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Brycical Jun 2014
Connecting,
tribes on the cusp--
the lost family...
merging thought patterns
of old & new paradigms
into a geometric shipibo song
singing in moonlit sky,
smoke gray mauve clouds
are painted into the frozen lake background.

We paint
a new paradise--
together
at the table
on a sacred indigo candlelit map map
for people to set sail
on their journey through the seas of skies of their minds
guiding familiar souls
to speak their treasure light again.

We are the Indigo Pilgrims,
soul brothers reunited
after the frozen season thaws,
pushing on toward the place
where mind-flowers commence their bloom
as herb and sage slowly burns throughout the day
as the smoke dotes across the landscape
like dancing hieroglyphic clouds.
this poem is a sequel to this poem... perhaps there will be more adventures at the table...
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/461394/we-arrived-at-the-perfect-time/
Dr Mike OConnell May 2014
Brian Patrick

Plodding, trudging, slogging through the reeds
Praying for death or at the very least – rescue
Sweat and muck mingle as one
Sliding down my face and pouring over my body

Why me? I have no repair
Looking behind; not a human in sight
The arrows fly by whizzing in the dark
Into the mud I go – fearful

The light in the distance beckons
My limbs giving way to the weight
The rope catches my  neck and tightens
Into the Chart House dragged to no avail

My captors start the endless mindless dance
I am at the beginning of my long goodbye
Dare I give them the dark secret they desire
Never, never …
… the blood trickles down my ***** neck.
© 2014 Brian Patrick
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I drank the alcohol, expecting something.
boy was I let down, when I got nothing.
No silly laughter, or grand horror story.
No youtube video, or easy talk for me.
Just a headache or two and a feeling of suffocation.
Just a scolding from people, and a dizzy sensation.
The bottle looked nice, and tv shows made it seem fun,
but after 3 gulps, I just felt like a street ***.
So I said goodbye to armpit beer,
and I assure no rose wine here.
*** is for pirates,
much too complicated for me.
I'm done with heartache alcohol,
as you can plainly see.
How do people even get addicted to that nasty stuff?
Brycical Mar 2014
Smoke tokes out of the monkey's head, embers embellish empathic light enlightening gypsy nymphs from miles around, a glowing lighthouse haven heaven in nirvana massages lavender bubbles upon pores restoring strength to warriors of the rainbow tribe."

Wind rustles with us...

Stay grounded, you're found before you're even lost. Some get tossed and turned by the sea, but a smooth one never created a skilled pirate with third-eye versatile switch-blade heartbeat ink scribed on blood-vessel maps, following the soul tattoos and taboo time scars along with the azurite lightning stars shooting in our brain.*

Time stops sometimes...

Seasons change DNA re-arranges as we grow goin' with our own flow down the subconscious ocean, sometimes watchin' sunsets into a haze of sweet *** sweat and green cigarette peacetime sufi twirling our conscious to the north star crown chakra.

**Love is. Always.

— The End —