Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
AD Mullin Mar 2019
Caught a moonbeam to Muskogee with a dark angel
Where it started, it's hard to know. Maybe I was a traveler
hitching a ride on an ideology maybe I was trying to find my space,
then she was there and we were sharing space.

She was all anodyne and icicles with a presence magnetic and
manner so soothing,
she allowed me to forget
from where I had never
                 ­                                  from

And from our first tryst
she was careful to explain that
it is never the shadow bringing the light
which illuminated nothing

I was hooked, however on her ominous banter,
lack of curves, and cubist edges.
Hooked and ready for processing:
She made me feel that

I was such a pretty thing,
she kept me under wing,
kept me as her play thing, and
this I allowed for much to long

With her I felt but would not see
and paid the price for wading
into the shallow end of identity

We journeyed for 1000 years
through the desert where I satisfied
my thirst with a state of dementia and
was rewarded with emptiness for doing the time

This infatuation transformed my youth into
disenchanted wisdom when I finally understood that
It’s never the shadow that brings the light
which illuminates everything

Because once you know that
You can find freedom in addiction,
wealth in poverty, purity in excess,
and step by step, ferociously

you can find peace
at the top of the mountain
and lose an identity
when you find your self
1, 2, 1, 2, 3...
AD Mullin Jul 2020
When the rhymes start poppin'
and the beats start flowin'
it's probably a sign that
it's time to get going
and maybe just maybe even


Now is the time
where the hero-self
starts bubbling up
its a time to start stepping
stepping into the presence
stepping out of the prison and
into heaven.
Cause it be all effervescing like:
pop, pop, pop

then I turn around to have a see
and as I am looking up and down
at the old me, well I gotta confess

I don't like what I used to be
while at the same time
I've got to admit
I love that man-boy too
cause he was me and he was you

You see, I was an egocentric
and a pretender
who was never ever ever gonna be a contender
when I realize that if I linger to long
it's my past that pulls me out of song
and I refuse to be losing ******
so let's turn back to front and centre
leg go and
just trust, trust, trust

I am getting wide awake on these energies
gonna ride these waves if you please
unless my trust is misplaced in

I figure it's time
that I unsettle my debts
from my colonization, my plebiation,
and my consternation.

The only way out seemed to be within.

Cause what's wrong with the world might be what is

So unfurled my flag
let the mystery free
raised my fist and shouted
Pleiades, Pleiades, let me hear you sing
It's time for us Man
lets bring down that sweet thing

I can't put my finger on what happened next
We've all been waiting for that
lighthouse bringer, that aetheric singer,
someone who was willing to point that finger
I just didn't think it was going to be a ginger.

Then I fell asleep and when I awoke
who was I but a medicine keeper

If I ever learned nothing from Pablo Piccaso
is that it ain't no fun living like a big *******

Just funnin' Pablo, don't take no offence
I love it how you went swinging for fence
every time you woke up
to live in the moment
but it's what you saw and
how you saw it that makes me feel
- raw, raw, raw -

As I tried to deconstruct your craft
it deconstructed me and
the only way out of the enigma
was to twist myself up into a new reality

So there I was sitting
my flag unfurled
in my missed fortune
lost in-between
feeling unseen

A look in the mirror revealed a fractured self
a person separated from his wealth
so I said **** this and went looking for health.
Written August 2019
J J Aug 2019
Along the grass,beneath the sky
The draconic sun vitrified
The lover figurines.
Flattening them
Adjacent to the surface,
Skin blent in crackly tessellation,
Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's
Wondrous silence.
Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands.

Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image?
To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting
In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter,
The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked
Their life and death in a predetermined stasis,
The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times,
The star that held all places of the earth in one.

The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis
Sentenced to worship forever without a choice,
For prior love, for prior sins,
It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
Oculi Apr 2019
A cape on my back
And a trigger next to my index finger
I look around at the world
It is a hell on Earth
The trees in bloom, the water azure
The sky cloudless, orange and purple

I look like I'm from the future
Maybe I'm from the future
Or maybe I really did come from Saturn
Since this is all so alien to me
Take me back to where we were
Take me, Ra. Take me, Jhonn.

But I'm here. I see the world
The old building blocks
The ferris wheel moved by radiation
I look at the gun in my hands
It's matte black. Brand new, like me.
Brand new, like the blood from the body on the ground.

Maybe this never happened,
I say to myself questioning the audience.
I look at the cubes. They are all different colors.
Some explode. Some expand.
Some implode. I feel at home with those.
This feels safe.

The world I came to is different.
This world is not a rhapsody.
This world is made of skin.
There's another body inside.
Like mine, but pitch black.
It is my shadow.

Suddenly I am at home again.
I feel the shadow pulling the Earth apart.
I feel my face. I'm dusty.
I report to the Mars of the World.
They tell me to head back in.
I resign myself to fate.

I look in the mirror one last time.
I see a woman.
I'm content.
I get in my bed, as I did yesterday.
The night shortly falls over me.
I crawl into the void, as I live and breathe.

I wake up in the different place again.
I look in the mirror.
It's a dusty, white face of no expression.
I put the cape back on and leave.
As I leave the zone beyond time, I remember again.
It is time to find something of value.

**** the objective.
I hear knocking on the door.
I open it. It's the courier.
"Welcome back."
"Thank you."
"Are you ready?"

We leave for the yellow zones.
But I'm tired of the courier.
As the bullet exits his brain, I feel free.
So does his blood.
The desert around us stares at me.
The cubes cry out.

I'm in the green zone. I'm looking for the child.
He greets me with a smile.
"You have realized!"
"I am finally back.
I have killed the ones holding me back."
"Welcome back to reality. I love you, Mother."

The industrial zone around us starts feeling distorted.
The cubes lose their shapes and scream.
My son grabs my legs tight.
The trees are all dead. The sky is gray.
The water runs green, with purple bubbles.
I missed Saturn.
Kurosawa could dream.
Tarkovsky could dream.
Lynch could dream.
Why could I not?
nja Jan 2019
Cubism an ugly distortion, criticised in comparison to fine art. Look at those shameful, jagged and unpolished edges. But no, change your perspective. These deviations are the very building blocks that allow us to tower over those who once marginalised difference. Those who rejected the ‘other’, for fear of refracting their own reflections in the opposition. Inevitably they’re left face to face with the ‘ugly’ perceived in here.
My first art was painting. She has been my mistress for years now. This is me exploring how the new and modern is always rejected by the norm and traditionalists. Cubism comes to represent discrimination in society of 'the other', those who are different in us/them.
SO much depends upon a red wheel barrow
So MUCH depends upon a red wheelbarrow
So much DEPENDS upon a red wheelbarrow
So much depends UPON a red wheelbarrow
So much depends upon A red wheelbarrow
So much depends upon a RED wheel barrow
So much depends upon a red WHEEL barrow
So much depends upon a red wheel BARROW
Lucrezia M N Apr 2016
Thunder… then lightning,
feverish caress of musky notes,
****** scent of loving irony
to curiously tempt each edge
of such a fractionated cubism.
Tiny desert rose, ready
to dilate all its farthest dusty ravines
just to feel its lymph racing out of bounds.
Hot water runs down on me,
raw and bitter into my mouth,
a taunting sadism
for better wince, essentially
in a universe that is not there.
Painted glow of cynic nocturnes,
diluted to loss,
watered down to dawn.
Next page