"archetypes" poems
my darkest poems
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious
a well of torments
soup of Salmonella
the souls gut
its cauldron
yet not with out lurid enticements
and voluptuous supplicants
gorgeous
like an eight legged woman
with beautiful feet
drooling **** lips
drunk on sacrificial rituals
of blood black tongued kisses
and hideous contorted pleasures
********
once
exquisite archetypes
gods and goddesses
are now
putrefied
cellar dwellers
moaning in nature bed crypts
of rock, stone
and engraved sigils
because honest pure desires
became fragmentary
and are now gimping amputees
by legions of primal disappointment
while faces blare in the world
like super bright L.E.D.s
shinning paths to others
our deep self
remains patinaed in tears
a black box pox with a lock
the skeleton key lost
in arcane seas
out of utter disgust
for those dark crawlers
that live within us
revealing them selves
as anxieties, depressions
suicides
and myriad quiet despairs
we appear undaunted
to others
and they to us
humanity
muffled ticks
and splintered sticks
my poems let my demons out
yoo who its me
my name is spray snake z
with my hooks and cries
and dark blood skies
in the misty night
i dragged out their earthen coffins
legends of the despicable
resurrected them
fed and loved those darklings
had every conceivable union with them
their healing, my own
ive sexualized them
and found love
albeit twisted
to be adored
in a hidden embrace
i bestow upon you a poetic fantasy
while obsession takes hold
bind it not
nor let it bind you*
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
You are a leader ship
how I know this?
cause I'm a leader ship too
I can see the sinuous fibre of your very being
take a look
I bet you can see it too
we are borne of the earth and the stars
borne in the wind
there are four cardinal directions, N E S W, do not forget about the intermediary
be an intermediary ~ who wants to be a cardinal?
we need our leader ships following their own true north
2D - 3D -- 4D --- 5D ---------------------------- >
following the wormholes ... the aether
following certain signs and symbols
trust in divine feminine ... .. . .. ... masculine divine in trust
trust in masculine divine ... .. . .. ... divine feminine in trust
" 'It's all this!' He wrapped his finger in his fist; the car hugged the line straight and true." ~ Kerouac
Ship builders choose their timber mindfully
Be mindful with your archetypes, Noah!
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
I have the tenacity of Aries, and always live in my head
with the insatiable appetites of Taurus; **** do I love bread
I behold the powers of Gemini to be another person instead
and I’m such a Cancer on those days I’d just rather stay at home in bed
I have the heart of the lion like a proud Leo; mess with my loved ones and you’ll surely be dead!
I can be anxious like a Virgo; disarray is something I quite dread
and like a Libra I’m a romantic; though from many a lover I have fled
I’m intense like a Scorpio, **** me off and lightly you must tread…
like a fiery Sagittarius, my passion for life, it burns red!
The sun was in Capricorn when I was born; the sign of a lone wolf, no more about that need be said
Progressive and free spirited like Aquarius, for this I refuse to ever wed
and I've been known to be sensitive like a Pisces; oh the tears I have shed…
Together these archetypes make up who I am, thread by thread…
I am the Zodiac, right down to every drop of blood bled.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
The great dialectic remains between fate and free will.
I'm prepared to defend the notion that fate has a bigger hand
Without seeing into the future we are unable to change it
The forms textures chiaroscuros and chromes are painted into each of us as we descend into the world soul
and discover we are not merely posing cameos
directed by each other's projections
All souls are evocations,
layer upon layer of archetypes
each of them
prayers and yogas
all irreducible fluctious desires
voluptuous nymph or curmudgeon
hero or *****
As depth accumulates
we give each thing a name
we live and unfurl destiny
both good and evil
This fate already forged into our souls.
Only in destinies weaving finality,
even beyond the grave
are we melted down like snow in divine rays
of effulgent light, and pure spirit
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
title: not god, but his clock, will gnaw at us: that we are mortal, and agitated by a libido to continue, as to why the immortals find us so cosmic, for the worth of not exacting a better joke prescribed to other genus archetypes... whether the atheists believe in a blind-watchmaker is beside the point... the actual conjuring of the ultimate engineered thing will undo us... only the gods could have engineered time... space? they can't fathom space, the gods could only engineer time, but they couldn't engineer space: the cliche, think outside the box? even the gods know nought concerning this; and if there is only one god... he has been lodged into a letter: θ - a 1 inside a 0; the being already confined... even gods have limits beyond the stressor of supposed immortality... they can't engineer space... all they can engineer, is a transcendence of time... only mortals, men, can engineer the concept of space... hence nations, hence borders, hence differences, hence the concept of magnetism and repulsion... if gods engineered time, then men engineered space... as now, and forever, will remain so, the quest for a cosmic joke / clue.
it won't be the blind-watchmaker
who eats us up,
the the clock itself -
it will devour us,
it will gnaw our flesh toward
the bone,
and then with out bones
play an instrument
to glorify its procession down
the aisles of our endeavours
to express civility...
was there any to begin with?
our temporal anxiety, being mortals,
equates itself
with the spatial anxiety of the immortals
(gods).
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
Can we exchange dialogue
from master scripts too ten minute plays?
Inhaling every exhale from your line breaks
Prefixes soothing my ear drums
intellect holding suffixes.
Allowing your stories to take me too worlds
literature can’t reach.
Where archetypes are dynamic
antagonists don’t exist
and you’re the only character not flat.
Stasis starts situations
When you’re the intrusion
I follow all stage directions
put me inside your prepositions,
cover me in your verbs
let me hold your nouns
lay my head on your adverbs
and fall asleep to your adjectives.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
I am not the black sheep
I am not the odd duck
I am not the rebel child
I am not the prodigal daughter
Who am I then?
Well...that's a complicated question
I am not your archetypes or storylines
I am not your bad decisions or projections, your should-s
I am
I am what I will be
I am the technicolor, intergalactic unicorn
I am the pearlescent being of divine light
I am the Angel of Death of Dead Tradition
I am the she-Moses getting out of a desert of lies
I am
I am what I will be
Today, I am choosing
today, I am choosing to create me in lieu of inheriting "me"
Choosing well
choosing better
Choosing wiser
choosing more joyfully
Today, I am the randy interstellar unicorn
blazing a neon rainbow trail forward
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 4:22 AM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
I want to ask you what you know about yourself?
is it true that God doesn't know how he came about?
he claims he was always here
having no memory prior to his own existence
just like me
perhaps he has no memory at all
a Buddhist or Hindu
will tell you God only lives
in the ever-present now
a self-effulgent light that emanates from a great darkness
from a black mother,
she a vast formless womb
that takes up no space
who we westerners dare never speak of
the patriarchs may tell us
a truth that is a violation of the sacred
is a god a spoke of light deep within her?
archetypes,
**** and **** in love and war
like you and me
a perpetual delicious copulation casting the third eye
during an argument
In the beginning, there was primeval darkness
and she gave birth to light
and he is always everywhere within her
in ecstatic ******
like cherries in flames
their juices boiling oceans
all hot licks and *** soaked *****
a black sulfurous wave and a floating white swan
a howling crime and the remedy
a never-ending paradox
hissing snakes in love
a marriage of heaven and hell
a burdened breath
like a golden city under attack
in tuleries
of blood and glittering fruit
so i ask you what do you know about yourself?
living in this micro dream machine
like god
a creation that creates
by deeds
as trees that weave
and
rot to grieve
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
i love Satins *****
she means a lot to a bard
i hope shes a switch
but life can be hard
a satanist has class
and has a lot a will
and i love your sweet ***
and i work in Satan's mill
I know about archetypes
there my best friends
ive seen all there lights
and ive lived in their dens
thank god for the devil
hes been a hella good friend
i love you to hurt me
on that you may depend
a blade up my ***
ill shimmy and shake
and give you no sass
hope you want what you take
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
chin resting on two palms,
sprouting totemic archetypes
of good-evil.
watching this passing away...
this double take on: creation/
preservation/destruction.
how moved, how unmoved--
can one become?
one becomes.
scratch to scar the surface, and
existence won't wear signs of
struggle.
though wisdom kills indiscriminately.
your thunk betrayed you with a
breeze.
the latest, of a series of offensive odors.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
Through deep valleys she is walking, aware of
Shadow beings lurking in the dark
Archetypes and entities just waiting for their moment
To play a destructive part
But even in the dark nights of the soul she knows
There is but one path she can take
Picking herself up time and again and holding on to the torch
To light the way for those
who follow in her wake
© Jasmine, December 2014
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
A visit to the library,
And returning I opened the book
I’d waited for a long impatient month.
Knowing it to be brim full of inspirational words,
I had only to read a few paragraphs
When it came to me,
When there was this moment
Poets call epiphany.
Into another place, beyond the printed page, mysteriously I slipped. I think it’s where your creative spirit lives and thrives, a place your flowing thoughts reside. There, the energy of your spirit flashes in the dark, and there exists the archetypes of all your inward eye brings forth. There the marked surfaces carry the chemerical accident of objects placed and pressed, and there the passage of your sewing hand’s rich rightness of intuition guides. In tandem they touch me to the quick; they scare and scar me. And why? – I sense in them this vigor; a potency no less, strength so wholly absent from my declining store of sad objects and false fashionings.
And all that careful reasoning
I'd so variously composed,
badly articulated,
tiresomely presented
became then as nothing,
nothing against the truth
of what you make
and what I know you are.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
Fifty-percent illusion at any given time.
Your unintended muse will plead 'not guilty' to the crime
Of snatching back the quill and reshaping every line
into the role she wished to play
-- it seems the choice was never mine --
but the boy with the weighted wedding ring,
the self-appointed jury of the south;
him sheepish at the door with roses,
and the brute who owns this house.
Was it feminine mystique or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
A three-act structured tragedy.
All archetypes assigned.
"We've had this date since the beginning" --
if the part must be mine to play,
it is in my hands to manipulate.
Direct your blame to those who cast the roles.
Torn petticoat, blue piano;
flattered by the dimming glow --
oh, to be glossy pink and gold!
A trophy bride. A victor's prize.
(I snap awake and still see his eyes --
that ego swells him thrice my size --
with bruising force, he parts my thighs.)
Was it hysteria - madness? - or was I crystal clear
while you blocked your ears and pretended not to hear?
My fate was written for me,
in the frontal lobes of those who came before me:
down that narrative route, all bumps and troughs -- desire!
Fragments of an old Rossetti poem... o, vanity of vanities... the streetcar rattles and groans.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
Curses
Adverse current
And drifted out to sea
Refusing restriction
Determined to be me
Mothers and Fathers
Can Be
Disturbing shadows
And
Reversed archetypes
With a fallen crown
Come on wise one
Quit beating on the
Same drum
Of a familiar string
Continuously negative thoughts
Keeping you where
You don't want to be
If you can't think about
A
Situation
Differently
Physically leave
Use a different drum
To maintain the beat
Of that high flying disk
Positivity
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
Never sits still unless
he's passed out on the floor,
playful smile hides wise eyes
as his beard talks to us
after communion with a bottle of Jack
and rolling down the rabbit hole:
*We have been going before the beginning
It's not what you know but how you apply it
Ancient knowledge is knowledge now
We follow what is right for us
Everything was a miracle once
When **** is happening, it's ****
it's only not **** once it's happened already.
Everything is general,
what we do is specific.
We're fighting to get past so many archetypes and realities:
nature vs. nurture
fight vs. flight
yin vs. yang
Right vs. left
male vs. female
analytical vs. emotional
visual vs. verbal
majority vs. minority
experience vs. innocence
What's the point of distance
when you can see yourself on another plane of existence
and not simply see yourself consciously?
When you see yourself, who are you?
You know who you are because when you ask the universe
it will arrive in time!*
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
These thoughts and feelings
flowing through me
affecting
every aspect of my being.
My brain
receives and processes
the information
and then
reacts
No thought is needed
A highly functional automated algorithm
abiding by the learned lessons of interaction
and conditioning burnt into the once easily malleable
network of neurons that defines my personality
The heavy mask of logic and pride
so tightly wrapped
over the fabric of my true being
keeping me in this game
Yet
I chose to play
To identify
with this silly and burdensome sobriquet
To one day break free from the automated voice-mail
that responds apathetically to the glorified
archetypes, thought-forms, information
that originates from
God
creator of
signal and receiver
thought and mind
emotion and body
Once the original signal is found
a needle in a haystack
the mystery is opened
the opening of a book yet written
A beginning to all beginnings
An ending to all endings
this is you, here, now.
LIVE. BE.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 1:13 AM UTC
My talisman was destroyed
by a sorcerer, who, much annoyed,
bade me worship only him.
I worship not a lowly man
who lacks the power to understand
beauty beyond the realm of man.
Plato’s archetypes are real
in our creations and what we feel.
The innocence of childhood play
The setting sun at end of day
The work of every artist great
Brings me to a better fate
My talisman returned to me
Resurrected, in a different guise.
There is somewhere of no lies,
only adamantine ties.
Where love is indivisible from art
and only death tears us apart.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 1:44 AM UTC
You know, my love, that the worlds we have each created for ourselves
are galaxies apart.
Our language games are mutually untranslatable.
We never had a chance, my love. Even I know that.
We would never have been able to achieve an understanding of each other
deep enough
to overcome our fear of the unknown, (and utterly unknowable),
that we symbolize for each other.
The logical, brutally rational part of me knows that we could never have made each other happy.
So why must I, though you have been gone now for quite some time,
keep my mind on you all the time?
Why do I still feel this way, thinking about you every day?
And I don’t even know you.
I write this not to try to change anything.
I have lived long enough not to hold out for what cannot be.
Despite my unwanted, embarrassingly unrealistic romantic dreams from Hell,
well, not exactly Hell,
say, from the dark cave out of which fly the blind bats of activated archetypes,
inevitably,
we still would have had to face eternity, or the lack thereof, alone.
You are still looking forward to an eternal life with God and, I realize now that, ridiculously,
I still can’t stop dreaming of an earthly paradise with you.
Nasty business, my love, that we are each in love with an illusion.
What if we lived in a world in which our longed for illusions
were not just desperate self-delusion but pointed at some kind of Truth?
Do you think that would make us happy?
Isn’t it pretty to think so, my love? Isn’t it pretty to think so?
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
This is the most expensive poem I will ever write
It cost more than you know to burn this bright
I’ll be using abstract character and archetypes
Bits and pieces of brilliant bright lights
You’ll get your monies worth
Of rhymes and rhythms
You’ll tell your family and friends a new muse has risen
Treasures will fill the coffers of your spirit’s journey
A golden key twisting within your heart eternally turning!!!
Now that you’ve been paid….
Keep the change and have a beautiful day!
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 6:01 AM UTC
I dreamt of Freud yesterday
With his imposing air of superiority
Suffocating my need
To have a little autonomy
Libido and Thanatos
Runs past my mind in fast succession
Oedipus and Electra
Pauses the screen in motion
I dreamt of Jung today
Diving into the collective unconscious
Floating on the symbols
That is universally serendipitous
Archetypes and motifs
Flatter the culture of humanity
Anima and the persona
Sheds self unto the lights in harmony
I’ll dream of the future tomorrow
When everything’s all said and gone
The old will always be with the new
As written of past in stone
Though conflicts harbour trouble
And dreams reproduce it’s latency
Anxiousness is part of life’s bundle
So conquer it we must, positively
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
Through the whispers of a kiss,
Misguided video kite flying blissfully ignorant of this,
Double life tragedy,
An unreachable majesty,
Of first impression dissatisfaction and no love actually,
Or one who's too cute to fall for your imagery,
Sick of hearing soppy similes,
Sucker symbols and sentimental soliloquies,
Angels ate my face and gave me this grimace,
Dwelling with the devil's delinquents influenced my appearance,
Fallen archetypes of valor and prestige,
Resurrected by the words of the assassin's creed,
Memories are paintings hung up by despair,
As I drift in this blizzard taking in more cold air,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
Jungian archetypes dance on the strings of my consciousness,
they play rhythmic music inside the logic unit of my mind.
Some where deep in there a spirit wonders of it is the sum of its parts, bit more or a slave to my own biochemistry; Trapped inside the house of mirrors ever echoing the same.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC