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kevin wright Aug 7
When all else is without taste
The elixir of symbols
Are words that flow

Flow with a whiff of perfume
Crystallise with  sense of purpose
Taunted by the science of our future

Elevating the taste to that of a myth
Fulfilling a creation of our own
Spilling over into our inner space
The poet and the machine: Paul Ginestier
Val Vik Dec 2015
Oh night thou...
fuel of all inspiration

of our hearts and souls
pure contemplation

Where do all beautiful thoughts go...
once lost?

What shall come of these dreams?

Imaginably, as it may just be
eternal blaze above us
I wrote this poem before I read a quote with the same question: "Where does a thought go when it's forgotten?" - Sigmund Freud.
Susana Jan 2021
A cup of coffee so hot it
burns my tongue.
I like it, gives a kick

An opened book on Freud
laid out on the table so I’d seem
More cultured, educated

A joint in my hand as
I inhale the smoke with
the petrichor sneaking in from outside

A sense of calmness in this
chaotic world
somehow soothes me
Traveler Oct 2020
Down the drain into the world
Let the traumas begin
In my shadow
In my fears
I am sin
Integrate me
Or disassociate me
Sanity’s at stake
Read some Freud or Carl Jung
When you wake and bake
🙏
Traveler Tim
Traveler Oct 2020
Big Bang of aesthetics
Cognitive creative thoughts
The universe is expanding
With thee inertia of the god
........................................
Traveler Tim
pilgrims Sep 2020
Hunger hurts. I have hunger pains.
Last night in a dream I murdered my mother.
What to do with tenacious voracity?
Uncalm, I wait. Breathing.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
The drive is endless, perilous,
and being recorded for posterity,
because one planet
is no longer enough.

H.P. Lovecraft is at the wheel,
and we're looking at one thing
and not your mother.

That was a Freudian slip,
but not really surprising
since he's also along for the ride.

And when we get there
we'll scavenge for sovereignty
in the orange filter of hope.

Then a flag will mark
our demesne,
a spot defining both
pride & terror,
as it delivers a dose of ambition,
yet, reeks of future tyranny.

Pray our luck runs out along the way
or we run out of gas
or steam
or headway...

Then again, maybe we should
hope for the breast.
I mean best !
Freud's at it again.
Because one planet is no longer enough
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