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J J Nov 2019
I'll rewind the clock and swear on a life long lost.
Some days all I feel like is a vessel,
A decrepit theaterhouse, running memories.

Staring out with blank eyes at the ceiling.

Finding myself only to lose myself the next day;
Force-fed a shadow from a wall
From in my dreams. I am not this cryptic skin,

I am not who I was, and that is a blessing

I should have accepted and embraced long ago,
I am not a part of the puzzle because the puzzle

                                                         ­        was a myth in the first place.
A personal reminder to stop wasting time.
J J Nov 2019
Life is madness,
But try not to get caught
to the trap of getting too easily
                             astonished.
J J Nov 2019
Luminescent skin, spiralling layers pressed
From inside the curling dagger pollen;
Violin strings draw forth the butterflies
Towards their fate, cerberus lips clasp
Wings of dafodil— spotty mossy green
Outcrosses the budded red drooping dead;
Akashic run, like that of a waterfall
Whence rippling pendulums row,caught infinitely.

Glowing stem— seperating to laughing claws
and mandalas paused along fully harmonious crease;
All falls back to fungal soil underground
For which all life is magnetically supported:
Prestine exoskeleton, flaming bones
that weavith skyward with ancestral ghost
softly chasing, having foundated their creator.

Blonde hair binding split petals via waves
  Of furious vibrations, snapped calm and quiet.

Mature flesh and bone, whom let the pencil
Move over pale canvas—
'I picture a clock that's arms spin fire
Outward. '
Poor woman, legless two years
Prior to her deathday— wonderous harbinger
Who once, overwhelmed by the menial day to day,
let pencil fall,skim and form
   and reform

Beautifying the world -- lonely, bold and brave
Her mind image caught, fished through the haze

And etched for the rest of time to forget.
Tribute to an amazing Czech artist
  Nov 2019 J J
Kafka Joint
It will rain all the day,
And I'll come to you,
After it has rained.
J J Oct 2019
Some days are so low it hurts,
      Heartbeat racing limbo and spreading
Centre of chest in an empty ache.

Perspective slips, sliding underfoot
       Like a carpart pulled and unravelling,
Enveloping me and passing me by.

Some days floating still, eyes closed
         and wanting to dissapear.
J J Oct 2019
A series of poems
        That range in quality
And seem to be done in freeverse
Until you step back and connect the dots

Your mileage may very, the metre is open for interpretation.

A series of wordsalads,repetition
And screetch-
ing derivity.
Poems do not ask to be wrote
But it is a blessing that they are.
Just as the sun can't help but shine
A poet must write--

Your mileage may vary, your poem is seperate from mine.

Poems do not kneel to time. The reasoning comes
As you go along and is almost always both right and wrong.

But
             Words
Set an
Unrealistic

Standard.

Write your poem the best you can and try your best not to intercept
Or compare
To the works of others. A poem is just a reaction to the world
Going on around and the other poems that inhabit it.

Collages are a necessity, no poet
Is original, and

A poem is only finished when the poet is dead and buried.
Write kindly, write smart, write of art for the sake of
Writing for art. Write free, write based, write loose,
Write dumb, write alot, write nothing some days,
Write because you love to write, write as if one day
Your tongue will be mute and your hands broken

Write in the manner that suits you best.

Life is just what it is
And you make the rest up
As you go along.
J J Oct 2019
Death's flowing scroll
Aweing as you misstep,falling
In a loop which,once surpassed,
Is encompassed with laughter.
Glaring down,screaming.
You both scream in unison,so bitter
It causes the trees in the glen
To bend and whimper—

Flickering back in time for a moment:
Snakebones traced from inside the walls
Slithering malady for countless centuries;
Shedding it's calloused flakes from time to time...
What is that which the starshine overhead emulates?
Is it whiteblood or mere rain? lo,mere dust
Thrown throughout the black sky.

Death guides you to the brim of the cliff.
He is uniformed in your old clothes,brandishing eery whispers
  By the flick of his tongue. 'Scream now
And you will scream for an eternity.'
Might delete soon but nonetheless. Inspired by two very underrated creative geniuses of the 20th century
Lyn Ward paid his due in influencing the graphic novel with his wordless novels -specifically, Gods' Man, which's ending this scene is based on-
And George Macbeth might be the best Scottish poet and one of the best experimental poets of the 20th century. He was fairly popular in his time but for whatever reason has fallen into obscurity as of late.
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