#monomyth
Je ne sais quoi
Yeah,
she don't got it no more.
They aborted it from her
when they sold her the
the false perfection elixir
that soul'd her out
Hook, line, and sink her
gut her,
fillet her.
Ctrl-alt-del the fetus,
the sacrifice of the inner-child.
Molested into the machinery of Moloch
He butchered
the absolute heart
of the poem of life
out of her body.
She stands naked
goddess-less
kicked into the prison pit
of existence
Now she's like everybody.
She's nobody.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Manic Pixie Dream Girl,
I'm sorry I slaughtered
Your sweet-heart
You tasted like
electro-magnetism
when I pulled
the sword from inside you
like ******* symbolism
In an anti-synchronistic
fashion
I lured you in
Led you on and
broke the law
of attraction
It was supposed to slay the dragon
not the anima
All you wanted was
to make me feel alive
without drugs.
I gave into temptation
And let the patriarchal door
Of oppression
Smack your ***
on the way out
The fire of my *****
went to my head
And I killed chivalry dead
Long live debauchery
You just wanted to be
the light of my life
Now it's the shadow
And I
******* in light
of your bloodshed.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart
But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?
They are rooted within:
your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices
Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us
Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand
And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)
Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum
If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?
I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling
As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?
Let me attempt to describe mine:
Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi
Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology
For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
reject when you're different
try to fit in
the mantra that is spoken
in rooms of our youth
look at life
from outside in
turn from old notions
to your own motions
mirrors show a face
the world does not see
like the soul's reflection is not reality
it’s an image of who you want to be
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
young run free
within boundaries
if escape seems possible
would fear allow it
fantasy’s the window
you know is not the door
finding that is easy
stop looking for it
don’t leave yet
look around some
scenery is different
seen from outside
once free of youth’s
forced fences
you find some built
on your own
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC