I bought a book, took some notes
On everything that they wrote
Of what a poet needs to know it
If they want to be a poet
I learned a rhyme can be just fine
But not all the time it needs to rhyme
So in my journey I did set
Where I was out to do just that
I started slow, took baby steps
Not overly confident of myself
But as they say I turned the page
And haven't looked back since that day
Now what I find that's in my mind
Entertains from time to time
I may not know how poetry grows
Or the direction the wind of inspiration blows
I'll just follow along the winding path
And end up where it ends up at
Because I bought a book, and took some notes
On everything that they wrote
God is a blown out tire.
a hiccup when you meant to sneeze.
God is an astronaut.
A multi storey car park.
a towing hitch.
God is a prosthesis.
God is an audiobook
a citronella tea light in June.
Are you getting it yet?
God is phone signal
God is the washer left over
After assembling flat pack furniture
God is a for sale sign
Outside an old friends house.
A phone call at 4am
a pencil sharpener.
God is bottled water.
a cleared throat.
The tab on milk bottle tops.
God is backspace
God is "your just in time".
Limescale at the bottom of your cup.
God is blinking
God is tripping over your feet
God is shot in game
God is "your gonna be ok"
My special blanket
It covers my mind
I'm used to my blanket
Like a small child I carry it everywhere
My mind is a dark place
But my blanket makes it not too bad
There was a time it wasn't there
& it was a nice break
But that was just a break
Time to get back to work
My blankets in charge
It tells me when to eat, never
It tells me when to sleep, all the time
My blanket used to give me breathing room
But now, its suffocating me
My blankets choking me
& I've stop struggling
My mind has put the blanket in total control
I shut down
I push everyone away
Even the boy I love
I know it kills him
To see me this way
But my blankets my minds dictator
It calls the shots
I love you, I promise
But this blanket will kill me in the end
Like a blanket of snow
My depression covers me
& I've let it win
I take a sip of black coffee
It sits resting in the ceramic mug next to this typing space
The liquid rushes down my throat
This fifth cup of the hour brings joy
Is it a crutch, for I miss my usual companions of mind expansion?
Or is it a common cultural ritual of casual importance?
Is it a tool to fuel the fire of prolific inspired thoughts?
Or is it an illusion of harmful dedication to fulfill the need to write?
I feel it helps,
Though, naturally, it is not necessary.
Just as wine to wet the palate of flow,
Or an herbal cigarette to get the picture on the roll, the scroll, the holy goal
It simply is a habit - an extra step to the top floor of Creation.
I've been in the fields - the plantations
I've picked the coffee bean with my own hands for hours upon hours on end,
Leaving nothing but sticky hands and a limp paycheck to help me continue on my way.
Where am I headed?
Only the sky knows the answer to that question.
I try my very best to listen to its whispers
And imitate its words with action
I try and follow the orders of the divine to the best of my ability
But I am human,
And with that fact, I am hindered by natural law
And so I sit quietly on this lazy sunshine afternoon, sipping my black coffee
Recalling the days of sticky hands and limp paychecks in the humid fields of fate
And laugh at the craziness of my existence.
When I was born, did I think that I'd be here today, recalling such things
And forever immortalizing them in word and symbol?
I can't recall.
Perhaps I did , but perhaps I didn't.
They say that you choose your family before your come into this world.
But did they also say that you’d pick your face and desires?
Did they say that you’d be exactly who you wanted to be?
I’m not too sure who “they” are, but I don’t really care
As I poured the coffee into this mug,
I also choose what I want to do, who I want to be, and just how I shall love the world
As a human, we’re born free
The mind creates whatever it wants to base its perspective on reality off of.
The lock of gravity to keep us from floating away
Even when you’ve had a drop or two of ol’ Sandoz, you’re still kept from flying from the world
Words can fly, though
At least spoken word.
The words carry a vibration, a soundwave, which continue throughout the cosmos for eternity,
Unless eternity doesn’t exist in this universe,
In which case, they shall bounce off the walls of Space and Time and ricochet back to their source
Oh holy game of Sound Tennis
Free us from thinking you don’t exist
When the game is being played, its easy to forget that its just a game
It is only a game
Sitting in the sunshine of afternoon daze,
Sipping away at coffee and dreams
Life seems more like a blessing of bizarre circumstance and genuine interest in formful comfort
As opposed to a game with no more of a meaning than to finish it and try win in the meantime
Something seems fishy
And it isn’t the cat or the caffeine
Its the bare existence of existence
Perhaps I’m dancing around in circles, getting nowhere
But is there actually anywhere to go?
Sure, I’d love to be on the beach in ninety degree weather in the Cayman Islands rather than the cold of This northeastern mountain range of poor old troubled Amerika
But such is life
Perhaps one day I’ll be back on the beaches, dreaming easy of nothing, for the dream has already been Fulfilled, oh what a dream
With a farm up the hill from the coast
With fresh gardens and fruit trees and cannabis and coconuts and a shack of humble gratitude
With rivers and fish and goats and chickens
With sunshine and warmth and light and forever blue skies
With a woman of love and peace and art and intellect and wisdom and smiles
With the quaint knowledge that everything is always alright, regardless of circumstance
With the security of not needing security
With the freedom to laugh without pausing out of courtesy to not wake the sleeping
With the ghastly beauty of not waiting in line to ride a roller-coaster, for the mind is more than enough
With twists and turns and self-inflicted burns
With the crazy catch of tomorrow while still being here today
With nothing less than paradise awaiting the caress of self’s heart
And the holy notion that there’s something even greater on the other side of this life
Om, tranquil being
Pour more coffee, must stay awake - no sleep in days
No sleep in weeks
How do those speedy speedsters do it?
I wouldn’t even want to try
I enjoy my dimethyltriptamine inspired voyages across unforeseen holographic landscapes of the Subconscious
Oh, I’m conscious of that
I wonder if it’d be possible to bring the totality of the subconscious mind to full conscious awareness
I suppose it wouldn’t be the subconscious anymore
And thus there would be no way to measure if it worked or not
I think it’s already working
Yep, it’s working,
At one-twenty-eight a.m. It’s working. From noon to night. Life is still life, and it’s all alright.
I cry at the fraility of mortality
I accept all must pass
Anything is possible at any time
Thus awareness is key
Unlock the door
Storm the houses
Take captive the machinery of maya
And take a match to the floors
Let the house of austerity go up in smoke
May the winds of Nature blow the cloud away from overhead
May the shadows be cast into the light
Hoy es hoy
Ayer ya paso
Y manana nunca muestran su
Asi que hoy es la vida
Hoy es todo
Hoy es el Cielo
Hoy es el infierno
Enviar mis saludos a los angeles caidos de antano
Que sus almas se ilumino con dulce alivio a la luz del sol de oro de ser eterno
La manana del Cielo
Se realizo hoy en la Tierra
That sweet release comes but once a lifetime
And once it comes, the revelation
Cannot be shared with others -
Each body, each soul
Must experience it for themselves...
And at that moment, all shall be known
But until then, we must make comfort and peace our objectives
Enjoy the ride
This poem has been a long time in the making and I still feel that it's too soon to write. I feel like you don't deserve so much of my time and my thoughts. But something deep inside of me knows that this is for me and not you. And I like me more than I hate you, so I'll be uncomfortable and discuss you for as long as it takes to heal me.
How can someone as shit as you ruin my life? So weak and so young. Owner of nothing but ruler of all.
It hurts my pride so bad to even acknowledge that a person as minuscule as you could rearrange my everything. How could I had been so inferior to the likes of...
It makes me so mad to admit that I am afraid of you. Words that my lips will never utter, a thought that my mind 'force closes' every time, the words that my pen refuses to write
I am afraid of you.
So hard to accept that you are stronger than me
I've never known anything so evil
I've never known anything more terrifying than the feeling I feel when confronted by you. Just your presence. Stand alone. Is enough to make me want to run away. To a world safe from you. So that's what I do.
I run and I run and now I'm somewhere foreign. Depriving myself of the things I love to protect myself from you.
When you punched our sister in the mouth and I watched her rip her lip off of her teeth. I died inside.
Literally slipping in her own blood trying to wrestle you off.
Why did you do that?
Where did you learn that?
How did I not know you were capable of that?
How are you capable of that?
Someone so close to me. Became a monster. Slowly, yeah. But still I wasn't ready for that. Wasnt expecting that. Never saw that coming.
It felt like it was all a dream. Still hoping today that maybe it was.
And your lack of remorse keeps my hate for you fiery.
"CALL THE POLICE, BITCH. AND WHEN I GET OUT OF JAIL IMMA BEAT YO ASS AGAIN!" chills tears (This is a part of the process, Domonique. Let it happen. Swallow the lump in your throat. Keep writing)
If I close my eyes I can hear you so clear. I'm there again. Scared. Shaking. Knife in my hand. Knowing deep down I wasn't bold enough to kill you.
And you knew it too.
When she was bleeding everywhere and I stood there too shocked to move. And you pushed me. And mom screamed. And Ravyn cried.
Why would you do that?
I never thought.
I watched my sister try and recover while I just got worse.
To watch her cry every day from excruciating pain as I fed her through a cracked jaw.
It stung so bad that she would refuse to eat.
It stung so bad. And as for Me and My soul. Stung the fuck up.
I cried all the time. To see someone you love plagued with a hurt body and hurt pride is too much for the strongest of us. Wishing I could halve the pain: when we were little girls we halved everything.
But I couldn't.
Never felt so helpless, so useless.
Sleeping in a tiny 2bedroom apartment, living out of boxes. Just wanting my sister to be okay.
Missing my mama. From living with her all my life to not even seeing her everyday.
It was so hard.
And meanwhile I had to go to school, harboring all of this pain.
Never discussing the imminent details.
Rare for a person as vocal as me.
Trying hard to never think of it.
My grades suffered bad, but not as bad as me.
You can imagine how little an equation or a metaphor meant. Absolutely nothing. Because life had just taught me something that academia wouldn't even believe.
This. This is so hard for me to relive.
So I'll stop here. I have to stop here. And when I'm ready. I'll come back and finish.
But this is big. Really really big. Because I promised to never 'go there'. But here I am. And maybe I'll regret it later. And I'll probably never be mentally prepared to read it again.
It's really no fun dealing with repressed memories.
As minds expand and bodies grow old,
Time stands still and the story unfolds -
Of cosmic chance and wicked dance,
The winds of light bow and blow
With clocks turning hands,
Illusion grabs hold
And hearts behold -
What is that which makes up a lifetime?
In the lands of snakes and vines
Life echos the truths of chance
Opportunity laughs aloud,
Inside the empty halls of mind.
The sun circles itself madly,
Searching for a reason,
But reason stands afar laughing,
Holding schizophrenia as a charm
And the wounds of war as gems.
Reason baffles the logic,
Of Jesus freaks and scientists alike.
Reason scares children
Like the very notion of having to die.
But of all the ages that reason has stood apart
From the existence that it is reasoning for,
Reason has been proud of its complexity -
An endless enigma for inquiring minds.
Reason’s ego is the size of the universe,
And one can only laugh drunkenly
At the pathetic excuse for hiding
For reason is within itself,
As clear as glass or rain -
It shines its love through seasons
And galaxies and prophets -
It shares itself through music and drugs
It reaps nothing but folly -
Evolved from boredom on the astral plane.
Reason is but a word, for something that speaks no sound
The word is a name for that which holds no form
The word is as fleeting as time
Like youth gone old, or the old gone young -
Life is far too short to find a reason
So why not have a little fun?
Madness is nothing short of genius -
Altered perspective on insanity of Man,
And comprehension of the absurd reality
That persists in the world of form.
Madness is a celebration of life.
As the clouds rain from above,
In a ballet of syncopated Nature -
Rhythm in scenery -
Desert home to thoughts -
Seeing through a lens of truth
Out to the illusory fleeting center of experience
Laugh, laugh, laugh - for laughing is all there is to do.
Nothing is more serious than anything else.
The time for brooding is over
Let them say I invented the stars
when they were born
That I weaved the fabric of the universe
while I remained awake at night
Let them see that I'm no longer suffering
For tears are no more than mist
And my irises are the color of laughter
Laughter which I crafted from sunlight
So they can say that I breathe tempests
And spring's flower petals float in my bloodstream
Let them see I'm more than what I was
For the sky is the face of unraveled smiles
Where masks are shattered shards
And truth is blatant on heaven's eye
Now they can say I am true
That I am in every blade of grass
And every pebble on the riverbed
So now let them say what they want
For they can see
I have been my own nightmares
Just as now I am my own dreams.
Romance them politics.
Make them easy to digest.
Sex sells, mame your love on a television show.
Ho, ho,ho, there's nowhere for me to go.
No, no, no,I'm left with nowhere else to go.
I turn and turn and face the wind and snow.
Lord have mercy on my speechless soul.
Leave a mark so that I will know -
Just where I should go.
Lord show me where to go.
I'm a dog, throw me a bone.
Build me a ladder, to the cloud of my home.
Ancient instinct, not drool on a phone.
Caliope missionairy drone.
Romance them politics.
Feel their legs like wine.
Waiting for a message -
Waitingfor more time.
Can't count drifters,
They don't exist on paper...unless they're a poet.
she exiled herself from the
atmosphere that ended her in tears
and she lay flat on the ground,
didn't care, didn't fear.
she made an angel by herself
she wished was here
to banish her griefs
and as a snowflake landed
on her bare, exposed neck,
she fumbled over the word
love just as the snowflake
melted, her blood cells jumped
as the sheer cold drip of water
licks the lovebite solemnly.
two delinquent angles neared her
reeking of alcohol and fresh sins
salvaging her with broken thoughts
and beer bottles;
and another snowflake landed
on her bare, exposed neck,
but this time, it didn't melt.