#blahblahblah
The problem is: everyone wants their poetry in axiom,
Their concepts digestible,
But, if you're asking me,
That's ******* detestable..
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 3:58 PM UTC
I'm sorry
the listening bucket is overflowing
please stop talking
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
most instances when i initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
and madly scratching itchy hairs
dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo
hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby a generic home
er run (hitting) mill
(on the floss sing false teeth)
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy Joe,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea
(Egg heads, merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst of tangential thread populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),
trucked since time immemorial
inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate
coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. **
Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile
self determining tour de force
whereat fingers of the lefthand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expended leaves (of grass)
finds me Walt sing whit man nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
I wonder what you’d call it,
it as in this this life this waking dream,
this moment in time where feel we feel like we’re fallin’,
this feeling that we are everything,
how have you been,
how will you be,
stumbling around in my own cloud,
until I rain upon the sea,
sea,
we humans are messed up,
but it’s a beautiful chaos,
and that’s why I don’t give up,
live up,
to no one’s exceptions,
exceed all preconceived notions,
of what it means to make it,
I don’t call the enemy’s camp Hate,
even when it’s full of Haters,
this is a Love campaign,
it is not a status,
see I call the enemy,
The Darkness of Ignorance,
which is the opposite of Illuminati,
which is lit up in brilliance,
none of this is happenstance,
none of this is randomness,
there is an equation,
which add up to all of this,
this,
this,
this I don’t know what to call it,
this as in it,
I wonder what you’d call it,
it as in this this life this waking dream,
this moment in time where feel we feel like we’re fallin’,
this feeling that we are everything…
∆ LaLux ∆
The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
**Old Habits die heard,
Good Morals live long,
if it’s written it’s poem,
if it’s sang it’s song,
hold strong,
at the same time be ready to let go,
can’t escape our own cliches,
no matter how far we go,
see how the rhythm written is a dancer with no answers from the Muse,
well imagine the passion of being trapped in something as strong as you,
hold strong,
at the same time be ready to let go,
can’t escape our own cliches,
no matter how far we go,
and we go,
from the ends of the Earth,
to the beginning of this New World...
-from THHT Vol. 3
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆**
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
Thoughts like cobwebs float on streams of consciousness
Looking for a solid theme to land on.
Statements ricochet across the voids of understanding
And bounce off walls of inattention.
Comments sidle under and around the focus of discussion
To hide in disparate agendas.
Declarations skid on slippery reasoning and crash
Into thick barriers of resistance.
Decisions leap frog over moving clock hands
And we all get up and rush away from doing nothing.
Meeting is adjoured.
ljm
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:45 PM UTC
Theres no use in pretending that I don’t think of you often.
But there isn’t any use in telling you if you don’t feel anymore.
I have no words to say other than
“Please, don’t do this.”
But i will swallow them and say
“Hello, whats your name?”
Your absence is everywhere,
in strangers that have done me no harm.
God gave you a common name,
so that I could choke every time
I meet with it again.
I need to know that I will find better,
but tonight I’ll find home in the middle of a hurricane.
A hurricane
with
a
common
name.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
I am no Edgar Allen Poe
or Robert Frost
I cannot spin my feelings
into a beautiful poetic symphony for you
I can only be honest and true to what I think
I have always thought you were the most beautiful one in any room
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
black carbon paper lips
peyote nothing to eat
lord made em sick
prayed to jesus in a backseat
after birth behemoth's armpit
the end.
the end
the end
the end is near
white flags folded in memoriam
klansmen's hoods
bartered goods for gunpowder
kinds who werent designed
for human eyes to see
cause see son
their light is blinding.
they sleep
when the sun is shining
lying in a field of drug flowers.
hugs for smokes & hot showers.
what's the headcount.
man I was done yesterday.
I'm sitting here suffocating
numb to the new world
attitude & outcome
smothered in
carnal crimson summer
not for money or love or
anything or anyone.
I'm just sitting here
burning under the moon
thinking about alpha omega
& who took it upon themselves
to leave out the in-betweens.
godless heathens.
screechy gospel
that goes on for days
straight trip no stops.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
My heart is empty.
It once thrived but once it's residents no longer needed it,
My heart became deserted.
A few scars and remembrances of a time long gone still remain.
You would not find a single soul though.
My heart was used for what it was worth
And then abandoned.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
*
She ached for identity like a lover for their flame
but lay despairing and dejected
When she couldn’t find her name.
*
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I hit the button before I start
Not so clouded I can't see it for what it is
But knowing I'll want to continue
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
If only you were chocolate
you could make my stomach ache
If only you were tea
you could burn my hands as they shake.
If only you were empty like the big old ocean
I could laugh: "There's nothing to see,"
a pleasant conclusion.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
poetry
it is the way the pen taps at an anxious hand
waiting for the words to catch up to emotions
your head unscrewed at the top
your thoughts dribbling down your cheeks
in droplets onto paper
ink flows with ease
when flowers blossom in your mind
reaching their way through your chest
or
when your heart is clenched so tightly
to keep from shattering
i sit here empty
sunken eyes
cracked fingers trace paper
and i am uncomfortably numb
evil has looked back at me
razors down my back
i’ve felt the sun on my mind
a heart of healed cracks
i cursed the past
tried something new
and i managed somehow to live
without holding you
tonight simply i’m nothing
blank as the page before me
i hope that soon
the universe hands me
a bouquet of life
a handful of seeds
that i can plant as new thoughts
i need something
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC