THE HUMAN LANGUAGE is front-loaded
with the weaponry it requires
to destroy the bearer of any news
;;–;;
THE HUMAN LANGUAGE
AND WHO IS THAT CHILD
AND WHO is that child that runs
through the forest in day or night
and picks the flowers by your path
sometimes even within the rain
a shower — then rainbow he climbs upon
The gold never ends at the bottom
but lays on top — the world to see
And who is that child that cries
when the pain and suffering
does seep between the window pane
the world — our world — he feels
without his eyes but within his heart
and thoughts and colors bursting pain
the Council watches from other-there
The child of light and brighter days
The child of light and brighter ways
Come unto us child, and bring your kind
++()++
THE MAN WHO FELL TO SPACE
I AM a bundle of confused what-if’s
swimming southward toward the State
— of ‘Has-Been’
Knowing so very well my passport
has become full and expired
No country can claim me
— not even your Earth
I am the man that fell to space
and can never return…
lost in your meanings — such language
cultures, music, poetry — too much!
The whales they understand such feeling
your largest creature for a reason
the hottest blood, heart and soul swims
But I have drowned
and so go I must…
::/\::
AWAKE THE SLEEPER
THERE is no shock like that of waking up
within one’s possessed skin to fully realize
we are only visitors and not from the-here
I talk not of an academic approach
which requires only a mind-thought
but the unequivocal knowing and feeling
that we have possessed the animal-human
parading as less than what we are
and some succumb to their skin-suits
and have shed their light-hearts
and run amok in primal urge and
have the doer-evil deeds of darkness
Truly there is duality
in our current experience
— and a very fine line
between madness and sanity
[There is more…
that can be said…]
WHEN FEAR BROUGHT ME ROSES
I CUDDLED my emotions
when fear brought me roses
and knew that such ways
— as me
can play an instrument
— psychosis
Simpler to just praise it all
the good and bad
— and sad and fears
an occasional bottle
— of broken tears
then to wrap it up
and embrace the birth of death
++()++
I CAN’T SAY
I can’t say
what other people
think of poetry…
But I know that
it speaks to me
when it’s truth
–//–
THE ‘BUY-IN’
IT is…a remarkable thing
that which is organic
has a thought but is just flesh
and to feel! — what sorcery!
The ‘buy-in’ for this world
that others from beyond
wish to visit this rock of stuff
is that meat-talks…feels…
and has the spark of divinity!
::-::
IMPERIAL GARDEN OF ABSTRACT THOUGHT
[AS a wish just to me
I choose to speak —
in abstract poem
so here I say
to you the brave…]
MOSTLY shiver in my veins
beneath coiled rivers
in steel-stained vanes
how could she ever know
broken records shattered
polyvinyl grooves within my soul
beat the skip in troves of love
catch the dove within it’s peace
twist the neck of lover’s pain
and whisper neatly blood-red stains
[My apologies if I gave confused
— in return I have to go
that Imperial garden
of abstract thought
so I leave — shattered soul]
:():
Recent Comments
EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV…
You must be logged in to post a comment.