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Lew Bundles

Apology/Challenge To James

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I feel very badly about this...Ever since I sent James’ last poem to my scholarly friends at Yale, the review was so scathing that it has caused James to assume a fetal position and he has been relegated to the Also-rans dept.of Ec.com posters...Where is the formerly bombastic self appointed King?...His posts are a mere shadow of his capabilities...He has been reduced to “yeahs” and Hollies type punctuations...Has he given up? Has the creative fires burned out? Will he be sending Lewisa back home...?

I am, almost,  willing to discuss this with my friend at Yale, the esteemed head of the psychology dept., I.M. Nutz, but I’m afraid  that any negative evaluation would tailspin and drive James into even more to the depths of despair...

What do we do?...I ‘ve got it...A challenge...

I will now compose the most banal of poems and hope that it will spur James back into the arena...

Without James,

Its not the sames,

Is Lew to blames, 

This poem is lames,

He no longer gets dames,

Gone down in flames,

Is he playing games?

Is he now tamed?

has his interest waned?

The end...

 

I’m sure you can do better than this...C’mon, King...Suck it up...Show us you still “got it”...

Sincerely, your friend, Lew...

 

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susie b   

Who sales Yale is the literary authority of America?

As a proud graduate with a degree in writing from that sweetest member of the Honeysuckle League as well as home to both the Agrarian and Fugitive literary movements, I submit that although James' poetry is avant garde in nature, it is a national treasure. 

 

Actually, two national treasures...

America and Panama may go to war over claim to James and his words.

:)

http://libdig13.library.vanderbilt.edu/specialcollections/vuhistory/fugitives_agrarians.php

 

 

 

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James   

Ironically, I'm meeting with my lawyer chick tomorrow to get the ball rolling on becoming a full Panamanian citizen.

PS careful Susie, the mob doesn't cotton to old white guys (your link).

PPS Thurston Howell was a Yale man, so I'm thus a Yale man in spirit.

PPPS Lew, I'll be back with some inspiration...... and....telling the truth is NOT "self promotion".

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Kirk   

Lew versus James

Is quite the game

A friendly bit

Of one-upmanship

Whose ego will wilt

While the other goes tilt

Stay tuned to EC.com

For it’s the bomb

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James   

Here´s one, it´s kind of autobiographical regarding my life these days. Hopefully you guys will find it interesting. I´m a bit nervous...putting
such personal info up in public, but I guess it´s worth it if my poem will inspire just one person to be great like me.

Anyway, here it is:

There is a man,
Who brings hope to dames.
You may have guessed,
His name is Señor James.

You see, most chicks can´t have him,
Cuz they  are over nineteen.
But their dream still lives,
Even tho they´re has-beens.

Hark! James is hosting a charity raffle!
To give old chicks a chance.
The winner realizes her dream.
With James, she´ll have her dance.

Behold! The world is in trouble,
As the gene pool depreciates.
The UN has demanded,
All the world´s chicks, I impregnate.

:-(

For one humble man,
That´s a pretty big rumble.
I requested a helper,
I speak of Lew Bundles.

So I submitted my request,
The job - I hoped Lew´d win.
But the UN said "NO!...
...don´t want a world with 5 chins."

So off I go,
On my impreg-nation tour.
Improving the human race,
James will provide the cure.

So for the world´s females, I have these instructions:
Take a shower, and lose some weight.
Practice your beer fetching also,
Then yearn, yearn ....and anticipate.

James, 2019






 



 





 


 

 

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susie b   

I do greatly enjoy Kirk's precise, mini one line poems.

Like a great haiku, Kirk's poetry is brilliant, succinct and in this case, a bit scary.

Bravo, Kirk!

Carry on, gentlemen...

:)

 

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Kirk   

Susie, that is high praise coming from you <<<bowing>>>

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I have currently checked into the hospital for psychic evaluation...I have never had a reaction like this...The  breath and scope of James’ brilliant latest work(and comeback) has put me into a manic stupor(diachotomy) that I haven’t been able to resume normal life...After I have been evaluated and been cleared for normal activity, I will properly give my impressions of this emotionally draining poem but, til then, VIVA JAMES...Lewisa, you chose correctly...

 

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James   

Thanks Lew, you´re a good judge of high art. The rabble (Susi and Kirk) don´t understand art with depth, yet. In time I think they´ll acquire that taste though. But it takes work.

P.S.  Psych hospitals have a lot of hot patient chicks. Enjoy!

James

 

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susie b   

Corinna's Going a-Maying

Robert Herrick, 1591 - 1674

Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn   
    Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.   
    See how Aurora throws her fair   
    Fresh-quilted colours through the air:   
    Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see          
    The dew bespangling herb and tree!   
Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east   
Above an hour since, yet you not drest;   
    Nay! not so much as out of bed?   
    When all the birds have matins said   
    And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,   
    Nay, profanation, to keep in,   
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day   
Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.   
  
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen   
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,   
    And sweet as Flora. Take no care   
    For jewels for your gown or hair:   
    Fear not; the leaves will strew   
    Gems in abundance upon you:   
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,   
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.   
    Come, and receive them while the light   
    Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:   
    And Titan on the eastern hill   
    Retires himself, or else stands still   
Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:   
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.   
  
Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark   
How each field turns a street, each street a park,   
    Made green and trimm'd with trees! see how   
    Devotion gives each house a bough   
    Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this,   
    An ark, a tabernacle is,   
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,   
As if here were those cooler shades of love.   
    Can such delights be in the street   
    And open fields, and we not see 't?   
    Come, we'll abroad: and let 's obey   
    The proclamation made for May,   
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;   
But, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying.   
  
There 's not a budding boy or girl this day   
But is got up and gone to bring in May.   
    A deal of youth ere this is come   
    Back, and with white-thorn laden home.   
    Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream,   
    Before that we have left to dream:   
And some have wept and woo'd, and plighted troth,   
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
    Many a green-gown has been given,   
    Many a kiss, both odd and even:   
    Many a glance, too, has been sent   
    From out the eye, love's firmament:   
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd: yet we're not a-Maying!   
  
Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,   
And take the harmless folly of the time!   
    We shall grow old apace, and die   
    Before we know our liberty.
    Our life is short, and our days run   
    As fast away as does the sun.   
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,   
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,   
    So when or you or I are made
    A fable, song, or fleeting shade,   
    All love, all liking, all delight   
    Lies drown'd with us in endless night.   
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,   
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying

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Kirk   
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
 
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
 
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
 
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
 
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
 
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Kirk   

For Lew and James (compliments of Linus): “There is no heavier burden than a great potential.” 

Keep trying, boys...

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Kirk   
15 hours ago, James said:

Thanks Lew, you´re a good judge of high art. The rabble (Susi and Kirk) don´t understand art with depth, yet. In time I think they´ll acquire that taste though. But it takes work.

P.S.  Psych hospitals have a lot of hot patient chicks. Enjoy!

James

 

To be mentioned in the same sentence as Susie is reward enough...

 

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LC   
On 5/11/2019 at 1:50 AM, susie b said:

 

Not to highlight this ahead of the other poetry here, Susie, but... this is GREAT! I'd never seen this. Lennon is so cool here.... Awesome find. Thank you! 

(Pardon the interruption!)

 

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