’t bear to tell you what is wrong.
Sunshine grows ropes on men
different from the same old, same old.
Mad at the world because like opinions and ideas and optimism
And a general surety of a done deal.
Nothing is relative to Uncle Certain.
Just Aunt Be.
Hollow minds can only feed hollow stomachs
From the, “Why did they even come here?”
Go back home to your party fanciful.
If you think it’s you then why are you still here
Under the tree that shades us from falling
Birthmark razorblade sweet tarts.
It all starts over and over.