It's like chronic pain Get outta my brain Would you please refrain From injecting these tender Veins With perfectly outdated ways To sustain My imperfections mundane
Why don't you look right In front of you.. Is it so hard?
Quite the little shard Of annoying glass That wedged itself Into the most Ridiculous uncomfortable spot
Right beneath The chemical burn On your minds eye That happened From the Battery acid leak On the night You touched it To your tongue One too many times And you felt
Spiders
Up your spine There is no going back To a conscious Decision landlocked
Within the
Inner space And time
Before ---you threw The dime Onto the ground With no rebound No rebound No Rebound
Come walk with me Let the river wind The Shamans twine Interlock & unravel Infinite travel These are the Ancient ways Step into the haze Bridge keeper Go deeper Do not fear what The other worlds hold Need I be so bold In each life There is a price to pay You must give over To the Shaman way Entranced, enchanted? You wish to drink From this flask? Drop your ego Wear the mask? If this is Where you belong You have to want it & You must ask
We flew above the simplistic rotating animation of the charcoal pencil drawn globe, while a stitched together familiar held space by trotting the surface
Santa Muerte arrives shortly after viewing a dark brown leather bound book with 4 black half circles on the cover that are decorated by intricate chain
A page in the book reveals a gleaming seal
I face Santa Muerte and speak “I called you to put death to my fear. I know that’s what you love to hear.”
It was riding on the tail feathers of the violet ray just beyond a red dated warning label amidst a portion of the dark void and six of them sat upon the steps in white hooded robes two with galaxies painted into the irises of their eyes
A humanoid standing about 12 feet in height with dry winds moving as rifts through his waist long strategically tangled hair, reveals no more or less than any should know.
We crossed into Louisiana Right about witching hour The energy there Invades the aura Years of compacted sorrow Combined with the Old ways of root doctors And esoteric power
You take the Hoodoo To the crossroads
We're in the back roads Of Monroe They talk to you there Ya know
I put my bare feet To the swampy grasses At the railroad tracks Illuminated by the waxing moon
Hail Hecate! We envoke thee Commit this wax and ash To the earth Blessed be )0(
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
And once I was a poet Words poured out Just as waterfalls do Among the fauna and flora
And once I loved a man Tears poured out Just as scorned ones do Among the lie and injury
And once I was a scholar Dreams poured out Just as the progressive do Among the movers and shakers
And once I was a hussler Schemes poured out Just as survivors do Among the users and takers
And once I was a nomad Splendor poured out Just as free souls do Among the winds and gods
And once I was a poet
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
They wounded you with such precision and concise motive that you didn't even notice the tidal wave of emotional atrophy seeping into your bones like a reticent relentless trepidation that left you so inexplicably guarded that you view even the most exquisite act of persuasion as an ulterior motive.
I pause with inclination brought on by the defining moments in time that your cloaked soul was visible yet inescapably sublime.
Transient action I wonder if he wanted to Geometrically pinpoint constellations Pastel hues in a camouflage fashion Springtime daisy blooms What wicked way comes If she thought she could auto not It was a choir singing harpsichord In street trash gutter subterfuge The tops of trees swayed in the winds With the gated cage striations
It’s a happening that begins to unfold Unlike any other multi part plot filled book you’ve ever read The happening begins when you actually begin to live The happening happens over and over again Each time more in depth within itself We empower others to do their work Each day, we play these roles On the one day, when all of everything is lined up in your favor That is born from chaos And there is no way to take another breath When you cannot stand on your two feet any longer There are people placed in your path to breath life back into your lungs That is the place in the happening Where by the happenstance of timing You fully comprehend the meaning of humility And know no other way Than to give yourself over to those that Do the medicine work Fully, without regard or thought
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
The signs are there Like a prophetic Supernova dream What are signs Without vigil Without signal
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
Whoever you are Sitting in the dark shadow Of the black widow That hovers atop your
Second sight
I'll find you in the Ego-less corners Of the 3rd dimension Department of duality
Limelight
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
Full Pisces moon Equipped with eclipse Perceptions swoon Brain waves tip I begin to ride Beat of the drum Ancestors appear Body succumbed Questions answered In high gear The veil is thin Hawk spirit within Two world trance Sacred dance Drumbeats quicken Time to return Point of entry The journey is done
They the three, when all were there, went out, out and on down, down to the ground, grounding rooting, rooted to, all that is, is embedded, into, as one with, the bedrock, rocks and soil below, sow, so the seed, germinated seeded, above as below.
over there is a death practitioner who rides upon a dust covered sheet metal wagon with a squeaky wheel
comes and goes checking in like some kind of manic sales man
he's 6 foot 4 with a bald head that skims the door heavy footed eyes like a hawk drinks a lot of whiskey talks the **** talk he's killed so much of me not much left but people can't tell i'm a total wreck
he gives me the potions that are stacked up and poorly arranged in a quasi rusted pharmaceutical despensery and labratory
sometime in the dead of night when i sleep and the cats and crows won't make a peep
When you have met the point of intersection where doubt doesn't exist in the mind
And you have left evil eye and imprints of the dead at the center point
At the moment that the high self is just slightly altered and the total manifestation begins to trickle down into the autonomic functions of the ego
It begins an infantile form of self forgiveness that is void of nested spaces that house an association to the systematic map of words and actions that held trial and judgement
Somewhere in the particular dimension Hecate facilitated the depths of soul to be worn about the outer rims of the aura while fastened securely to the glow of high heart chakra
And the soul can depict the source form energy peering into its center with white eyes
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
To read your poetry Is to feed the hole in my heart Because when I read your poetry I can view the single most Stunning points in my life The ones that went unmentioned Left me without speech Yet carved permanently On the walls of my mainframe How could you have known?
The heat is relentless I wait around for dusk to arrive While waiting for Reprieve to arrive While my father is fading We are waiting He is wading in Still waters Between the worlds He says the words Of peyote guides In the crystalline skies I saw in your soul That time at the crossroads And there are blue auras About the land I know not who Heard echos spoken They didn't see How many are broken
I listen I watch I analyze I compare I find pattern I detect the ways I take note of the days I make calculated determinations
&
Game changing speculations Ascertain the ramifications
Of
Behavioral articulations
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
I can see you Standing down there Like some kind of Cryptic dream The evening sun Seems to arrive With an ****** haze As if the immediate Atmosphere Called quarters & circle casted I am but a mere Remote viewer Of an unseen assembly And it all simultaneously Collides The elements coincide In innumerable ways Simply impossible To perceive with the mind
In the one thousandth Subatomic cohesion You walked close to me Spoke softly Opened the other realms door Set the red dragonflies free Fluttering wings Brushing entities Orphic embrace Commixing like lace Weaving Siezeing The southbound breeze
There are those seasons Of the life That a happening unfolds When a poets table turns And The life in the living Is An extended group of Events Each one A profound poetic moment Shaped of divinity and vibration
It’s somewhere in the astral plane The dwellers there don’t call it by name The basin is dusty, desolate Within it a carnival Where many congregate Light is dimming when I arrive I feel an approach Turn to look, as you appear I’ve known you From an earlier time Yet never seen you In this life You’ve arrived there To bind into my eyes And take soul prints Never breaking my stare
My poetry is a Dangerous place to be I’m so in love with Your story I forget all the fragments of me So I read, and reread The caverns of the mind How the vile side winds Captivating fixations Tangle and bind Ferment and remind of The here and now As the north winds howl Futile hush muzzled Omens from the Incubus vagrant brow That follows me On down to The mountain edge The city street hedge Clock tower ledge My poetry is a Dangerous place to be
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
When men are from mercury and not from mars It means women are from unmentioned galaxy stars
When you give me your messages In multitudes of melodies & Curious cacophony of cranial codes Dare I decipher this disconcerted data In Massive mainframes of masked mental material Hidden honeysuckle hints buried deep within Lust covered lurking lexicons in libraries of linguistic whisper hints For Love innuendos in serpentine tongues Like a brainwave barrage by day & Titanium telepathy attacks by night You stop at nothing to remain in my sight
I never told you I was from unmentioned galaxy stars You’re a man from mercury and not from mars
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
it’s the sensations that are most satisfying an almost painful pressurized dance between throat and chest the way the process is felt in the finite muscles and glands that take their own actions about the mouth and interplay between the desmosome & basal layers just beneath the eyes yet the single most intriguing part of the process is the temperature of the fluid and how it caresses each topical segment of derma on it’s own path to the earth