Brycical

Brycical Nov 2014

Sing songs of parsley vivacious ***** jazz.

Dance that moon hoodoo rattlesnake tango.

Play ancient games like enter the mysterious iridescent doorway.

Smoke your poetry books.

Remember to forget your cell phone in the shower drain.

Cauterize your family pictures onto magazines and newspapers.

Sail across the ghost waters of unforgiven memories.

Throw yourself into your heartstrings.

String yourself onto your nirvana sphere.

Lick the soul.

Burn square enclosures.

Paint with your mind's mouth instead of the hands.

Live and ******.

#banana

Brycical Nov 2014

Before Sleep, I Whisper to Her

May you rest well & tango with the crimson leaves aglow with whimsical love living in their veins vivaciously while the effervescent vicarious vespers of air spirits lift and play oboe tones atop the glorious ruby mountain in the kiss of dusk.

Also i love you dear, sweet honey cinnamon habibi queen goddess being.

Brycical Nov 2014

Who Cares, It's Just Writing

Sometimes, there ain't nothin' to say--
and on these days my tongue lays limp
and delicate and ashy
like one of those incense sticks
just before the ashes drop and disintegrate.

On these days my mind is an insomniac
attempting sleep just before sunrise--
jostling in a half-hazy-lazy rapid eye sedative lullaby
crooning potential plot points from French voices
about a story I've be writing for about a year.

On these days nothing seems finished
from a monster vegetable and eggs breakfast appetite
to a thought about that magic lightning stick.
It's as if there's this thick fatty mist
that smells of boiled ham and peas around my being.

#tags #hashtags #writing #kissmythumb #pillowfart #goofydip

Brycical Nov 2014

Tears

I see you over there,
hey!
No, don't run away
there's no reason to hide
just because you're crying.
There's no need to wipe those tears
away and out of your eyes
because whatever fears you've subscribed to
only make this experience blithe too.
You're just lying to yourself
if you try to not cry
or run away and hide
because someone like me will spy when you do.
Be you, be real in this moment of feeling
no matter if you're kneeling or reeling
no matter if your mother has died
or your other slipped into the night without a goodbye
or even if you're clutching that rye-whisky really tight
please know that this scene of you crying
out in the open tells other's it's o-k.
There's no shame in having a good cry
it doesn't mean you're lame if it's after a futbal game
or in the middle of a stadium because your girl, or guy proposed.
It's fine to get misty-eyed in an art gallerye
or the pain felt when I tried to rhyme that last line!
Crying doesn't equal weak, if anything it adds to your mystique
as someone who has comfortability expressing their feelings.

So the next time you feel your eyes start to well,
and your first impulse is try to quell such a sight,
say "What the hell" and let your tears fly as you cry
wisdom distilled.

I don't much like rhyming poetry.
Inspired by a combination of Fah & George Carlin.

#love #sad #death #tears #cry #happy

Brycical Nov 2014

moving through

inside me
there is a door
rotating colors.

it opens
once I'm quiet.
my tacit breath smiles.

dimensions
merge together;
like a submerged view

of the sun.
vagary spirit;
feeling umbuntu.

Brycical Oct 2014

Untitled

Truth is fluid, like molten lava,
it can be forged into many things.
Like truth,
I cannot be contained
in a single definition
of ***, diet, address, culture, occupation, income, hobby, brands, religion, genetics, being, path, journey, source...

Everyday is potential chaos
waiting for us to caress
the stargate flower folds of time
until it's dripping, throbbing,
electrified enough
for us to twist our fingers inside
as it moans in deja vu serendipity.

Everyday I am a new person
born from subconscious dreams.
There is potential for me to undo everything
in my life by a simple choice of deciding
to eat a sourkraut and mayonnaise sandwich
with salmon roe despite the fact I dislike all of those things.
Or I could put my head in an oven.
I could get hit by a bus.
I could save someone from choking.
Maybe the best **** of my life awaits tomorrow!

Everyday has potential,
though some days I waste it.
Sometimes I wallow in dark steaming ***** pits
of self despair berating myself for something dumb
like not being happy enough.
Then other days it feels like
I could ****** a dragon into my bed.

Either way, I am allowing these moments to flow freely
as I swim unabashed in their currents.

I cannot be contained
because I am a living being,
every part of me is moving
atoms that make up my skin cells
to the blood cells
to my breath
to my blinking eyes
to my mind
to time
to this large blue planet hurling through space!

By the time you try and define me
I've already disappeared
into the deep flow of time and space.
So catch up if you dare.

Anyone have any ideas for a title?

Brycical Oct 2014

Playing Around

After time words blur, an absurd slurring cures worried attachments to them,
and when I catch that nonsense by letting it go suddenly the flow flourishes raining over my sustainable poetry planted long ago.

I bloom, the shrooms cue music encoded in the OM, a place called home for me, where stones can be bass drums thumping heartbeat rhythms.

Something slithers, something withers; the darkness as I spark this campfire light house announcing all pirate ships can dock around my mountain.

I shout shenanigans like zippy dippy do dah while yodeling love as the wind bends my words above as below like a yoga pose around the world.