Everyday you are different
Though inherently similar
You show me something each day
That is completely new.
Whether it is as simple
As the way the light reflects
In your ever-changing eyes,
As subtle as a change
In your alluring smile,
As creative as a new thought
That bursts from your mind.
You keep me on my toes,
My pen scratching at the page,
And my adoration stronger
Than the day before
Rain drop ruins my melancholy
Rain drop brushes my border collie;
his tail wags across my shin,
breaking my ever-building reverie.
“Smash that”, says the rock to its falling neighbor,
letting it go without attempt at a rumbling tremor.
“Smash your metamorphic protolith,
sedimentary is your bona fide nature”.
The quartzite stone has no room to reject but yield,
but so behold: I catch it with my awakened shield.
Lays in my hand the metamorphic stone,
Ecstatic to be shiny and free.
Broken from my reverie is where I sometimes wish to be,
for there I meet my life’s expenditure,
my loved reality.
There the marks of my imprint awaken; there I become me.
Fall then rain! Do so duly... for I vow to be
the rightful branch of your sprouting tree.
Driven waves by steady feet.
Metamorphic Rock soldier,
shaped by the wind,
but I am still here.
Evolution they fear;
I am my own.
My beaded drum,
I created its sound,
And so will move to
The Headed Index,
The Poisoned Voice;
The demons I
They cannot understand it;
They cannot withstand it.
A force they cannot fathom,
Is a force they must destroy.
But I refuse.
A Party of Four.
Tales of tails that fear their own
an ego that was spun. spun. sent spinning downward.
his hazel heart abandoned in the pure snow of brain.
love. is there anything else?
as flesh touches hardened images of self.
stars. eyes. mocha minded thoughts.
crazed hands beneath soft blankets.
7 am promises lost to metamorphic beauty.
not remembering music. soul. twisted limbs.
Addicted to the eyes
Emotional semantic fix
Not devoid of selfish lies...
Stumbling from the
The gift of God exploding
In my face
Just another promise, a
I'm just your normal
Illegitimate son of God
Trying to catch the breath
Schizophrenic aching head
Just another Godly ploy,
Necrophiliac Jesus toy
He's trying to
Fuck us dead!
- Johnny Raven
© Copyright 1999
Who is this gargoyle
in gloom's stone likeness?
Hideous metamorphic pores
and igneous flesh, lichen beard,
grimaced teeth, bared,
with intimidating intent.
Why does it wait
jaw on paw,
stirring in the wind,
throwing up the rain?
How does it draw,
like water's edge,
the down below to top?
There it hangs its news
of woe attentive in grave gaze.
Its Sunstone eyes vengeance,
weighs its dreaded terms and tame.
Why does it strike fear
where fear is what strikes it
wood mallet and chisel chunk
wrought raw geologic lump
bringing forth scarecrows
warding off evil's specter;
in lonely vigil pondering
intruding unsure steps.
Dawn stretches and yawns
in yellow, poking fingers
through vertical blind slats;
into my horizontal eyes.
like an ice cube slipping down spine,
painful and exhilarating
at the same time and maybe
I’m not ready to shove myself out.
Let me be metamorphic for awhile,
lie back in this brightness
and soak it in; let me radiate
warm throughout the morning,
cheerfully light at noon
and erode to dust in the night
so that it all may cycle again
like moon chasing sun,
serpent slurping tail
or a dog whirling circles in the dirt.
I want to swirl, right here
in comfortable cotton, nighttime
peace and the wreath that early Dawn
weaves into me. Let me be centered
in the centrifuge: the stone in the storm.
"H A B I T"
Addicted to the eyes
An emotional semantic fix
Not devoid of selfish lies,...
Trick 'trickety' trick trick tricked by thighs
What once felt like god now feels like fleshy chains
Chains of lust, of Lucifer, and Damocles' (Δαμοκλής) eyes
An angel (beney ha' elohim) fallen from his grace
So much bleeding, covered unseen stumbling from the human race
The gift of God exploding in your fallen face
Just another promise, a melodramatic nod
I am just your Normal Average Illegitimate son of God
Metamorphic restlessness trying to catch the breath in us
Tempting whispers and curdled screams,
An eternity such as Atlas' pillars/world beams,
Schizophrenic aching head, a cornucopia of voices the screaming of the
D E A D or instead I bled
Just another 'Godly' ploy
A necrophiliac Jesus toy
Is Yahweh trying to fuck us dead?!
- Johnny Raven ©2001
My belief system is for me, but unless you actually ask me I WILL NEVER try and shove it down your throat. My job is to help you if I can and lead by my example not my words.
"Good night and good luck."
In the historical state of winners
only the losers look like villains
never do you hear of Nero being a good actor
even a true advocate of the arts
They say even Hitler loved his dog
just did not love Germany like a German
and when his wicked empire fell
he wanted all his kin to go to hell
But not all losers are losers
some rise again in vengeance
to right the wrongs
but come to bitter ends
Some of the good will always be hidden
so smart in metamorphic states
they know the art of transition
an art from our place
Never take history as what is said
for half will be full of untruths and lies
never believe a dragon
if it has a forked tongue and snakes eyes
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
The spirit of the ancient tree
pondered the great puzzle
A simple twist of fate
moves the bedrock
these tap roots grasp
These deep roots claw
when trunk sways instinct
Branches reach out
beyond their golden arm’s length
Wind whips wildly astir
in ether eddy’s high places
Grey clouds veil allusions
of misunderstood alchemy
Caught out in the rain
once again a lucid aberration
The tree cannot become
igneous basaltic lava it clutches ,
nor can it run from fire ,
for it fears not the flaming glow
of the Autumn woods
The trunk rises above these embedded roots
like metamorphic rock
Quietly cogitating release ,
its fickle lucent gypsy leaves
chasing the blustery wind ;
contemplating the great
puzzle unfolding before these roots
Changing season’s shelter ,
prevailing wind undresses ,
naked to the world again ,
left as found ..
yet another wooden ring ...
Did another unbroken circle mean anything ?
© Harlon Rivers ... October 10th , 2013
We cannot run from who we are ...
All I was searching for was me ...