"joplin" poems
There is a hole in the world
All the doors are painted
a shade of liars faces
their colors while arriving
are also fading
but we are still here..
Where corroding slats of
63 year old wood
sound like the screams
echoing across
the crumbling pages of days
burnt yellow beneath the
fire of eyes
The purple pouring through unseen waves in the dusk sky as Janis joplin sang gray star clouds
into my heart
she sewed my wounds
with the ash of
of bodies adrift of lovers
living only in the mirage
air disguised
as smiles everlasting
glass of the
empty kind of love that lies,
and never breathes
yet forever dies
dreams devour you with
tears remembering the terror
in Janis's eyes,
she poured herself out
across the floor of the perishing world
while performing
"work me lord"
"live at stockholm 69'"
to the dark,
we were never there
we were born
into hands that were dying
we breathed our last breath of freedom-
then we were born,
It was then that
I heard the darkness cry.
we are dying..
because we have forgotten
the free gift given,
our lightless bones
loose around the spine
of every bolt we never knew,
strengthened our stance against
the murderous long night.
Choosing blindness,
over looking without sight,
The invisible mountain,
that breathed in our corroding
dusty hearts,
weilding love
against the demons behind
our mirror eyes..
Refusing to call his name..
we have lived for each one of us
just for ourselves ("selflove")
so it is this then,
we have sold
our freedom
to the lie
named death.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 2:42 AM UTC
I had Joe Willie from jump. The Jets were off the chain
Baltimore benched Johnny U cause he knew the game. And played it too.
The AFL was full of bells and whistles.Speed kills
Three yards and a cloud of dust. Get real coach. We shootin rockets to da moon. High tops . Cmon pops.
Change the guard.
Them people ain't done nothing to me said Ali.
Da Nang ain't my thang. He was the greatest. Still is.
The Haight was great. Oh yeah Kent STATE.
1968. Open the gate to the house of the rising sun.
Joplin. And Jimmy. Marvin and Tammy.
The Doors and Hair. ****** in the air
What rhymes with Agent Orange...... Nothing.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
I frequent a little taco stand
Every time that I'm out west
With Elvis behind the counter
Dressed in his leathers best
Janice Joplin doing dishes
With Southern Comfort breath
Arguing with fry cook Jim Morrison
Over the best way of cheating death
Jimi Hendrix works the tables
That they have set up out front
Recommending the mushroom taco
With the psychedelic crunch
Marilyn Monroe...the entertainment
Nightly serenades the gents
While wearing here favorite T-shirt
Bobby Kennedy for president
I highly recommend the little taco stand
If you ever find yourself out West
Who's going to show up to take your order that day
Could be anybody's guess
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
You're so beautiful darling,
your words can move mountains even when you think
they can't touch an anthill.
You are a rebel with a cause and the cause is me.
You are Janis Joplin in the evening, without the ******
"Darling, I love you"
"I love you, darling" and there was no need to say "too"
Three words were enough to throw a curveball in a hockey rink,
to ride horses in a car race, to love someone at night
and even more in the morning.
You are an earthquake, I know you'll break my heart but I welcome it.
It would be such an honor to be broken by you.
You are my guilty pleasure and all of my proud ones.
I want to tattoo you on my skin in places only I can see
so that every time I take off my sweater and my tshirt and everything
masking my scars and tree rings of age, I will always be surprised to find you.
I want to hold you in the crevice of my elbow like a baby and never ever let you go.
Darling, you're a willow tree that I write poems under.
In the most poetic way, I found you in hallways, always.
In my high school where I hid in the bathrooms, Jane loves John
and everything else scribbled in hearts in bad ninth grade writing.
I found you there. I find you here, in my heart.
You are filled with blood, you are 72% water that I would gladly drown in.
I think if I kissed you you'd poison me with your lips.
You are the forked tongue of desire.
I want to talk to you about dreams, I want to be your sweetest nightmare.
I don't want you to question reality but if you do, think you're lucid dreaming.
Because I want you to want me around; even when you're sleeping.
You are 2am with the lights on and the music loud.
You are a five hour time difference dancing inside of me like a storm.
If my knees wouldn't give out, I would run to you.
And when they did, I would crawl to you.
My hands scraped from debris from car crashes, you are electric.
You are heat lightning. You give me flashes of hope on a humid day.
You are a winter breeze through a cracked window in all of the glorious ways that could be glorious.
I will whisper to you that I don't know why I'm whispering,
there is nobody home, "I love you" sounds better in hushed tones.
You're so beautiful, Darling.
The prettiest pictures you'll ever take will be self-portraits.
Don't argue with me, I know you're stubborn.
It's written in the stars.
You can move me like a mountain or an anthill
because your strength is a blood diamond permanently placed on my left hand.
I did, I do, I will.
You are forever.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
I frequent a little taco stand
Every time I'm out in the Mid-West
With Elvis behind the counter
Dressed in his leather best
Janice Joplin doing the dishes
With enchilada breath
Arguing with the fry cook Jim Morrison
Over the best way of cheating death
Jimi Hendrix works the tables
That they have set up out front
Recommending the mushroom taco
With the psychedelic crunch
Marilyn Monroe...the entertainment
Nightly serenades the gents
Wearing her favorite T-shirt
Bobby Kennedy for president
I highly recommend the little taco stand
If you ever find yourself out West
Who's going to show up to take your order that day
Could be anybody's guess...
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
my favourite song is sail to the moon live by radiohead and when he replied that it was his as well I was overwhelmed
we layed together and let the haunting phonics echo through your room
uninterrupted
I pressed my head to your chest and let your heart beat sync with the sound
two days later you told me you loved me and I was astounded when I heard the same words fall from my lips
I fell asleep listening to radiohead my head on the pillow and my heart in your hands
everyone warns you about heartbreak
They say that young love never lasts
and while they may be right I ask
Myself why I was never warned of the danger of a different kind of fracture
You broke my taste in music you ****
Teenage relationships don't generally end in divorces but the forces were at play and it ended anyway
Nobody worries about who walks away with the songs you've loved since childhood
Like Bono was my dude but you loved Beautiful Day so now we're not on good terms
Like Real People Do was the jam but you ruined it man
Why did I have to talk to you about music,
Janis Joplin, was poppin and Bob Dylan was killin but I told you all about it and now I'm not about it
the opening bars of sail to the moon rip me in open
and while we didnt have children I'm the short amount of time that we were living
In each other's embrace
music was our offspring and someone should have warned me about this thing where you aren't supposed to overshare
and though I have many questions about why it ended, why it's still going on, the biggest are why I told you my favourite song
and after the pseudo divorce
Who the hell gets custody of radiohead??
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist
she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights
she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
If I could pick the menu,
I'd choose a tasty appetizer of Hendrix pituitary,
& a huge salad covered with Joplin cortex.
Plant's gray matter for the main course,
sides of Jaggar & Morrison stems,
along with a bottle of Springsteen spinal fluid.
I'd definitely have to order
an ample sweet-portion
of Daltrey thalamus
& sprinkle it with some Cobain lobes.
A shot of John's cranium
with a nightcap of Townsend cerebellum
would surely hit the spot.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Stepping out of the February cold, Janie removes her wool scarf as the bus door closes behind her.
Route E-2, Westbound.
She shuffles down the bus toward her usual seat; second from the back, left side. The driver starts the bus and from her seat Janie can hear him singing along to “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. The bus is always empty this late and if there ever is anyone else aboard it’s better not to converse. Safer that way.
The brown pleather seat in front of her is peeling towards the top. Janie leans forward and idly picks at the scab-like dangles of brown as she watches out the foggy window. She idly picks and peels until she feels her hands wetted, cold. Looking down, they are covered in blood and mud.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” She whispers, wiping her hands on her scarf. She continues to peel back the leather and a trickle of deep red begins to run from the seat back, clumps of mud slowly falling too. Then, she sees the white of a bone. The bus turns right.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Dead people are no doubt bored, so I'm sure these folks would be happy for free food and conversation. Of course, this is just a partial list, subject to addition and deletion. Feel free to add your own in comments.
Buddha, but a light lunch.
Jesus, but kosher of course.
****** come on, who wouldn't.
James Joyce, just to mock him.
George Washington, to try to catch him in a lie.
Hemingway, but just for drinks.
Reagan, to deliver some Depends.
Bakunin, for mutual aid.
William Butler, my ancestor who survived The Wheatfield at Gettysburg.
Audrey Hepburn, but a date, not lunch.
Ingmar Bergman, just to cheer me up.
Ervin Schrödinger, about that cat.
Shakespeare, because I've always wanted to meet an extra-terrestrial.
Ezra Pound, to tell him he was right about usury.
God, to let her know how disappointed I am.
Richard Nixon, so I could drive a stake through his heart.
Julia Child, just to hear her voice again.
Lenin, because he was a self-starter.
Mozart, because he would be fun.
Emma Goldman, to dance.
James Dean, as we look so much alike.
Janis Joplin, because I might get lucky.
Come on, I'm sure you can add to the list. Don't be shy, try.
mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
A bullet
so small and strong
struck right where
my lungs met.
Embedded itself
this insult of occult
fake tidings riding on
elitist snobby attitudes.
A bullet
or was it an insult?
Either way, I am plummeting
towards humiliation street
with my tail between my legs.
A bullet
was that woman's sharp words
cutting through my skin
like a paper cut gone berserk.
She was a joplin spider
stuck in a ditch
and I should have
smashed her spindly
weak legged body
under my heavy black boots
creating an ugly stain
that looks like gunpowder
or left over oil
spilled over
with the utmost disrespect.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
My guru skinnydips in multi-colored waterbeds.
Listen!
A pop festival blows bubbles in free flashbacks.
Dig it, brother!
John Lennon overdoses on the agony of paisley bellbottoms.
Will the Grateful Dead give shotguns with laid back madness?
Eric Clapton quivers in Janis Joplin's windowpane.
Oh, how Timothy Leary plays lead with strung out drug busts!
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
I listen to male artists,
Men who remind me of my father,
And his pain,
And my pain.
I imagine they sing to me,
Protect me,
Love me,
Give me all I've never been given before,
Everything I was supposed to feel,
Everything that was supposed to show me how people work.
I listen to deep, strained voices and reflect,
Connect to things I’ll never experience.
Men are angry,
Worthy of their feelings,
Allowed to unleash their rage in screams and electric guitars and unnecessarily loud drum solos.
I listen to music sung by men,
But I also listen to Stevie Nicks,
Joni Mitchell,
Janis Joplin,
Joan Baez,
Even Dolly Parton.
Hell, even Olivia Rodrigo.
I listen to women who are angry,
Angry and still women,
Surviving through agony and still women,
“Leather and lace,”
Black clothes and black makeup,
Singing about beauty and moonlight and darkness,
Female rage.
I don't have to be at peace to be a woman,
I don't have to be happy to be a woman,
I don't have to be pretty to be a woman,
You don’t have to like me for me to still be a woman.
Let me be angry,
Let me feel pain,
Let me be lost,
Let me like the darkness,
Let me find comfort in the night,
Let me chase impossible dreams and impossible feelings,
Let me feel everything I feel.
Women are put in a box of emotions,
Too sensitive,
Too dramatic,
Too simple.
I am not sensitive or dramatic or simple,
Don't put me in that box,
Don’t tell me what I am,
Don’t tell me how to feel,
Don’t tell me what my feelings mean,
What they make me,
Don’t project your weakness onto me,
I am not weak,
I am not weak,
I am not weak.
Let me be raw and witchy and honest,
Let me be intelligent and intuitive,
Let me see more than you'll ever see in the world,
Let me be frustrated and misunderstood and just a little too loud,
Let me be a woman,
Let me be me the way I should be.
Feb 11, 2024
Feb 11, 2024 at 3:42 PM UTC
Turning up and down in the wind-every single crane I folded
On the seventeenth day of the fifth month
I took you to go see the gardens
To see the orchids bloom
White Purple and blue
Hanging leaves
Trees like statues on a night without wind
The ghost festival
It was dark in the perfumed gardens
Velvet purple sky
We sat and listened to the far off music
The sound of drums
Traveling along the gurgling river
Sitting down on the edge of a rock
You were laughing and smoking one of my cigarettes
Those wisps of smoke curling around
And the flick flick of your ash on a rock
You thought you were so cool sitting there like Joplin, all strung out and white looking like Courtney love
Your knee high socks
Are smeared in mud and pollen
Just then the music all stopped at the festival down the river
Except for some lone flute playing a haunting other-worldy melody
As we sat looking on the calm purple waters
The children and old women took small paper boats with candles inside
The mothers and the fathers
The sisters and cousins Uncles and brothers
All knee deep in the darkened waters
Pushing those small glowing ships down the river
Leading all those lost souls and spirits
The ghosts of this year's dead flowing out to sea
Like a fleet of stars they slowly drifted
Water reflecting the hundreds of candles
That crescent moon looked so right above the spirits
I watched them clear the bend
- Without taking a breath-
Until you laughed and flicked your cigarette **** into the still water
Ripples of moonlight
Talking about yourself in the dark
Somewhere down the river the music started again
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
It was quite evident as a teenager , drawing Boston's guitar shaped space ship on the back of an English book , playing the opening riff to Smoke on the Water with a broomstick
Hiding in the closet , listening to Kiss's first album , singing in front of the mirror to REO Speedwagon
Bad Company on the eight track in my '63 Ford Falcon , taking a Guess Who album to show and tell in Kindergarten
Reciting every lyric on Three Dog Night albums , Foreigner turned up so loud that the windows would ratttle !
Learning Free songs note by note on the guitar , playing Born to be Wild like I was on a World Tour
My heroes are Page , Scholz , Perry and Geddy Lee ! Soundgarden , Alice in Chains , Mott the Hoople and Queen
Jimi Hendrix bringing his Strat to life , Eddie's blistering fretwork !
Crosby , Stills and Nash , three part Angelic vocal harmonies , Ronnie James Dio wailing like a banshee !
A Gibson through a Marshall , A Fender through a Vox , a Tele through a Peavey , a Rickenbacker through an Orange !
Jim Morrison turning poetry into song , Elton John baring his soul through the piano
Eddie Vedder in a trance on stage , Anne Wilson crying out in pain , Layne Staley raising the hairs on the back of your neck , the reassuring voices of McCartney and Lennon , every musical note committed to paper by George Harrison
Chris Cornell screaming into the night , the aura of Robert Plant onstage
the sweet guitar work of Eric Clapton , heart wrenching soul of Janis Joplin
The wailing guitar of Robin Trower , the blues power of Rory Gallagher
Siren song of Annie Lennox to the infectious , brilliant lyrics of Tom Petty
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
It is with sadness and long remorse
That we entertain this curse of course
It’s most absurd, and that’s the rub
Introducing the Twenty Seven Club
Each decade we see the number grow
And wonder as the we see them go
Musicians so young, with hope and fears
Meet their demise, after twenty seven years
Robert Johnson was early, a master of blues
A roadhouse musician who paid his dues
Brian Jones helped found the Rolling Stones
And drowned in a pool while swimming alone
Alan Wilson at Woodstock played with Canned Heat
Took too many downers, his life was complete
The great guitarist, Jimi Hendrix gave thrills
But died in his sleep from too many pills
Janis Joplin, with energy and power of force
At age twenty seven died mainlining horse
The Doors Jim Morrison, one of a kind
Extinguished with drugs his poetic mind
Badfinger’s Pete Ham fortified with drink
Took his own life, another twenty seven link
And Kurt Cobain, Nirvana’s front man
Died at twenty seven, from his very own hand
Amy Winehouse, one of the members of late
Perceived a world full of anguish and hate
A talent with beauty, her hair black as coal
But alcohol toxicity soon took its toll
Not mentioned are many members left out
There is no time now to give them a shout
We hope they gather and sing in heaven
The members of the Club - Twenty Seven
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:53 PM UTC
(
•
)
^^^~~~^^^~~~^^^
& only I am here to tell the tale !
////
Do you think Bill Clinton is REALLY a ********* ?
••
••
( do you even care )
••
Do you think that your lover is REALLY a ********* ?
( I do )
•
Do I think that you ARE a *********
( even a child can abuse a child )
//
//
//
Some say dying is beautiful
//
//
But maybe not Janis Joplin
or
Jim Morrison
•••••••••••••
In the last throes of despair
We tell so many stories
PRAY don't listen !
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
As we speak, I am in the vortex of a Purple Haze.
Seattle has produced more than a reputable brand of coffee and the great hall of fame resounds throughout eternity.
We are acknowledged by Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain - don’t you think?
Come as you are, because freedom is just another word for nothing less to lose.
So, my sensual mistress of musical engineering - shake those deep and hypnotic dreams from your hair and watch where you point that gun! Okay?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Do you taste it?
The ease and cool mystification she gives you…
The addiction like a passionate revival
Do you feel it
The gratification she grants
BAM you’re baked like a cake
Her lips like a love potion
Her hips like LSD and you’re riding the cool waves of Janis Joplin
Do you need it?
That midnight body on you like I did
Those ********* hands, that ********* tenderness
Do you **** it?
Like there is no tomorrow, do you make that body quease under you?
Little do you know she’s toxic, like a cigarette between your teeth
Swallowing the forsaken **** up that is your whole being
She is like a tear rolling down your cheek, exposing you.
You’re in deep and in love with a *******
Cigarette
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
I see myself in a bar on a Wednesday night
making love to a gin and tonic
with smeared lipstick and blurred vision.
I see myself selling my soul to typewriter dreams
and guitar chord nightmares,
praying somebody will just listen.
I see myself packing my bags in eleven minutes flat
and taking the 6:00 train to a neighboring town
before he even knows I left.
That night the walls will receive the bruises
that were specially saved for me.
I see myself smelling her perfume on his
couch pillows and wondering if I made a mistake.
I see myself joining the 27 club up in heaven,
and asking Janis Joplin how she did her hair
and sharing a drag with Kurt Cobain.
I am seventeen years old,
and I'm trying to make a path for my future,
but I'm scared I won't be able to take a single step.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
I like to dream.
Everyone does though I suppose.
I don't dream in the sense that you'd probably think.
Not when I sleep.
Lord knows I do enough of that,
but I'm incapable of dreaming at night,
I think that's why I sleep so much.
Each time I lay down I pray that,
Just one single,
lonely dream will come.
It doesn't though.
I keep trying though,
day after day,
and I promise I'm not just giving an excuse for me taking so many naps.
Although I do,
I'll admit that.
But since I don't dream when sleep,
I settle for dreaming when I'm awake,
some call it daydreaming.
I make up these situations in my mind,
where I'm happy beyond belief.
I imagine that I'm in an empty field,
running free.
I imagine I'm up in space,
with the stars.
A place that I've admired for so long,
I imagine I'm there.
Far away from this place,
and the hurt that exists here.
I'm not going to say I hate my life,
because that would be a lie.
I'm simply going to say that I'm not satisfied with my life.
There are so many places I'd rather be than down here,
with gravity pinning me to this
seemingly two dimensional place.
I imagine sitting and conversing,
with all of my idols.
Smoking a joint with Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix,
sitting down to tea with Cass Elliot and John Lennon.
Imagining what it would be like,
to be extraordinary like them.
Then I come back to the present,
as my teacher wraps up his lecture,
and remember where I am.
Then,
I once again accept that fact that I'll have to keep leading this ordinary life,
hoping for the chance one day to escape,
to the stars,
or maybe the moon,
the place that doesn't
hold me down,
and make me keep my feet on the ground.
The place where I can fly,
and dance,
and love,
and sing,
and dream.
Endlessly.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
that it is a journey
Of
1000 miles
//
She was sittin on the bed with the 200 lbs of
Macrame string that we managed to buy
At Fisherman's Wharf
With the help of 5 complete strangers
Who had showered us with the
Life altering kindness
You think really doesn't exist
( but it does ! )
//
And she said
DO YOU WANT TO HELP ME MAKE THE BELTS AND POUCHES ?
I turned to my brain and told it to tell my mouth
To say NO
Firmly ( but nicely )
I turned to her and said
SURE
WHEN DO WE START ?
//
JESUS **** !
I started screaming ( silently )
at my brain
YOU TRAITOR !
And you , MOUTH !
You knew ! You knew !!
••
She became ecstatic !
And said
GREAT!
WE' LL START WITH ME TEACHING YOU
THE BASIC SQUARE KNOT !
//
I started to give my brain it's obvious instruction
BUT !
I blurted out
WOW !
I ALWAYS WANTED TO LEARN HOW
TO MAKE SAILOR'S KNOTS
//
I turned in a huff to these 2 fiends of brain and mouth
And said ( silently )
ALWAYS ?
YOU MADE ME SAY
ALWAYS !?
A WEEK AGO WE HAD NEVER EVEN HEARD
OF SAILOR 'S KNOTS !!
///
Then the song
Of
JANIS JOPLIN
came to me
FREEDOM ' S JUST ANOTHER WORD
FOR NOTHIN LEFT TO LOSE ----
//
and I now had nothin left
My life was surrendered to hers
( due to the love and kindness of strangers ! )
••
But ( you see )
There was a massive mistake in my calculations
( again )
You see
SHE
had ( unknownst to me with my selfish heart )
Made a similar commitment to me !
And / more and more /only asked me to do what
I really wanted to do
( even to learn to do macrame )
What I was afraid to do without encouragement
••
WE BECAME A TEAM !
//
We both had different social skills
She was so unbelievably compassionate
She was so able to break thru people's fears
And enter into such trust inducing relationships
It seemed like magic to me
//
I was really good at organizing things
Setting plans
Seeing the picture of the goals
We needed to accomplish
//
In a certain sense
We never talked
--
A glance back and forth
A subtle gesture
//.
Complete unity
••
People would ask
HOW YOU 2 GETTING ALONG !?
ARE YOU IN LOVE !?
""
and we would look at each other and wonder
GETTING ALONG ?
IN LOVE ?
And not have the slightest idea what they were talking about !
//
And that might help explain
Why
When I read the poems here
I don't know what you are talking about
//
( not the slightest idea )
//
Like there is a weird thing happening
And then it gets weirder
And then someone gets upset because it gets weirder
But it was weird already !
••
And then the strangest vocabulary gets going
Trying to describe some feelings that are really only thoughts
About something that isn't really happening anyway
( or something like that )
••
So
On and on it goes !
I just try to be
Like those strangers on Fisherman's Wharf
Trying to make the magic
That is pure human kindness
//
To throw myself upon
The BARBED WIRE OF EGO
So that you might
climb my back
AND LEAP INTO THE FREEDOM
OF INFINITY !
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Aura
Written by: Mario Vitale
Shades of pine grafted in again resign
Shattered pine in elm certain grove alone
My meadow had a thorn certain credit
The factual harm of its heartless swarm
Featured within in the created design with pine
Eyes sharpened as a willow in garb
The tornado sequence has even the fog alone
Again tempors fly like never before
Blatant lies have come at no surprise
In parts unknown an aura of repute to harm
Sound the alarm in fetters arm
Choirs of saints in regard to its beckoning drawn
Empire strain inside my brain fragments of cure
The surface of the sun has tainted my vision with harm
Sound the alarm agiain my faithful friend by whom we can depend
Shattered glass on the parchment floor
Aura
An impulse deep in regards to the heart
Shades of pine will line the volume of scattered pillows
A willow in derision you made a final decision
A thought provokoing reason to believe in
Shattered memory's in the moments of innocence with a plight of disbelief
We have soon turned over a brand new leaf
Timeless peaks in a swelll shattered fragments from within
A great design still sublime in its timeless parts the heart
Aura
Jim Morrison had it
Janis Joplin couldn't stop it
Jimi Hendrix sought this quick fix
An unbellievable call being caught in the mix!
Aura II
they think they know
but its far more then that
they think they strive
among the impossible links
taking each stride
I wonder what happened to Molech
we were here before
the mystery unfolds
a glow from a worm
its often hard to discern
to be a bird
upon a wire
the taunt of the remedy
Joplin's finest
the exquisite foretaste
amidst its calamity
come with me through the barren sea
the sea of grown mockery
through the leaves
a doorbell rings
a trophy for the winner
stay and wait for dinner
a passenger or the driver
you act like a Magive
why does on equate logic with fear
all draw near
lend me an ear
the soft linguistic cheer
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC