"hallucinates" poems
In some sense is our identity at stake?
Is friendship a relationship of knowledge, self knowledge, or has it to do with the imaginary, meaning in some sense who we are is imaginary, and we just construct ourselves through other people..? are we knowing the other, or producing ourselves in that relation through our continuous phases of knowing ? 'Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.' Maybe friendship is an imaginative task that has to then meet reality in some way- as a child hallucinates first what they might be, we have to own who we are first, own ourselves, and then meet reality so we can land somewhere- so that it becomes real, in order to own it, so that we can take part in life.
FRIENDSHIP – fragility of friendship
Is any friendship real?
What is real friendship?
Sincerity, genuine concern, legit interest
–
Friendship is
everything and fleeting at the same time
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.
Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '
You are not deceived.
In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.
On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.
In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.
Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
*Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.*
When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.
*"Have you considered being a *** worker?"*
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".*
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Bluebell Lucy danced in fantastic flames, taught by shamanic figures
when the winter nights grew tiresome
and lonely boys ran passionately in village streets
She stood on ancient structures and sang her song with uttermost vigor
even after mild paranoia sets in, she stands statuesque
breathing harmonic, listening intently to the cloud's chatter
Her cobalt lashes flickered adroitly when she scanned the sky atop her locks
and let the coming rains wash through that azure mane
until the kiss of eternal gratitude arrived from a stray bird
On cobble stone paving, her heels were worn and dampened, she nimbly strides
how beautiful it is to see a spirit so free
and the obstinate world yields to her alone
Loosely, Lucy with a cerulean aura, gathers the injured and feral in alabaster arms
she is yagé and the world hallucinates because of her
a subtle enlightenment she gives to onlookers and thieves
Camu Camu sprouting from the wells she digs with bare hands in midnight moonlight
her compatriots, the beasts of lost tribes, look onwards
and she wails a verse on hemerocallis singular sensation
The flower that she is, a wild one that grows sporadically to enhance the beauty of existence
and everybody incomprehensible in thoughts when she speaks
because she is love when love had died so many suns ago
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
one of my friends is adored by everyone he knows
the kind of kid who smiles all the time
who can always make anyone laugh
always has something motivational and upbeat to say or sing
once we were sitting in English class
talking about change
and it was quiet between us for a minute
so I said
watching people die is hard
and he said
yeah, it is
and I didn't tell him about my grandfather
who had cancer and died in my house a week later
or my grandmother
who lost her mind eight years ago and slowly deteriorates each day
or my aunt
who had her first open-heart surgery when she was fifteen
and is now a bloated skeleton who lingers in wheelchairs
and doesn't sleep and hallucinates
or my second cousin
who only knows all the "wrong" sorts of people
or my friend
who is breaking slowly, who I cannot fix
I didn't tell him because I'd never heard three simple words like that
overflowing with so much empathy
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 5:31 AM UTC
A yellowing leaf,
Meditating on
never ending "AUM",
the boom created by
mountain winds
incessantly blow,
happily hallucinates
a world altogether new
somewhere, not ever known.
Persuasions of a breeze,
with the caressing words of a Guru
makes it gently let go the branch
and bravely claim freedom
from the grief bequeathed for life,
a pain, constant reminder
of transience of life--
From the low hanging branch
of a fig tree on a wintry hill,
the leaf somersaults to a valley below
painted in psychedelic colors,
a territory unknown
It's
falling
falling
falling
to
what it thought
a
sea
of
o b l i v i o n
But
in amazement find, the sea is all-knowing
absolute--------consciousness------------bliss
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Sky hallucinates
a momentary purple;
silhouetting crowns
of the Sycamores hitherto
melded in tenebrous night.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
Dear Little Ana,
Her mother is dead.
She hallucinates her
Walking around the head
of her bed.
Dear Little Ana,
Hated her father.
That is why
She poisoned his water.
Dear Little Ana,
has no one to love her,
only her sisters
& mute grandmother.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
a song bird,
credulous and young
in a summer morn,
at the height of his
musical expression,
got in a flow
where the singer and the song
merges in to one.
getting enamored by the lilt
of his own song
he hallucinates that it is another
just like him, a female,
and in the frenzy to find her at once,
circles, the orange tree branch
on which he sat and sung,
unaware that it is
futile to search for oneself
somewhere else, like most of us
o
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 7:38 AM UTC
So I would like to take a rest.
Because my hands are swollen
from writing your name
over and over and over again.
Because my eyes forgot how to blink
whenever I see you buy coffee
in that cafe along 7th street.
Because my ears only hear
your deep voice
and triggers the fault lines in my body
waiting to attack like an earthquake
and cause major damages including butterflies, no, dinosaurs in my stomach.
Because my nose hallucinates your smell.
Because my lips long to call you all day,
all night, every hour of my life.
My senses go crazy and becomes uncoordinated.
My knees go weaker and I can't move but still smile like an idiot at the thought of your being.
You make my head spin
and you make my heart twirl
like a circus girl.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
I grew weary of the world around me,
for it deceives me time and time again.
How do I know i'm not a prisoner,
out of desperation,
hallucinates he's at home,
cosy in bed, with
nice warm soup at the desk,
waiting for his master to devour it dead.
How do I know I'm not sleeping,
and this is a all a dream.
I could be a King,
under a spell casted by the devil,
fogging my vision from god.
I can't look back now,
and have to move forward,
discovering the truth,
a task too urgent to be discarded.
Braving through this nightmare,
kudos to those made it through.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 10:36 AM UTC
dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the season strums free,
with death on our tongues
and snaking amidst our feet,
we can see we really need
no other,
make a sacrifice to me,
you're a wooden doll,
and I, a chipper boy
swollen with danger--
the black birds
confetti fall and veil
our skeletal frames--
the smoking guns,
the sour milk,
and the obese worms
call out to us--
dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the vibrance hallucinates
a crucifix,
a caricature,
a christmas,
your bony fingers
feel fine
against the sockets
of my crimes--
I'm hardly alive
and
that's so encouraging--
the end
perpetually nigh,
the future stumbles blind,
you're a wooden doll,
I'm your match--
let's stoke the night
burn and beacon
until the flies
blare the buzz.
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
Never I forget
what is precious than air
Never I forget
what is close to my heart
And, the last words
Hallucinates inside my head
“Forget me”,
What, she said.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
When it gets late and the hallucinations kick in,
my eyes start to pin
and it looks like I'm back on
that old fool ******
Believe me
looks can deceive.
I am old and tagged with the brown paper bags
of my youth,
where truth was the dare you took and some like me
dared to look into
Pandora's box,
locked again with the key which only I can set free
she
waits
perhaps hallucinates too
thinking of me while I am
thinking of you.
The pictures go on until the long night has gone and I rest,she
knocks on the box but it's best that I sleep,
she will keep in my deepness
sleepless and waiting.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
I'll cry a little dream for you
And wish on stars that can't escape black holes
I'll love the way you fall
As I light a candle just to put it out
I'll see you in strangers on the street
As my mind hallucinates
I'll burn my crooked fingers
Trying only to hold misguided fire
I'll take pot-shots at the moon
Trying to **** it
And then I'll blame myself
When its there again tomorrow night
I'll see all the beauty
And feel its not meant for me
I'll feel all the pain
Of the thousand men who loved you before
I'll look at my skin
And only see marks you've left on me
I'll be selfish
When I don't deserve a thing
I'll start to see
It was never about me anyways
Feeding all my love to a void
Just trying to feel
Like it could be
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
father
son
I saw them ****
out of hunger
the angel
could prepare
angel
-
it is wholly birdlike
the thought
that brings oil
to god
-
the sleeping alien
is not without
its headless
astronaut (the first thing
-
one sees
hallucinates
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Your voice in a morning sunshine hallucinates every **** inside me;
it's like a drug that keeps me both sane and high
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
this world
my world
is filled with hope
gooey eyes
look up and beyond
with a hurtful yearning
searching for the unseen
and the unimaginable
grasping every
last
sliver
of what
might be
the weakened mind
hallucinates
sways to the beat of
a drum
only heard
by one
and when rested eyes
spring open
the hope
the positiveness
is desperately
forcing it's way
through
to show the world
how happy
one can be
although within a slowly beating heart
the truth is heard
and felt.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
Heaven hallucinates me
Heaven of the inadvertent utopia
The sacks of anonymous pleasure
Piled over the funerals of euphoria
Heaven hallucinate me
Heaven in the invisible grain of sand
In the spattering of silvery raindrops
Banging my top vacant storey
Bursting my heart as bombs
Heaven hallucinate me
When that poor ragpicker wears a smile
When gloomy darkness starves for glittering light
The warm hugs of sun
The recreation of nature
Heaven for which I dreamt for
This isn't hallucination
I'm..I'm truly in heaven..
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
Today I sit and think about words. They are hesitant.
I am at a deficit of emotions to harness and understand.
Other poets ring true and sound curious.
Is it so difficult? A plane sounds overhead. Maybe
passing my thoughts in those clouds, full of rain and
judgement. A bolt of lighting could strike at any moment
and threaten the serenity of which my mind hallucinates.
Opaque skies of grey
Wounded thoughts mix with raindrops.
A storm approaches
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 11:34 PM UTC