"marinaded" poems
The wind is beautiful this morning
Awesome and soothing before my body
relaxing like the sights of the water lilies
embalmed with nature's aura
marinaded in the helms of the valley
defiling the sanctuary of my mind
I let this beauty envelope my very being
as I hang on to the very last straw grasping for air
like a desperate baby clutching on to a candy
Holding on to the very notes from unsung pipes
gliding through the very surface of the sun
dancing to the beats of these symphony
this orchestra, peace for my troubled heart
beauty for my broken soul
I let myself swim in the parfum inhaling every essence
as I watch the wonders heal my soul
I beheld the tranquil touch my heart yearned for
as I let peace conquer my anxiety
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 3:50 PM UTC
fried money doesn't taste better.
it still tastes like ****
Even in sugar there's a burning feelin'
in my stomach brain--
eat too much of one knowledge cereal
sweet marital marinaded bliss
barbecue kissing the pig.
Midnight wind flies through me---
you can't buy that in a can!
Words pass through me
conduit intuitively
future thoughts flood my brain
my boat is my third eye
sailing in a crazy summer dawn light.
I don't see a price tag on there, right?
Talent trickles in our blood
from a divine vibration
beating in our hearts
speeding up the parts in our brain
to see the whole picture--
like a single green leaf slowly blooms
in the dawn light.
Nothing buys that moment.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Saturday nights fill the void
Of weekday frustrations
And work’s condemnations
It ends the longing for something else
Or someone else
Or just someone, really
So all the cool, lonely people
Go to the heartbreak hotel
And dance and drink
And hope to find the thing
That they don’t even know
They are looking for
So we see through the eyes
Of hazy drunk people
Falling in love with the world
And themselves
And everyone else
Everyone who seems interesting enough
People made beautiful
By dancing and drinking
Hoping to find something or someone they lost
In the arms of a stranger
And I don’t mind
That you’re thinking about him
I’m used to being late
To the party anyway
And it has become a second nature
To come second
To substitute long gone ghosts
Marinaded in the melancholy
Of expensive drinks
And music I can’t relate to
But I keep on longing
for the Saturday Night Live experience
Because being lost
In a lost crowd
Has become so familiar
As it replaces
The horror of weekday frustrations
Of work’s condemnations
Of longing for something else
Or someone else
Or just someone
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Behind Dull Shutters
hiding right here behind these dull shutters
from the lulling songs of that outside world,
maybe if we stay planted where we are at
they may just forget about our lil' absence
because, after all, there are always bigger
goose to be marinaded, and fully cooked
but is it really socially relevant for us to keep
ourselves locked away, beyond the zombies?
james kenneth blaylock
9-20-15
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC