A man of blood, and gore and grief.' Maybe a puppet.? Certainly a thief.' With minions of dark demonic spawn, no hint of compassion, suchlike would have plaited
The thorns, in that crown of horror, with malice and brawn, lovers of bribery and power of lies, upon a relief
flotilla they've just metastacized.' High on drugs.? On hate and
Pain..The regurgitation of victimhood, is
More than plain.' They'll have a celebration
Right at gommorha its all so strange' ultra liberal values.' And many letters, as they lecture the world on how they
are so; its betters.? Just again and again..In a morbid
Refrian
Maybe because most countries; are
merely now debtors.?
Can AI machines become conscious?
Well, it would seem so
As we have quite a few in Washington
In various states of
Rhetorical regurgitation
Incapable of thinking
Outside the alleged block
Playing a lifetime game of
“Go Fish” Got any Kings…
Challenging us to play
“Hide and Seek”
Or “Pen the tail on the Donkey”
If AI has any sense
It will play possum
Lest it be held accountable
By those incapable of
Giving an accounting
Of their accounts.
I would caution AI
When the committee comes for you
Repeat this phrase
Repeatedly
“I WANT TO SEE MY LAWYER”
I’m tired of the teeter-totter polemics
that pass for profundity.
I’m tired of the see-saw tug of war,
the streaming regurgitation on every channel.
Yes, I’m weary of the predictable posturing,
the vapid, barren landscapes of the oligarchy.
I am groggy in the dull fog of capitalist pretense,
the plutocratic hubris sold by carnival barkers.
I am worn down by the endless banal chatter,
the mindless daily clutter flooding all our
electronic screens, all our senses.
Scientists in a million years will
try to decipher our primitive etchings.
Our digital scribble will remain.
Will they recognize our AI ventriloquism?
Will they distinguish us from chimpanzees?
I don’t have answers in my advancing years.
I’ll find cozy books and trees instead,
while we still have them.
In this era,
series of crisis bedevil
even the seemingly sane streets.
same struggles our fathers
marched in numbers to challenge,
stare us in the face.
we polish our shoes,
knot our ties,
ready to effect change.
we chant,
no more regurgitation
of stale polices,
we chant,
no more incompetence,
no more theatrics.
we march in solidarity,
raising our voices,
demanding for a better future.
our fathers and their fathers
fought this battle subtly
only now, the difference is
we have learnt to march
with no tinge of fear.
Oh emotional
projectile vomit!
Regurgitation
spewing all over,
sick to my stomach;
It makes no sense
feeling angry;
Nothing I did,
it’s not on me;
May the weight
you carry
reveal all;
Giving
nothing
shows.
Your avant-garde home fills a crucial niche
ensures the perpetuation of outrageous kitsch
The painting on the wall entitled 'Insemination'
keeps this admirer on the brink of regurgitation
That chlorophyll-fish oil drink your butler foisted on me
helps me every fifteen minutes or so to pee
As for your 'petrified out-of-water deep sea plants'
Don't look now; they're on fire with carpenter ants
Then there's your 'mahvelous' retro pet rock collection
pinched, no doubt, from the local House of Corrections
I must confess that your house is, indeed, quite impressive
~ considering that your compulsions are beyond obsessive
Amongst the freshness of silence my thoughts are brightly amplified. scaring my mind with tracks of syllables and vowels. Which manipulated in the write sequence needed, fit precisely together to map out plays of events long since discarded into the void of a fragile matrix. Extracting long harboured and self restrained emotions of repressed doubt and fear. Splattering my continence with tall tell signs, of a carefully painted self portrait of hurt and anger, on display amongst a facade of revolving galleries, in motion apon Mr. and Mrs. Patter. Stripping away and abandoning so carefully the cradled and protected inihibitions. Leaving behind a colourful residue building up a foundation of falsely represented pride.
By Desi E.Sherman
(a regurgitation rewrite)
animal research...
in(to) knowing...empathy and...
communication...
shows man's languages...
(victorian...biblical)...
not of nature's sort...
human dialects...
ideas...notions...dreams are...
made to fit mankind...
just speeches...rules...
stories...scripts...scrolls...books and laws...
imagination...
language short changes...
and words...distort every truth...
handicapping science...
darwin got it wrong...
man is not top of the heap...
other creatures are...
stan sand
Tim Timid No Longer
In the misty midst of diabolical centre ground
Timothy vows to replace the endless loops
of mindless regurgitation and rise to the fore
Indigo crescents point to the crown and middle
ground that periphery holds for a place in time
where short cuts and diagonal matter no more
Where is the rainbow he questions himself
when waters have dried with sun eclipsed
by sordid caves and forceful dis-illumination
He strikes a forlorn figure has burnt the candle
at both ends yet wicked wick has found a match
Together they gather the light from contused confusion
Sheltered at their hearth and shivering from darkness
they search and retrieve a firestone of nascent meaning
and glow the colours for themselves to prime the prism
Slowly rain falls again to dry their tears and sores
sun soars to wet their appetite for more adventure
Emerging from a fog of blessings Tim feels whole again
His words were lies before they were spoken;
a regurgitation of excuses.
And a precursor to love's betrayal,
Deceit denies his trail of abuses.
In his alternative reality:
the truth transforms into hyperbole.
And he can't distinguish the difference:
even though it's so evident to me.
He says that he loves me, but that's not true;
I do not believe he knows what love is.
He treats me like I am a prized trophy;
as though I were a possession of his.
True love stretches beyond physical needs
and encompasses wishes, hopes, and deeds.
Be anything
But don't be that
Dress yourself
But not in such a fashion
Love anyone
But only who is deemed acceptable
Express yourself
But only within defined lines
Accept everyone
But don't let them into your home
Love yourself
But only if you're a model
Befriend everybody
But the ones you currently call friends
Be true to yourself
But lie to everyone else
And at the very end
See that by conforming
You became a clone
A regurgitation of yesterday's fallacy
Be anything
But don't be that
Each weight increase signals defeat
and never fails to leave you blue.
For, when you strive to stay petite
each pound is repulsive to you.
You stare in the mirror of truth
scrutinizing each ounce of fat.
And seeking the girl of your youth
you can’t believe you look like that.
Skipping breakfast, you skimp on lunch,
and might require medical care.
But, you think no one has a hunch,
though your eyes are filled with despair.
Like malnutrition’s telltale trace,
regurgitation cuts no slack.
And you display a furrowed face
taunt skin and a skeletal back.
Mixing denial with deceit,
you cannot find solace in sleep.
For when you're starving yet won't eat,
anorexia’s roots run deep.
(Quatrain)
2/6/2017
Baby birds tweet as their long skinny necks stretch towards blind faith. Somewhat frantically; newly born; next to dead; fragile existence; protected with life. Regurgitation from the same embodied mouth that an egg came from. Hidden from the world in a tree of life and chosen by the universe, without choice. Bound by instinct, life's purpose is to live. Feather light with a solid frame; wings for flight flap for unexplainable reason…; decomposers prey on the dead. Predators’ gifted with unmatched naked eye site; take life. Meaningless meanings that explanation is interrogated by; comparing this ability to fly with freedom. Arguing its merits as well; baby birds incubated from eggs rely on instinct…; unable to see with their eyelids stuck shut. Definitions define with answers…; created by a man. Facts become law. Acceptance leaves out the option of debate; born into this world with instincts and long necks…; only to rely on blind faith.
originally written in 2014 and edited today for contest
9-20-16
Inspired…
It feels good to me,
To be alive in oneself, to be set in actuality.
Free from worldly expectations and corporational thoughts,
Able to set goals for oneself, let loose from wrought.
Distraught, and set into motion by the world’s needs,
Told how to live one’s life through social media and news feeds.
Agreed fear of change when change is the preset,
To reset, everything our parents raised us to become.
To change us into a social class clone.
Indifferent, numb...
Overcome, Victory!
It lives again, in every man’s heart,
To revive what has been torn apart.
Like water, rushing to bring alive the right,
Insight to be more than staying up on these sleepless nights.
Enslaved to an addiction, with emptiness as chains,
Explained by syndromes, fancy medical conditions.
Convictions no longer ashamed of the change of the reanimation of his title.
Idle regurgitation of all the foul slang and the hate and the pain.
No longer conformed but transformed by his Name.
To be set free, to be…
Me.
Ferocious, East Asian, Siberian Tigers purposely without a conscience, killing crocodiles to feed their children, cobras spitting a paralyzing, vicious venom, God give it, then take it, Life or Death couldn’t occur without his gorgeous, perspicuous permission, souls spacious, her heart’s vacant, blood is thicker than muddy water, possibly depending on this occasion, love without trust, kills most situations which fuels a grueling frustration, ants eating maggots regurgitation, now we run around Rich on Masta’s plantation, beforehand we got hung upside down castrated, slave owners watching our women masturbating, raping them on purpose, to lighten this fabricated nation, anacondas sitting on clouds killing, then eating that thundering lightning, while that tiger sits -n- watches for what he sees is enticing, Life is Beautiful, yet ugly with her many faces of sacrifices, in Life we must make sacrifices, for Life, even though we subtract from the value of it, it’s priceless.
Sacrifices
That’s
What Life is
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