Placed : 3rd : Bitesize 149
Sponsor: Line Gautier
July 26
_______________________
quiet petaling garment breaks o p e n
a blackout mission from dewdrop
regurgitating quantum memories
incubated in cells vibrating
fertile decades, perhaps centuries march
into futuristic s p a c e •••
_____________________
Brave protestors
those high school kids
Fists held high, risking absolutely zero
They walk out of school ~ Big heroes
Oh, yes, they’re against ICE
Mom and Dad are too
Regurgitating exactly what they’re fed at home
They’ve nothing to fear, not even fear alone
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:-
What if they all just shut up
Stopped regurgitating half-digested tripe
Arguing over such complex matters as
Is the Zebra white with black stripes
Or black with white stripes
Does the rain in Spain
Fall mainly on the plain
How much is too much
Does a little really go a long way
Can two really live as cheaply as one
How many angels can sit on the head of a pin
Will a stitch in time really save nine
Why don’t wet birds fly at night
But I digress…
What I meant to say was….
They ride up and down
all day swallowing people
and regurgitating them out
on floors, doors opening
to bell rings with progress
plotted in moving lights
floor by floor, obedient
to a button push
or a swipe
on a touch screen,
fast carriage
to heaven and hell
and all stops
in between.
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
Where the Grass Don't Grow
The historical record bared to see
In worn-torn pages, undecipherable.
And I’m to believe that this sum total
Will explain everything you say to me.
Mixed with phlegm spewed from the esophagus,
Spitting in my face like a rhinoceros,
That means nothing more than that goat in the field,
Whose skull is thicker than the ape’s you entail.
Beat your gums and wave your arms frequent
And act the fool on steroids to impress the simple;
Regurgitating words and acting stupid,
Like an awoken irritant that won’t exit.
Where the grass doesn’t grow, but the “you know” will.
And the rooster struts, and the hens cluck,
And the dogs bark, and the pigs are smart,
And the sun shines on my behind, in kind.
Academicians …
masticating and
grinding their ‘truth’
Spewing out
what they would have us swallow
in gagging choking egotism
Regurgitating it back
in the toxic chunder
of a narcissistic reality
Papering the walls
of modern thought
with the bibs of their retching
As they hide within
their ivory towers
—festering in mass
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: September, 2023)
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.
healthy,
hale, able-bodied,
exercising, healing, mending
sanitary, hygiene, infirm, illness
puking, regurgitating, dying
afflicted, queasy
sick
Date written: 02/07/2023
pie
delightful, delectable
appealing, appetizing, appeasing
sweetness, sugariness, acidity, acerbity
retching, regorging, regurgitating
brackish, brinish
fly
NB: This is purely my own reaction to eating flies. I understand it’s quite the delicacy to some. To each his own ... :)
14 January 2023
Delightful Diamante Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
The vestige of a shivering heart
a tremor through your whole body;
It’s difficult to hold your balance
regulation starts to plummet;
A tremor through your whole body
igniting violent cold creeps;
Nothing able to make them stop;
It’s difficult to hold your balance
when your guts are a frozen flutter;
Regurgitating all your remains;
Regulation starts to plummet
until your hands settle on your chest,
calming the ripples on your skin.
Who are these that
boast of banal glories!
who drink at the fountain
of void deeds...
That blaspheme words
as swords of conquest...
anything...?
They are the same ones that sail
through the alleys of empty lives,
across seas full of
sunken ships...
Walk under the moon of the dead,
while regurgitating
their
poorest memories... !
Writer's block is a well known enemy
To creative minds worldwide
It makes the mind a white canvas
But refuses any efforts to paint
It may drive a person mad
Staring at the empty page
When words refuse to be written
But there is something
Assuredly worse than writer's block
And that very thing is simply
Having nothing to say
And after nearly two decades
Of poem after poem
One truly starts to wonder
If one is merely regurgitating
Things said previously
For emotions are omnipresent
And also quite repetitive
And I fear I have nothing left to say
I stare at poem after poem
Rejecting what my mind has offered
Because I've said it all before
And that truly is
Worse than writer's block
Of course, all straights are bent
our rotary motion
the further back we travel in
space, the greater the arc
apparent
even our words are subject to gravity
inclined toward earth, absorbed
long before eternity
some mine for jewels
I uncover the promises kept
and unkept...lies and truths
compacted to indistinguishable
masses – buried
with the bones of those who spoke them
absent lips and breaths
but a disgruntled grave digger I am not
just an insatiable book-worm
regurgitating my volume of Poe
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