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We all live in a yellow submarine?
******!
Not only is that a bad metaphor,
it is blatantly wrong.
Everyone knows we all live
in a purple tomato on a custard moon.
But who would believe that?

The whole thing is ******* up
and do you know why?
Because Newton is tearing his hair out,
he cannot get his cradle
to rock from side to side.
Everyone is so ******* busy
turning potential into kinetic,
they have forgotten about the baby.

And so now we are all
threatened by the rotting aubergine,
replacing the falling apple,
and slapping Newton in the face.
And Hoffman the reluctant hero
is peddling his bike down the lane,
escaping the reality of responsibility,
but at least he was having a laugh,
at least he had a ******* great time.

And the yellow submarine changed,
into a pink inflatable banana,
ridden by the children of fools.
The fools that should have known better,
and followed the white rabbit down the hole,
they might have avoided becoming fools.

The white knight may have talked backwards,
but the walrus understood him,
with his tusks of sweetened marshmallow,
and he does translate in quantum notes,
relaying in geodesic Morse to the carpenter,
how to build a ******* yellow submarine.



© Pagan Paul (26/10/17)
.
One of my old chaotic psychedelic writes,
drawing on psychedelic cultural references.
PPx
.
En la oscuridad de noche
Las estrellas cayeron del cielo
Las plagas de los Tziztimime
Rabiaron contra el mundo
La tierra tembló
Los vientos aullaron
Los mares se levantaron para consumir todas las cosas
Las personas gritaron con miedo
Pensaron que toda esperanza estaba perdida
Pero Huitzilpochitli los escuchó
Y bajó del paraíso para ayudarlos
Él inmovilizó la tierra
Él calmó los vientos
Él azotó los mares a la sumisión
Entonces él convocó el sol
Y empezó un día nuevo

In the darkness of night
The stars fell from the sky
The plagues of the Tziztimime
raged against the world
The earth trembled
The winds howled
The seas rose to consume all things
The people cried out in fear
They thought that all hope was lost
But Huitzilpochitli heard them
And he descended from heaven to help them
He stilled the Earth
He calmed the winds
He whipped the seas to submission
Then he summoned the Sun
And began a new day
A poem of hope inspired by Aztec mythology. The second stanza is the English translation for the Spanish above it.
Forwards and fore words are cult if ations, (cultureshapen)
words we would find mean more

than their idle kin dread, (a play)
if we had been reared
starting now

A push from behind,
*** put padding for a reason,
Mrs. Marshall said. Second grade.

A word, to the wise, is enough.
Acculturation.

That's the clue that leads to leaven,
and a little leaven...
you know, or say you do, of course,
we've known yeast
resurrects in our bread, for eons and ages,
Good Lord.

We know how things work.

If we be honest,
some,
a little bit, we know how things work.
Sayin' hon, I ain't sure I know what honest was.

To tell the truth, I don't suppose anybody knows,
wit'out attention's terrible price,

secret price, only the paid and payer know it, ever.
Sacred makin', sacrifice,

that's a one time deal, for real.

A mortal man can't know until he dies if he unbelieved all his
lies, but his try's are said to give him some -umph,

----
What manner of men are we that it is given unto us

to be? That is an answer worth paying attention to chase, per
haps. Not, to be or not to be, what choice, before now? You know?

Remember, we asked. Together, we agreed,
that greed will draw us to the treasure,

do you mind my taking greed from agreed and making it work.

it does work. it is an essential elemental,
desire is another word they use, but that gives it more
purpose than greed, and calls for more minding of the process.

Once a reifying action has begun we must maintain our equilibrium,
or
find ourselves falling, once more, into dis-traction
on life's slipper *****.

Slipper-iness has meaning.
Ask any little princess planning to grease her foot with KY.
It can be good or bad, not good or evil.

Squeeks from the audience, sometimes signal gasps,
as agap is crossed, like a spark,
mnemonical daemonic algorythms, those ain't bad you understand?

The Intelligence in Re-al, 's'no accidental instance of order over chaos that just cain't quit,
that ain't it.
Geeks as you know geeks,
Gates, Jobs, 'nem, A. I. Imagineers,
did not write this algorithm of life, as it turns out,

The Idea of *** seems not to have needed help
designing a safeground,
where kids can play.

Sam Harris axed me, vicar-iously, Do you believe in literal
re-sur-rection of some formerly
living thing/ any?

Yes, yeast, I do. It seems dead, only our knowing it's not
and proving other wise de-ifs the possibility it's dead, now alive.

It's like that cat box, Schrödinger has.
Anything is possible, *** knows, Jesus even said so,
wit' ***, all o'this is possible,
save lying and dying and failing to be good for me.

Living, it seems, is the deed we do
to prove living forever is worthy of trying,
happily ever after, starting now,
if you wish to stay mortal and never know,

you can't.
You know you die, so you die.
Forever,
that goes on.

It's **** to try that with no triumph in sight.
Alone, especially.
I heard the phrase Jesus Bomb during the JBP/Sam Harris talk on youtube. I thought it might be fun to make one. If you notice, the poems posted here, byme, time as proven flow together onward.
My blood tells me a different story to my soul.
My passport has a stamp I cannot recognize,
An accent invades my tongue that I cannot pinpoint-
I am from many worlds
And I sing the songs of many souls.

My scattered roots find a way to your lonely tree,
And in my own confusion
I become the master of empathy.
You're so called 'difficult' name rolls off my tongue
Effortlessly,
And I'll have you convinced that we are kin.
Your language
Your skin
Your culture
Is no barrier on the grounds
of those who know no bounds
To existence.
There's a problem with our society
Worse than insecurities, depression, and anxiety
It's how we deal with these problems
Rather, it's how we cause them
If we disagree, we're just wrong
We're put down and told we don't belong
We've not been given a reason for what not to say
We've learned to just hold our thoughts at bay
There are kids who want to talk but fear the label
So they remain quiet and in line, feeling disabled
We wonder why they'd come to school with a gun
Yet we allow where these thoughts begun
There are things missing from our history books
Hidden by the sole judgement of how we look
Drown out the world with sound when alone
It's not their problem, but I don't have a home
A teacher never fails, it's you who takes the blow
But the greatest lessons we'll never know
They teach us the professional way
But we can **** ourselves with razorblades
We rather not talk about suicide
So we push the truth down even further to hide
We become a far more dangerous group of kids
Although it's our culture that forbids
Yet we glorify those of honor and praise
Celebrating them as they gave to the grave
Please don't be afraid of our opinion
But we think our culture treats losses like a win
Listen to me--these words are very convenient
Our opinion will not be lenient
Why is it we know them for their death
But otherwise, we don't care for their breath
We don't quite get what we're communicating
Death is a logical way is what we're saying
They begin to believe they're better off dead
But we must help them get through their head
Our voices are clear--we're demanding action
These people aren't worth it--they get a fraction
I mean no disrespect to who is left behind
But we must know this should not be glorified
We must understand what we're engraving
And the affects on how we're behaving
Do not give to the succession in a grave
But fight with us in the path that we pave
They need to know, together they will get far
This ambiguity is not who we are
The level is twice as deep, so it’s twice as cold, passing the heat & fire,
I got & felt, get up & feel, get up cause it’s real, got up & ****.
Some do, some don’t,
**** around & start & riot, spit up some lyrics, too late with that emergency call.
I’ve tasted martyrdom, it’s holier than ******.
A-lot people crave in their yearning, but they all stay bluffing, hollering at the moon, all alone.
You’ll be nothing but bone & ashes, with Grandma
the only one remembering your name.
Monks singing in my ear, ‘**** mystic, ******* ****’. So, if they’re at least attractive,
they’ll be sacrificed on our holy shrine.
It’s easy to be smacking fake poets, gypsies, monks, mystics & muses. My own death is at the back of my mind. My gun is loaded.
Feeling no pressure.
You’ll be next to Dante, next to Baphomet, witnessing Milton reciting, its the best place & it’s within your destiny.
Bleeding in in vain, hating is in my nature.
The ones who can transcend here & in the now can talk about, can’t stand yourself, I understand, it’s hard to come to grips with how you ****** it up & missed your boat. And that’s within life & not even forty yet.
Once upon time, you were an idol, you’re not even a rival now, it’s a crime against humanity, trust me, destroying you is that easy. Put don’t any pen for any blank paper that you write anything on, no one cares & the only reason you have anyone around is out of pity or a quick session. I get it, you’re ditty, I’m musings, you rock boys that’s borderline ****, I rock royal europeans. You’re getting smoked like rolled **** in this realm of reality, I’m not perplexed & rest in the thought it’s supposed to be, like how women ain’t meant to be like you. Terms of you, its easy to glock & aim. Sure you got some skill in the style you live, in the way you create art, you may call it yours, but I call it bitting. Don’t puff out your chest. Accept it & move on. Surrender. I made it out of addiction, instantly learnt how to transcend, you’re the same since sixteen. Unable to part from your past, we all die one day, it’s not a crime unless if they catch me, if they rush my home in the morning, Demons & Masons will storm the station in the evening.
I’ve been peeing in a cup since I meet you, your body has no value, your soul has nothing of value, thoughts spit out junk, emotions of a dying old lady who hadn’t lived. When I raise my knife, I’m going to cut some skin & if the ***** thinks I love her, the ***** don’t know me.
It’s
been
written
***
doesn’t
like
****.
Don’t even try eating makeup. I got your friends popping their head at my very thought.
Mean mugging don't mean nothing.
My confidence is in the loud,
your insecurities are in the public.
I’m too legit, the Mystics know the difference between me & you, me dying that’s ludicrous, no respect from me, I’m vet, if I’ve got to do some silence, its only a minor setback, I’ll be right back with Demon, Transcending Enlightenment & a six-pack.  
Your thoughts are not legit,
mystics relate to me, some are younger than buck,
pimping is easy,
no one is thinking of you as a person, so stay of the tip of my ****
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1535754370&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince
Baylee Kaye Oct 7
it is my heart language.
a tongue my soul needed to flourish.
one that only I could come to find,
a language that I needed to discover for myself.
in uncovering this alone,
I was able to grow more,
more than if it was my native speech.

though it may not be my mother tongue,
spiritually it is a part of me, it always has been.
I needed a trigger, an experience,
to unearth this buried part of my existence.
I was meant to speak this language,
one many may speak,
but few understand to its depth and its core.

it is a *** given gift,
one He meant for me to find in my solace,
a part of my soul He waited eagerly for me to find.
when I found this part of myself,
I understood my trials and my pains.
this tongue erased my scars, healed my wounds.
it buried my shame, and unveiled my soul.
perfection
elle Oct 6
the world folded in front of me when Collins said, "Nevertheless"

TO claim womanhood and 'championing' the rights of those left
lifeless, left
behind
left to give birth without choice, to rot inside

and at the turn of a comma, disregard your
people. your state. your country(wo)mens' fate.

to turn a key
to throw your sword to him,

a ******

there is a ****** in the highest court of the land
it is not 1514

on TODAY of ALL DAYS
when the streets are teeming
with rage and age-old wounds,
re-opened, gushing
with truth for you.
we bellow our truth for evidence. we are living PROOF FOR YOU.

when half of the world is screaming, from their front lawns
classrooms, desk jobs
to the ruling class, we
p l e a d
write letters, leave voicemails,
wait outside til they return,
get arrested, demoralized just trying to get a word

So, we wait
cross-armed
Patience, is the strategy they say
"We’ll get to you one day! You chose us, and it’s our duty to listen!"
they say,

well look at where it’s brought us today
TODAY
a ****** is our president
two rapists on the court of courts
they run our media outlets, they pay off the people in charge
and pay off their victims to silence us
all

and here we stand
in our 'Homeland'
survivors of the daily toil, just trying to eat, to make a safe home
we shift and pay our way through this unending maze

and WE ARE THE ONES WHO ARE *****
we are walking wounds
and I do not feel safe
if this is home i want to GO
very far away.

We are silenced, our voices drown out.
We are beaten in our own homes.
Our opinions are unheard or unwanted. Our lives are unwarranted.
WE live and breathe this unjust air.

This is not when men had birthright to the land and a hand of a wife
this is not when black men were a fraction of a person
this is now
and it is the same.

when rich men have the birthright
to the key to our tomorrows
our childrens' and our childrens' children
will suffer
this system has us suspended

merely a change of scenery
but not one rule has changed,
fundamentally, it is clear to me
we live a rigged game.
Seemingly alive, in perpetual longing time, burden with emotions, joy stops, pain is felt. Thinking mind relentless, I’m an entire generation as singular individual. Heat rises, sounds amplified, rooms seem smaller when I step in, life dares me to forlorn not to live. It has no remorse. Morals and ethics, human. Beauty? No love found. No love lost. The burdens of living, twisted. Soundless, slow, precise and shafts of hope that is really false. Complete poetry and thinking philosophy. I am alive. Despite of everything.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1538518619&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince
In life with the ups & downs,
when the street lights come one, the gypises come out,
all my life, got told there’s something wrong with my mind
& it’s been written *** doesn’t like ****,
so bought myself a gun, stay on my grind.
I joined the outsiders in exile, learnt street talk,
dwelled in mystery, looking onto history, as a tool,
wrapping myself around the present to ease the fear of the future,
Drinking red *** , roll me the blunt,
dived
into
success when I know how to self-validate.
Perhaps my
genes
are different
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1538518619&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince
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