"divinorum" poems
i think
i once read
salvador dalí
dreamed of worlds
full of divine creatures
that fell from the sky like
comets falling from the heavens.
and in his dreams, these creatures
appeared to be different from others.
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
to see the world. and although he attempted
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
many thought that he was a madman. many thought
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
dalí saw, and created, surrealism because there is no other way to see and create the world.
but dock ellis pitched his one and only no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
people probably thought dalí was viewing the world through drug-filled eyes,
i like to believe this is possible...if one believes in a world full of kings.
salvador dalí once claimed to be both an anarchist and a monarchist.
but if you see it, who are we to say it doesn't exist; who are we?
that he was seeing a world that didn't exist; that couldn't --
many thought that he was a madman. many thought
to create art so that others could see what he saw,
to see the world. and although he attempted
they reflected a new beauty, a new way
appeared to be different from others.
and in his dreams, these creatures
comets falling from the heavens.
that fell from the sky like
full of divine creatures
dreamed of worlds
salvador dalí
i once read
i think
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Inhale the burn, choke and splutter;
the walls sway, the roof descends.
Pass the vessel and cut the rafters;
the chair tilts, the table bends.
Exhale the fumes, laugh and mutter;
the floor shifts and window melts.
Spool back, slow down the pitter-patter
of those around; now talking faster.
Words whizz past, spill and clutter,
then echo round an empty chamber.
Retract a thought from lingering over
the tongue and through the closing shutters.
Rooms disperse and feelings clatter
with no impact on soft grey-matter
your brain swirls, and body disbands.
Through the barrel, **** the hammer;
pupils shrink and heartbeats race.
Fixated by a bold, young face
the grin widens, the wall moves near
and bubbles up in yellow blisters
wood-chip cheeks and cracking fissures
take flight and sober up halfway
through the bathroom window.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
if i were to be a patriarch of a religion,
rather than a random prophet of one,
i'd say muhammad is too much a
patriarch wanting his children to take revenge
rather than a solitary figure of being right,
but if i said that, i might say that:
well, you want to join my religious
ambition, you'd be initiated aged 21,
inhaling the sage of the diviners (salvia
divinorum), suffered a brain haemorrhage
and continued... not the **** easy
sprinkle of baptismal water on your babe
forehead... no you'd be dead...
don't bother... esp. with your heart broken
by the one who lied to you about its effects
being akin to l.c.d. beneficial by an ex
russian girlfriend... it's not about starting a
new religion, it's about one enduring...
aged 21... surviving a brain haemorrhage and
heartbreak when lied to by a friend...
survive that... you become a friend...
but don't bother... as i've attested 9 years later
with a poem like this one;
too much ridicule from christians asserting
a perfect society they constructed worthy of
an export to places where despotism actually works...
because there aren't enough people
wanting to be pyramidally showing their
identity of goo goo dolls... among the shouts
of american head charge's rock 'n' roll ******
of patti smith.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
*in salvia divinorum
in sage
in palo santo and in prayers
in copal and frankincense
in sweeps of the air
in magical passes
in hours of concentration
in mindless arithmetic
in mental gymnastics
in solitary confinement
in long stretches of time
in short walks and long talks
in cafes and picnics in the park
i hear your voice and see your face
i speak traces of your eloquence
and revisit all your names
deaf as a hummingbird in spaces of the heart
i am a colibri and will surely find my art*
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
Meshed into the cosmic fodder.
Torn and strewn; universal lard.
Maybe this is dying...
Oh hi, Moirai!
This pendulating plane,
circumambulating
understanding.
An existential game,
I didn't know how to play.
Went back for round two,
Just to test the subjectivity.
At first I was astounded
By the sheer volume of mystery.
You crushed, you pulled,
You played me for a fool.
All the while, mocking me
Like some bully at school.
Oh hi, Moirai!
No need to hide or disguise.
My eyes are open wide, now.
I'll no longer try to slide out.
Ever since I stepped into this
Buffer between the gross and divine.
Nothing has been the same (lol).
I walk the middle line.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC