Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
2.3k · Jul 2012
Summer
Brycical Jul 2012
With a single
glance
you make me sweat--
your sticky breath
dances
melodically with every swagger
of your step.

You chronically
dehydrate  
my thoughts--
ironically inspiring me
to bathe in refreshing
conscience streams
that are not mine.

I want to taste
the salty Sahara sands
between your toes
to feel what it's like this close
to the sun--
concealed by the  burning
Shisha smoke you breathe
with such control into your soul.

For one steamy night
I want to be the wind
igniting--brightening--heightening
those burning embers in your eyes
watching you slither,
as if an ice cube touched your spine.

I want white light smiles
to scar our faces
the next morning,
disfiguring our charred
hearts--
our ashes scattered
by the wind from the burning
building we've collapsed.
Greatly inspired by "The Stroke," "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and a dear friend.
Brycical Dec 2015
Take a moment,
breathe...


Inhale that infinity carrying all the words that we speak,
both the heavy rock steady deadly second darts
aiming for the bullseye painted on our hearts and
the artistic gypsy dancing ones
like honey whisky giving us a little buzz.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Exhale this surreal reality of fallacy
don't matter what's happening on Downing Street
or Pennsylvania Ave cause you have more important things to do,
like laugh as you let your mind crash
watching this game everybody's playing like Minecraft.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Exhale the clenching pain
your brain might claim you shoulda kept hold,
like the Buddha once said it's like grasping hot coal
so blow your dragon breath and stoke our campfire souls.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Inhale the light,
feel the warmth sojourn and wander
through your veins asunder tappin' 5/4 patterns
hi hat snappin rim clappin' rhythm
filling all schism within as if a liquid bridge joins sides of a grand canyon.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Exhale and feel the silence...
listen to the surrounding serenity
whispering aplenty serendipitous magnificence
within your heartbeats and breath bereft of distraction.
This sacred and holy action is a sacrament
as you attune into what's happenin both within, and beyond.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Inhale the heartgasm phantasmagorical adorable
world force of all things , the high vibe entirety
inspiring the fire within everyone,
that sacred holy light igniting the path to your heart
basking in ancient ******* laughter where nothing matters
and the mind chatter is silenced by the awe inducing lucid compassion
of all atoms in union of togetherness.


Take a moment,
breathe...


Exhale and follow your breath into the infinite.
2.3k · Feb 2015
New Moon Dance
Brycical Feb 2015
Let's boogie
in the electric synaptic light show club
called "Us."

Jackhammer legs quake the place
as everyone hums to the rhythms of their synchronized eyelids
and lungs pumping out golden dolphin breath.
Together copacetic drinks are raised and clinked
echoing like a hummingbird's wings shimmering in the afternoon sun,
Great Spirit, the bartender serves up a round on the house
of midnight snow owl whisky
for those ruminating Rumi and Hafiz's poetry,
the ones already beaming crystal quartz incandescence
from their heart and minds being present in the swaying
space that is the sacred spiral grouse dance.

Some peeps puff tree in the maui wowie mahogany lounge,
the prairie dog smoke carves the air
as these folks reflect and stare at their streams of consciousness
like a blue heron waiting for that third eye fish
for dinner.

The mirrors reveal our inner higher self children
of the moonrise kingdom building the iridescent
bridge to the rainbow road.    

When when it's last call
we shall tiptoe home like drunken mice
stumbling up the melting sphere clock
to rest upside down opossum comfortably
giggling giggling thunderous heyoka whispers
into each other's shoulders
until the aquarian dawn.
2.2k · Apr 2014
Play Speak Sing Banter Dance
Brycical Apr 2014
Midnight Bat & Shadow Monkey
play
with smoke magic in moonlit parks
shimmering indigo stars dance
around them.

Island ***** & Mountain Fox
speak
jazz slithers in southern drawls
dripping in thick maple syrup droplets
off their tongues.

Savanna Fire Lion & Volcanic Red Eagle
sing
lighthouse words in squall-like skies
warming velvet hugs embrace
their eyes.

Psychedelic Air Otter & Hip Breezy Dragonfly
banter;
smooth repartee in tricky dream worlds
volley, twist and swirl around
their lips.

Queen Water Dragon &  Aqua Gypsy Satyr
dance
Drooling patterns with swaying hips
Dawn smiles & electric fingers tingle
their spines.
Brycical Nov 2014
(I)
My mom once kicked a hole in the wall as a way to threaten me.  
Any minute, it feels like my mom could toss out all her marbles & shove a pillow in her mother's face.

Sometimes my entitled Grandma has no idea what her name is,
so she wouldn't know what the **** is happening.

Before he died, my fair-skinned grandfather tried to hide the fact that his wife would forget where she was sometimes. And as his face melted because of leukemia he also tried to hide the fact that he was a hoarder, blaming all of it on Grandma, who was also a hoarder.

There's talk amongst some of my family that Grandfather's brother, the one who went to church every Sunday and spoiled everyone in the family with copious amounts of pies, cookies and money decided to pull the breathing tubes out of his nose.

This is the same Uncle who decided that his sister, whom I used to see as a saint, shouldn't be hooked up to a machine after her stroke. My Aunt made the best pancakes, and cookies, and cakes, and sweet treats from scratch.

From my understanding, their father was a scumbag drunkaholic but their mother was the church going working type who had a way with dogs. She's the stuff of those walking uphill in the snow to and from school with one boot legends.  


(II)
My Father used to be a dreamer. Now he sleeps with the TV on blaring either CNN or Fox News, sometimes in a buzzy drunken chainsaw snoring kind of sleep that's only awoken in a panicked restlessness wishing he had a gun under his pillow, probably because he ran away from a cult.

His mother joined a cult at a young age after years of working for the man. Now she's constantly in debt but swears that this cult is helping her change the world.

Her husband split when my dad was around three years old. He died homeless in Washington State. The day my father married my mom was the first time my dad met his step-father, also part of the cult.

My Grandmother's brothers are all the libatious kind of drinkers who all took jobs as either firemen or bank truck drivers. They're proud hellraisers.

Their father was a double-****** beer drinker on days he wasn't cheating on his wife with her sister, supposedly. He was a **** ballerina with a beer gut on the ice. Their mother was a bitter woman whose family lost all their money and would sometimes beat her husband with a skillet.


(III)
I don't wish to say much about my brother because i once found him in a compromising position in the bathroom with mom's panyhose over his head when he was around 10 or 11. So I shudder to think what weird things he's into now.
A response to all the people who have told me that my family "must have done something right" because I turned out ok.
2.2k · Jul 2015
A Decision
Brycical Jul 2015
Right now, it's unclear
how to feel about this latest development
between us
because
at any moment you're libel
to switch gears in your speedster train of thought
on to new electric spark tracks
of ecstatic playtime poetry frivolity
or serene raindrop contemplation
and, while the exciting allure of spontaneity isn't lost on me,
it can be a bit confusing
in terms of how one should express themselves around you
and how much of your baggage they're willing to cary
in addition to their own on any given day.  

I'm not mad at you,
just confused and worn out.
But I suppose it's hard to find solid ground
on digital windows and words.
2.2k · Jun 2012
Green escape--
Brycical Jun 2012
When I was younger,
I was a shaman
chanting melodies
that I hoped
would change the world.

Perhaps, they did
for my people;
the schizophrenic
gypsy stoners earth mother
worshiping airy words
burning the creative
liquid juices squirting
over our brains
like a drop of LSD on a sugar cube.

But now,
I can feel the age
in my emotions.
Time drags me
through, smoldering campfire
ashes smoking to the heavens...
where the stars
look like they're rotting away
inside the mouth of space.
Even shadows are afraid
to hide in these dark corners.

These places in space
are so cool
chilly
hip.
Some kind of
sarcastic
one-liner
witticism  
of ironic truth
temperature.

And I wish
to go back there.
But I must
return back
to earth to learn
what I cannot escape.
Brycical Dec 2012
Closed my heart for a moment
to open my eyes
& mind,
didn't realize
I was nakedly dancing
with some reprobate snakes  
because I was trying to make them smile
like a stripper searching for tips.

I liked the way they rattled
through life, their *****
thoughts synced
up to diff'rent
drums 'till I felt the venom
in my veins they claimed were
love bites, despite the paralyzation
of my intuition and warmth.

I was seeking out the snake's smile
if only for a little while
cause I thought my heart could help.
But snakes can't crack a smile,
no, snakes can't crack a smile.
Brycical Mar 2012
When the wood touches
my lips
my whole body trembles--
           triplet trebles drip quickly
out....


In my head,
I sound nothing
like the spheres surrounding
        the guitar's melancholy,
        mellow below comes above
and I WAIL.....
          sailing these sounds
swaddling the drumbox beat
to  a crescendo
      exercising all the ills
I've swilled and spilled--
           FILLING
the house
              FILLING my self....
radiating away all thoughts
of doubt.
a reminder of the Bird 'Tranes
a reminder of the names
I used to sing......


Silence
seems like such a foreign concept again.
Brycical Sep 2013
Forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web
meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool winter's breeze rustles leaves.  
She say the dominoes begun to fall,
we agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand.

Meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool summer's breeze rustles leaves--
the dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change.
We agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand;
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave.

The dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change...
still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave
re-membering ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.  

Still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
you, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
re-membered ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.  
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose.

You, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web.
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose--
you say *the dominoes begun to fall.
2.1k · Jun 2013
Enlighten Up
Brycical Jun 2013
go with your flow cause when you hold
on to fear it slows everyone down
like when your clothes get soaked.
Aren't you tired of listening to that cold sounding channel?
Switching frequencies to love is like donning
a warm flannel blanket but
our minds are a storm of thoughts pouring
down in a rusty trough filled w/ GMO foods
bathed in pesticides--
we've forgotten the well deep inside ourselves
it transcends space and time cause
we're with the divine one teaching us lessons like
a father does with sons and sometimes we don't understand,
it's ok, we're human
class is always in session
jamming like musicians listening for the groove--
the beat and rhythm our self produces to dance to,
a soothing tune like fresh water splashing our dry tongue
a song sung from nourished hearts
where every action is artistic as we listen to our one connection
hitting our ear playing our lungs like bagpipes
bodies in vibration swaying with reckless abandon
dancing like when man first discovered fire
to enlighten up a whole nation.
Brycical Aug 2013
If you watch closely,
even in stillness
some part of him is always moving,
a foot tapping,
fingers drumming--
eyes darting
mouth chatting...
his words spiral:

*Everything has a frequency,
you--me, he--she and even them over there.
Naturally,
some frequencies attract others
and we call that masculine and feminine energy.
Some try to label it and say
women focus on the details while men see things from an outside objective.
But others say the exact opposite
which in turn brings balance
which shows everything is nothing and nothing is everything.

In this way, life is confusing, which makes sense.

But you can't deny the frequency.
It goes beyond simply male and female, fish, rock, tree and so forth and so on and so on.
Every area has it's own sound, it's own vibe--
this core sound matches everything about that place,
from the buildings to religion.
Languages in each area have its own rhythm
to match the tone.
India and that area has the AUM,
Middle East has the prayer,
Asia has it's own thing and so forth and so on and so on.

You cannot stop hearing it once you do.  
We are connected through this.
That's why speaking isn't necessary
to connect with others. It's helpful,
but unnecessary.
Connection is when
gazes synchronize across the bar,
CHEERS
even when you can 'feel' someone watching
CHEERS
or there's a familiarity with someone you just met
CHEERS
or when a person stirs something inside
you are unable to not feel your soul flutter
or in your case, write things down.
2.0k · Dec 2013
Panther and Fox
Brycical Dec 2013
Buzzing emerald jungle swoons—
           hip kitty soul eyes embrace the red wanderer.
It’s a tactical chess game,
        both aware of the other’s presence.

Nebulous black perched in shadows,
     desert red fool skips like a rock.
          when eyes eclipse each other
an electric hummmmmmm buzzes
as their hearts start glowing like a peridot ember
the wind whizzes and twists
through their perfect curly hirsute
           rushing luscious aurora energy pulsing
           to and fro like giddy hearts exchanging notes in class…
Their blurry bodies bound forward
    fox scorching ground while panther burns branches
        lightning leg movements paws calls thunder
          sun red hot fuzz lunges up
           midnight cool moon goddess panther slams down  
            colors collide and crash and cling and clap
            spines ignited in tye-dye holographic rainbows
their claws singe each other’s skin
their eyes swirl black holes
holy howls and breath coalesce
as one love
as one sight,
all encompassing
mythical tail told to all
through campfire gypsies and artists canvas
panting the dancing fox and panther
the bhavacakka.
2.0k · May 2013
Tiger & Fox
Brycical May 2013
We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.

Birds  incessantly chirp
along with the rhythm of my pen
and the echo of your voice
we share the same simulacra--

        The music sways our bodies
   like a candelabra--
            We are dancing children,
                  solid ripples.

Smoke breath
       under palm trees
     the music cradles the shisha
      into blissful oblivion
      as we donate part of ourselves
      to the space AUM.

We sing peach energy
surrounded by history
and vibrant banana yellow
and pink lemonade foliage.
We dance with the wind
between our bodies
pull us closer
until the sunlight disappears.    

We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.
2.0k · Sep 2012
Chaos Incarnate
Brycical Sep 2012
When I met you,
my heartbeat fret--
something was incongruous.

And once frantic words  
careened out of your mouth--
I saw rapid fire machine gun
rubber bullets bouncing everywhere.
Neighborhood dogs desperately yipped
and barked and howled
as your attempts to weave a conspiracy laden
tragic web of a storybook life into a net
to trap those who will listen  unravel
before me.
Storm clouds darken around you.
The cacophonous pandemonium of your voice
and slithering slender body
are fascinating to watch  as headlights dance
by while you whirl in the middle of the road,
***** drink in one hand
a plucky smile--
your green eyes glow like melting peridot.
With a train wreck personality,
your frolfing at a busy intersection
influence over some is astonishing!

The next morning,
through a haze of listlessness,
I understand what you are;
Succubus.
Just someone I've met recently.
1.9k · May 2014
A Story to Tell
Brycical May 2014
New York Sun Editor John B. Bogart once said
When a dog bites a man, that is not news because it happens so often. But if a man bites a dog, now that's news.

I think the same could be said of life,
at least, mine anyway.
Don't worry, I'm not going around biting dogs,
but I am living it up as if my life were a story,
because it is, otherwise, I'd be bored.  

But, if it were up to my parents,
I'd be working some dead-end desk job
at some marketing firm shilling packaged bread
so I could pay off my student loans,
own a home, get a wife & make enough dinero
to march to retirement, just like everyone else.


Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.


Isn't it more exciting to read
about a roving poet skipping around
the world from Cairo to Toronto
occasionally stopping to smoke on beaches
all the while meeting people
who seem like they're from a different dimension?

I'm not saying I want a book written about me,
but... if one should be in the works,
I know it'd be a real page turner.

Although, most in my generation has been told
we're all unique and special;
getting participation trophies in baseball
& ribbons for being in the spelling-bee,
yet we're all also told, or rather it's highly suggested we
follow suit & get in line like our parents & grandparents did,
continuing their stories of countless wars and conformity.


Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.


But nobody will read all these identical stories.
That's part of the problem with people,
only a few are living like they have a story to tell
while most fade away in some gray apathy hell.

Well, my brothers and sisters,
I can only frame it to you this way,
if you had a choice between reading the headlines:
Person Does What they're Told Until Death
or
Person Dies in a Skydiving Sound Circle **** & Bake Sale
which story are you going to read?

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have to make some magic brownies
because I'm late to my skydiving ****** education lesson.
live
1.9k · Jul 2013
On the Other Side
Brycical Jul 2013
HUGE W A L L S
     overlook
         the
       future....

timeline tunnels blocked--
Pink Floyd wasn;t kidding
         about THE W A L L S....

But a HUGE hug hangs
     the stone mental blockade
            on the gallows under a crescent moon

       while gypsies cheer with tambourines and  
                     artists draw with the ashes from their cigarettes
                            and
                      ­writers jot down the joyous carnival mood between shots

Chinese lanterns and Ramadan Fanous
             illuminate the b r i d g es
                      brrrrrrrrighter
                                 iridescence and
                                      swinging
              ­                 with misfits dripping anticipation
                      spinning sufis swaying
                                         to see the mural landscape opposite  THE W A L L S.
Thanks for the word Asma :)
1.9k · Apr 2012
Dear Neighbor Allison,
Brycical Apr 2012
Though we've only known each other
for two weeks,
i feel confident

in trusting your judgement
100%.

But you scare the ****
out of me
because i never have any idea what the hell you're going to do next.
~Your Neighbor,
Bryce Post
1.8k · Apr 2015
Food! Baby.
Brycical Apr 2015
In mouth, put-
choo-choo kazoo chomp chomp YUM!
Mmmm MMMMMMmmm.
Whosagoodbaby!?
Whosagoodbaby!?*

The infant hears,
wondering if all adults talk this way,
chuckling to himself, the ridiculousness tickling his vibrating mind
looking on at the goofy giant babbling  gibberish
who seems oddly ecstatic
to feed colorful mush.
The child contemplates the intricacies of communicating
the smelly in his shorts.
Brycical May 2015
I am a cloud breaker
because the sun is always with me,
tattooed on my back.
Even at night I can see silver linings.

I am an earth shaker--
cackling, quaking laughs crack surfaces
above, and so below
of flesh and rock like lava's burning, gurgling grace.

I am a light maker.
Warm words spark & ignite dried, dusty leaves
forgotten or ignored,
clearing paths for new gardens to feast upon the sunlight.

I'm a flow waker,
building bridges of effervescent electric irrigation
with hugs between our eyes and hearts,
nourishing, cleansing bodies.
Brycical Mar 2016
My words yearn
to wrap around
those warm bodies
breathing poetry
wandering in their beatnik gypsy mountain time
dancing in the citrine champagne universe
pouring daybreak stardust into hands
getting a buzz from the indigo vibrations
tickling the wild child turquoise flowers
blossoming from their hearts
opening arms
allowing my words
to slide over them
fitting comfortably
like a t-shirt or hoodie.
http://bit.ly/1Re2Ubu
A starving artist gotta eat somehow.
1.8k · Jan 2012
Azurite
Brycical Jan 2012
White lightning strikes us--
     we're connected...
                           -vividly-
           our energies
       envelope...
  visualization of our desire
              sprouts forth
        like an emerald tree
   in the ethereal consciousness--
                      providing primeval symbols
     taught to our isotopes
            and totems.
1.8k · Nov 2012
Reckless
Brycical Nov 2012
Sometimes you just gotta smash
your laptop against the wall
Tear and gnash your your canvas,
burn your pens and paintbrush
into a colorful tye-dye fire
**** on the kitchen floor
and smash the whisky bottle
across the glass wine rack
kick a hole in that guitar
spinning with lighted matches
spinning with a numb-reckless-abandon
toppling over bookshelves
laughing like a monkey
tossing the toaster
into the bathtub
break the mirror with a head-but
and take a 2x4 to the porch light outside
smiling like a python
stomping on the oven door
taking a knife to the floor
because carpet angels are totally in
Inspired the song "Give it Back" by The Ting Tings: http://youtu.be/-EnlcP7rAlc
1.8k · Sep 2013
efjkn jkrveejkn w epoch
Brycical Sep 2013
Face in midnight
      morning
like a fortune tellers crystal soul
sparkles forth from her flow--
           dragonfly wings
                    aglow,
stories float off the tongues
from celestial waves
of knowledge books only
         seen in etherial spaces
sacred      words      drip
                  from
our pens & fingers--
energy courses gallops
from cherry blossom lives to present
we remember,
we tend to flames
throw names
and pains
& grains into the eyes
of fire,
heal with liquid life,
float toward the light of the moon
soon
        one mind
       doors
                 red
                 black
                 & pine
rocks silently slowly unwinding
time toward consciousness nature love brain
a warm Kali embrace
a chilly Shiva cleanse..... ......... . ........... ..   ......... ...   ....... .... ..... .....
1.8k · Aug 2013
Homage to Bob Dahab
Brycical Aug 2013
A Brittish psychedelic
Benjamin Button.

Maverick explorer
54 years young.

A groovy dude connected to Dahab since the 70's.
Sure doesn't hurt he knows the folks who own the land.

A kindly herb surgeon, the man knows how
to live, give and roll a spliff.

Enjoyed your company
swapping stories and smokes.

Keep on,
hang loose
and be cool.
1.8k · Mar 2013
House of the Allison
Brycical Mar 2013
A sanctuary for the rejected,
projected by by the giant alabaster dogs at the front.

from all over the world
healing stones
are checkered throughout this temple--
amethyst to rose quartz
vibrate frequencies of salvation.

A sacred palace filled
with organic nourishment
ready to detox the body--
real food tastes divine!

Electric candles scattered throughout--
a dull orange ignites the corners.
A jungle grows in this sacred space,
fresh oxygen and green leaves are the blinds.

Weary gypsy travelers wander about
to and fro to smoke from ancient pipes
to stay in the moment,
we heal through music and painting.

SHE conjures ***** tonics
ripe with raspberries, lemons and grapefruit
to help those seeking a distraction.

A soothing sounds of the ocean
echo throughout the walls
of this temple of rest.

Here we lay, the sacred beasts cuddle
with our lonely souls
and SHE ensures we will move on gently
through the black walls in front of us.
Brycical Jun 2014
She once was a funky unicorn--
we both midnight animals,
occasionally I'm a sufi moon baboon!

We wear cloud wind trousers--
surfing dusk persimmon & rose air,
laughing ecstatic dances as we rest.

Nighttime tricksters we are,
southern denim night blue ***** she sings,
peppermint thieves shadow-monkey sways in breeze...

Our gracious words of thankful creativity
dance in the wind,
lollygagging off into the sunset....
For Fah.

Thank you for dancing with me.
1.7k · Dec 2012
Tossing words in the ocean
Brycical Dec 2012
Mind body lump
sushi tastes people
blanket's warm sausage
loopy plaid pants
mimosa fueled mathematics
map making pancakes
waffles don't know ****!
Add chicken and enjoy.
Dance like a coked up Napoleon
ecstatic to heard Vincent Price reading Poe
while Moby **** writes rhymes opined to killer wale
princes and lords.
Service the dinosaur's automobile
when you get a chance
don't dance on like a midnight acid FLOWER
power of the hour scours the loud crowd
to life after death.
and even then, a sweaty barracuda knows judo.
1.7k · Sep 2011
A Life Goal
Brycical Sep 2011
I wish to work at a bank,
merely to work the opening shift.

I wouldn’t steal money,
just work until my first paycheck,
then quit.

As I’d walk out,
I’d yell to all,
**** yourselves!
I’ve completed a life goal!


They’re merely working
because violin lessons
or that marketing diploma
didn’t quite pan out.

And as I triumphantly walk
through the doors to freedom,
I’d be shot by thieves
beginning to rob the bank.

It’s an honor
to be made an example of.
1.6k · Dec 2011
Weightless
Brycical Dec 2011
200 miles away
connected by VNV Nation
we speak of stars
we speak of space
& I just want to be weightless
with you.


We wrap our words in time machine
blankets to worlds we’ve never been.
Man, they don’t even exist in this scene
but we’ve begun to vacation there to see
the stars in space stationed there where
we can just be weightless there
                               be weightless there
                                       be weightless there


I want to take you by the hand,
& float on into our sonic plans
to meet next week
& fly inside
each other’s stripes
while the entire world just wonders why
or how these psychedelic titans imbibe
so much inspiration from their color blind mind’s eye…
the echoes
              echoes
                   of each other’s smile
reminds me of the stars
once in a while
because I just want to be weightless
                       weightless
                                  weightless with you.
Rhythm and feel influenced greatly from Pink Floyd's "Echoes."
Brycical Aug 2013
Never sits still unless
he's passed out on the floor,
playful smile hides wise eyes
as his beard talks to us
after communion with a bottle of Jack
and rolling down the rabbit hole:

*We have been going before the beginning
It's not what you know but how you apply it
Ancient knowledge is knowledge now
We follow what is right for us

Everything was a miracle once

When **** is happening, it's ****
it's only not **** once it's happened already.

Everything is general,
what we do is specific.

We're fighting to get past so many archetypes and realities:
nature vs. nurture
fight vs. flight
yin vs. yang
Right vs. left
male vs. female
analytical vs. emotional
visual vs. verbal  
majority vs. minority
experience vs. innocence

What's the point of distance
when you can see yourself on another plane of existence
and not simply see yourself consciously?

When you see yourself, who are you?
You know who you are because when you ask the universe
it will arrive in time!
1.6k · May 2015
Poetry, Comedy and Prophecy
Brycical May 2015
Parents would prefer kids stay away
from these three jobs,
cause as they'd say
There's no way to make any money.
At least you can sell paintings with art
or hock a few bucks with albums from your music.


No parents encourage children into any of these gigs,
especially prophecy.
Today, a kid would be fed pills for breakfast
if they expressed any interest in becoming the next Jesus or Buddha.

Suppose Moses decided to go try an open mic comedy night
instead trading his commandments for a set list
but I bet his adopted parents would have lectured him just the same.
At least Moses would have gotten a few laughs.

The job descriptions are strikingly similar,
just like the outcome
a 50% chance the audience will applaud and chant
or watch you in heavy, maudlin silence... sweating nervously struggling
to maintain a sane face while raucous thoughts of loathing and doubt chew then spit out pieces of heart and soul forcing a confrontation of an emasculated existence for five to seven minute while....

whoa, hi, sorry.
Must've been having a flashback for a few seconds,
forgive me.

There is a difference though,
in the mindset of this trio.
A poet knows they're crazy,
a comic ponders if they're nuts
while a prophet thinks everyone else is just cuckoo.

I can see why parents don't want you to
go near these three jobs,
problem being, it's more of a calling than a culling,
and once it's answered,
all I can say is, well...




good luck.....






have fun.
Brycical Sep 2013
chilly morning wind awakens my skin
             her mystical electric blue cat
   dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
    dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
      A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
      meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
          velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
      atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
        fire flowers,
  light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
          and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.
1.6k · Apr 2015
My Family Owned a Slave
Brycical Apr 2015
nearly 200 years ago
which means my genetics have directly contributed
to the current system
that continues thrusting knees on the throats
of an entire race of brothers and sisters.  

Sick knots of frustration churn in my stomach
while fist and eyelids clench tight
burning razor tears slowly trickling down my face
at the very idea one of my ancestors--
part of my DNA
once treated a living, breathing woman of color
like a permanent maid meant only to labor inside and outside.  

I'm sharing this to admit and reveal my family's
complacency in a system
continuing to reap the so-called benefits
from a capitalist mindset
that has upgraded beyond physical cold metal shackles,
evolving into ball and chain conversation words
where people worry more about property damage from riots
instead of deaths at the hands of the fraternal order of timeout.  

I'm sharing this to continue conversations
for so long in America have been shuffled around, cast aside
as if it were an embarrassing high school phase
politely laughed away    
like on holidays when my family and I
would listen to grandparent's occasional choice phrases
that began "Well the blacks are just blah blah blah..."

Like a child caught ******* by parents,
our pale shame has made us bury the past below sea level
hoping nobody would notice.
But now, the skeletons are beginning to rise,
seeping through the ground  
along with fears of other dusty bones
buried under the red road.

Many of our ancestors
have been trying to dig deeper holes
with phrases like
"I don't understand, there was MLK and Honest Abe,
what more do
  they  want?"
ploughing ahead with fingers shoved in ears
singing "La la la let's just move on, it was a long time ago"
overlooking the equality and empathy  
that has been lacking up to the present.
Like two leaders could wave a magic wand overnight
erasing the dismissive dis-ease of white skinned superiority
we've been weaving into of our laws,
conditioning into our DNA,
evolving from slavery to segregation to target practice and tax brackets
despite singing "Land of the free"
even though there's a disparity
between rioters in inner cities  being called "thugs"
while rioters at sport events are "party goers."

The first step is acknowledgement,
unfortunately we can't force someone to understand,
but we can support and be there
for our brothers and sisters
with kind, encouraging words,
taking steps to pull out
of the land and people selling business,
instead investing in the new currency of presence and attention
unlike my ancestors.
almost 200 years ago.
Some say if you dig up the past, all you get is *****.

Tell that to archeologist constantly discovering new things or therapists guiding others through traumatic past events.
1.6k · Nov 2012
Pull the Trigger!
Brycical Nov 2012
they shout.
A collection of my closest friends
and confidants
implore, plead & demand
my index finger move
only inches to squeeze
the trigger of the pistol.

Pull the trigger!

My arms are quivering--
the chain smoking hasn't helped
steady the nerves.
I'm having trouble looking
at my victim.

Pull the trigger!

He's my best friend
but also destroyed whatever life I had
as he continues spiraling out of control.
I can't focus at work,
I'm afraid to go back to my own apartment--
letting him crash for a while was a bad idea.
My nerves are shot,
I'm emotionally drained...
I'd do anything to make it stop.

Pull the trigger!

They keep shouting in unison--
all  people I trust implicitly.
They've never steered me wrong before,
they sympathize,
can't stand to see him erode away
what's left of my life.

Pull the trigger!

They're right.
There's nothing I can do--
what choice is left?
My head vibrates
from their chanting
my eyes are watering a little--
thought I'd be sobbing.
A deep exhale...
quickly raising the gun
to his head--

Pull the trigger!

He's sobbing,
whimpering like a wounded *****.
When he looks at me,
I can tell he understands
and sympathizes with me.
I whisper,
"If you don't
get the help you need--
I'm going to do what they want."
After I holster the gun
to stunned silence,
I walk away...
Brycical Sep 2012
I can          h ea r
a      dream,
( ( (vibrating) ) )
through my third e y e

      echoes   dan c e
from the walls,
a    l i g h t   passes
through   the prism
that         encases--
      the heart.

                              \i|o|u/
                            he tells me
                     yet I expect nothing.
                more of the same patterns

Every thing       is
a good omen,
so whispers the air
outside a bar of Narnia.

             The banana bread beer flows
              through
                      our glasses like an amber
                 whirlpool tsunami glistening in the afternoon light.
                  a pleased smile rests on a face,
             comfort,
        relaxation and a
      full mind.

Deep sleep
for a while.
Contentment is *exhaled.
1.6k · Sep 2011
Water (calm)
Brycical Sep 2011
Coalescing, cuddling life
swimming inside.
Cleansing, like a mother
would a child,
scrubs away
collected  stains.  
An attention to detail
rinses, washes food,
blessing it into our bellies with an aqua kiss.  
A coolness douses the summer heat,
A relief quenches thirst
Of human and animal alike.
A babbling sound, bubbling
into a relaxing,
lazy Sunday…
Wrote a companion piece to this that can be found here... http://ww.hellopoetry.com/poem/water-rage/
1.5k · Jan 2013
These Are Scenarios
Brycical Jan 2013
-World's Greatest Fisherman
falls in love-

-Dinosaur corn sandwich-

-Battling babbling trapezoid mice-

-Green tea thieves are furious,
they accidentally stole Rooibos-
  
-A School Boy
shellacking shekels-

-I don't live
because I'm alive-

-Jesus on LSD sees Bob Marley-

-Something useful
becomes of this-

-A dog painted to look like
a Christmas tree drawn in the Saturday Evening Post-

-For a brief period of time,
nobody can in fact  remember which way is up-

-Same thing, only this time it happens
in the time right before Tesla was born-

-A mirror reveals what we look like
inside out, and a little bit more to the left-

-Vincent Price suddenly remembers
where he left his car keys in 1978-
Brycical Jul 2011
Some are almost shattered.

They’re pieces,       scratching         tearing  grinding 

     wearing 
down.
You can tell something       isn't
       right.


Like a ceramic         vase         dragged      across                 gravel. 


Their moods are brief flashes 
of—           mommy's hugs

and strangers—kicking the **** 
      out  of     their bowels. 


They aren't even w  h  o  l   e,

merely p i e c e s         of ceramic and clay.

Some are smooth, held in a gentle hand.


But others are jagged reminders of being hurled into a wall.

I often wonder if it's my responsibility to mend these pieces,
or just let them be
as I've grown to admire the individuality
of these shattered personalities.
1.5k · Aug 2013
In Dahab, Excess is Easy,
Brycical Aug 2013
but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,  
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.

But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.

Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time  goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.


Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.  
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.

And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.
1.5k · Aug 2013
Majdhb on the Beach
Brycical Aug 2013
Rolling
           down
             the rabbit
                hole--
under the stars
      s w a y i n g
like shisha smoke
gypsy dancing hips sway lips smile wide
         sound
       sight light taste all one
echoes swirl around we twirl
         like whirling dervish
leaving our bodies--
leaving the tube
joining each other's saltwater skin
bathing in
       our conscious one
       our conscious AUM
as the midnight sapphire ocean's white foam splashes over
every ONE of us.
The shooting stars dance with us--
the air dances             with us
the water dances        with us
Jack & coke's dance inside us
between our toes
the sand dances        with us
the hash dances        with us
as we are
just being
JUST BEING!
LIVING!
1.5k · Oct 2012
Making New, From Used
Brycical Oct 2012
Don't cry in the whisky baby
I am an alcoholic highlight reel
mostly made from concentrated
      words--
I'll quit when I'm ready
for all kinds of art
vibrating love venom,
and words like love--
         I can't seem to agree with authority.
My ankle indicates some sprain or tweak.

There's plenty of beer in the fridge,
I am not going to *** my pants ever again
like a **** and bottle of bourbon.
            Thanks, I'm full
but parents never cared.
The road is litered--
the marrow ****** from their veins everyday
and the gypsy whisper of "why are we?"
is in my heartbeat.
There it went, frolicking through the midnight sky
like a car wreck,
haunting, like the song "Scarborough Fair."
I have a bunch of unfinished poems, so I decided to look at all of them, and without changing anything, take the first line of one and combine it with the second line of another and combine that with a third line of.... you get the idea. Second stanza is the same thing, just starting from another point from the first poem.
Brycical Nov 2012
Mona.
Lisa.
Lee-ah
nardo
how do
YOU know
my mom.

I remember having
pizza
with ya the other night,
we watched
the "Da Vinci Code"
after we had that fight,
about Montauk
hotdog tripe flavored ice cream.

Even the audience
doesn't think that's yummy!

You taught,
me how to knit
chocolate and wish
upon the sun.

Did you mom?
Am I your son?
I'd prefer pecon pie.
No-body likes
pecans in my family.
Did Leo
like legumes ?
******,
I may always
be cursed
with writing words
that make reference to obscure
astrology.
My apologies to his
groupies who think he's
the best ******* art-east
since slice bread.
But how would it
feel to had some dude who
painted your mom
and it was
the big-gust
most successful
commercial success
through out
time?
1.5k · Apr 2012
Dear Matthew P. Hill,
Brycical Apr 2012
You remind me much of myself.
You remind me much of myself except, more together...
You remind me of myself every time I see the words "Midnight" "Haiku"

All of your words are golden bright,
a white knight righteously marching
for truth.
Optimistic Siddhartha--
    A Copacetic Beyonder
back again to remind man
it's all going to be allright, man.
From the dude
a couple light years behind,
~The Bryce Post
Brycical Mar 2015
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.

A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.

Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.

Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.

Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
A series of tankas
Brycical Apr 2016
and it scares me because
the glow in her eyes and
melodious rhythm
in her words give me the impression
that she enjoys talking
about these things.

And it's not
one of those mindful zen
practicing acceptance
attitude of gratitude  type of
scenes where she loves it out
of herself and heals all
the heavy scars she wears.

It's like she revels in her misery--
I just don't get it man!
Maybe I'm doing some
wacko projection thing
or that I'm reading too much
into it all. I mean,
I am a bookworm. But,

There's just something about
the way, the feeling or
the tone that vibrates through
my soul like a friggin' red light Spider Sense
that gives me the creepers.

She'd say that she's simply
stating facts and, while that
may be true,
I just can't help but hear
some callous time ******* black-hole train crash rejoicing;
like a perverted hymn
to misfortune and gloom.

I don't know man, maybe
those are just the tunes my mom enjoys playing.
Could be that's just not my
style, or how I approach
something like that.
I try not to judge, but
some **** is just doesn't sit
well with me, you know?
I can't help that.
Happy Mother's Day?
1.4k · Sep 2011
Mirror Reflection
Brycical Sep 2011
His life was simple—
bound by action of a duplicate
forced to move with military precision.
Nobody’s asked what he thinks
or how he feels—
I just assumed he was ok with this.

He was stuck living a fake life
in a fake world that isn’t his.
While I wrote
he’d rather be fishing.
When I brushed my teeth,
again,
he thought about that Robert Downy Jr. movie he was missing.

One day,
I saw the sadness in his gray, baggy eyes
and offered a cup of coffee, Sumerian.
When he told me Columbian was preferred,
I relieved him—
told him to explore the reality in which he was born.
  
Before he left
with gleeful abandonment,
I proposed a time to hangout
should he ever be in need of a friend.
He smiled, thankful of my kind gesture,
but simply said,
“I’ve been staring at your face
for a quarter century.
I never want to see you again.”
1.4k · Jul 2014
No Words
Brycical Jul 2014
She bohemian art shaman,
         a cosmic clown tribe,
         a Voodoo Chile; Hendrix-haired.

Sometimes I think the Wankerverse*
is the best description
of where  I like to make pancakes for her....

A kiss from her lips feels like a sunrise
after a midnight Shpongle dance party.
*to understand the reference to Wakerverse,
see link below:
http://youtu.be/jidZCvGHdBM
1.4k · Feb 2012
Pouring water on the music
Brycical Feb 2012
Recently
it seems
every time we talk
our cacophonous
voices don't sing.

The harmony's off--
lost it's charming ring.
The tye-dye mind's eye melody
is mellowing into a gray spring.

And I'm wondering why?

But...
I think I know.
Only asked cause
I was hopin' you might hum some other musical notes,
ones that won't turn this song into a black swan dive
forced to call the huntin' dogs to track
back to a time where you and I laughed freely.

But there's this feeling
that this is how your other he must have felt
while you and me were undoing our belts--
yelling & screaming
as my parents were sleeping
upstairs above--
we played each other like saxophones
to this grand Nirvana relaxed crescendo!

But as this poem progresses
the tempo stiffens--
    your voice lessens--
as the harmony's off-key
and the melody's riff softens.
It's not hitting me hard like a gong-
feels like two people singing
different lyrics into the same microphone.
Someone with synesthesia can see
our colorful speech atrophy
instead of pirouetting in turquoise dreams.

If that sounds harsh,
sorry, that's the reality I perceive--
we don't want each other to leave,
But our avoidance of labeling
what we are also established what we weren't
and now this playful...thing? we had
feels like a breaking carafe as it hits the floor.

I want to continue writing you more poems and songs
but it's hard when the harmony's off-key
and losing it's charm.
   This new lentando^ tempo's like a left arm going numb.
I want to keep composing
but it feels like water
instead of kerosine pouring
on the fire that was inspiring
as this mournful melody dilates throughout my being.
^gradually slowing

Don't judge this based on content. I mainly wrote this because of the rhythm and here is the result.
1.4k · Oct 2013
Here; We Remember
Brycical Oct 2013
in this blue sphere
dancing twisty crimson foxtrots
in pumpkin cream lightflower gardens
where incandescent rose quartz chrysanthemums bloom too.

We speak indigo vibrations
as our hearts glow emerald green
like a single flame illuminates a cave.

Upon an embrace,
bathed in foamy white light
floating away in theta waves
in an azurite lightning whisky bottle.

We go with our FLOW.
inspired by a dream from Seymour
Next page