"peyote" poems
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Sonoran desert
sacred, hot breathed
scorch of footsteps, blood red sands
sun bleached bones and skulls
this wash a hallowed holy ghost
an unnerving place of hiss and fire
molten sun to dry the water
a drowning fever of prickly sweat
last night the Yaqui man you met
undulating in a purification ceremony
lashing energy cords cut
he is laughing like coyote, wild eyed
green the velvet desert peyote
awakened you have come to understand
a universe within a fleck of sand.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Martin Luther had a dream
Geronimo had visions
People use all sorts of ways
To come to their decisions
Tea leaf readers in a cup
A Psychic with some cards
Looking at a twirling disc
And dancing in the yard
Decision making's easy
If you have the correct tool
You may get the right answer
Or you may end up a fool
Shaman in a sweat lodge
Chew peyote just to see
What the others can not visualize
But what comes easy to folks like me
Some roll dice, and others bones
To get the answer that they need
Others ask the dead to help
To get their answer freed
I myself use none of these
None of these at all
I sit down with a bourbon
And my old Magic Black 8-ball
I switched the little answer ball
It has answers....only two
One is just the one word "dude"
And "what would Keith Richards do?"
"Dude" is universal
It has helped me win not lose
Because it's meaning changes
Depending on the "u"'s
Say it with one U...dude
it means don't even think it
But add eight more and make it duuuuuuuuude
And there's no question you should drink it
The other answer's simple
What would good old Keefy do?
If it didn't **** old Keefy
It won't **** me and you
So, use your magic mushrooms
Dance with spirits in the hall
But I'll make my decisions
With my plastic, black eight ball
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
On Peyote Highway
The lanes go this way and that
Purple haze sunset to the left
The radio changes itself
On Peyote Highway
The flowers all try to hitch rides
With thumbs held high in the sky
While cactus ride by on their bikes
On Peyote Highway
Rainbow clouds speak in foreign tongue
The Koala Bear next to you ***** his thumb
The clown on the hood chews Juicy Fruit gum
On Peyote Highway
Skeletons rattle their bones in the back
Constantly asking are we there yet
As mimes mouth hello from the ditch
On Peyote Highway
You travel in both space and time
Take the pedal off the metal of your mind
Set the scenery to always rewind
On Peyote Highway
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
There was a flower, blossoming on the shoreline. Beholding the serenity of the seas and criticising the rise and fall of the indomitable tides.
It swayed in the balmy air and loathed the dusty storms.
It adored the sun's radiance and mourned the moon's norms.
It extolled the aesthetics and execrated the wrongs.
It denied the nectar but appreciated the honeycomb.
There was a peyote, living in the dreary sands. Mesmerized by the great dunes, standing like a tomb.
Relishing the scanty rains with much aplomb.
It grows its roots in the search of water, many call it a coxcomb.
Such is the folk, unaware of the real beauty for so long!
- Swasti Jain
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
private, you are to open new pathways in the north sector
sir, but we found the main power and then it was gone
sir, this tells me that this will happen again and again
are you refusing to follow a direct order from a commanding officer?
sir, no sir
ok good, because we think you might have just hallucinated finding the main power, or maybe just hallucinated that it disappeared
you are a fine soldier
clear the enemies from your mind, and they can't shoot you
yes sir!
now, get in there and dig deep...find that main power and free it
the whole world is depending on you
that's a lot of innocent people
a lot of guilty too sir
private! we are only worried about the innocent
when we get their power, they will take care of the guilty
here are your weapons, peyote to see, mushrooms to do
sir, yes sir!
now get in there and clear some space!
see you on the other side of consciousness soldier
sir, yes sir!
OORAH!
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC
The gaze feels suited under reflection,
catfish know better
than the bullfrogs haranguing it alone -
Midnight's rupture
the star Edith blazed her Gospel voice
across the Phoenix Star,
those podagra Svengalis mill
perpetually serenading this their dollar sign,
due graciousness lasts as long as the
peyote nostrums
parfum de la maison
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
He would appear and disappear
without a sound
Would stare at the stars
all night long
Sleep on the cold desert floor
Eat peyote buds
and sing war songs
He was rich
in all the nothing he had
Identified as a thunderbird
The animal spirits
were sacred in his world
Asked about gold
and he would scorn
Holding up water
the most precious
in all forms
I called him Navaho
NO !
Call me Dineh !
So I did
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
I rode in the black back seat
at the age of three
From Wichita to Selma
in this land where nothing comes free
Across Texas , Arkansas , Mississippi
under stars I dreamed
While a heartbeat
was ever following me
Strange the things we choose
to remember and recall
Are the things maybe trivial
But are another brick in the wall
I lived in Panama City
until I was twelve
Swam with sharks and rays
Fell in love but on it I won't dwell
I ran with wild mustangs
in the wilds of Spokane
Climbed up the Rockies
Trekked the snows in a winter wonderland
I slept in the desert under
the most gorgeous stars
Ate mushrooms and peyote
trying to figure out who I are
But there's no place
No place , like the one
Where you were born
No place
on earth
Can lead you away that's far
There's no where
Like the dirt running
through your veins
There's no place
like the place where
you got your name
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
you have to face it:
you are getting tired of your boyfriend
especially when he sings along to the radio
your smile is cut open,
you are daydreaming through the midwest
your friend looking a little too hard
you touch your boyfriend’s jeans
just slightly.
her mouth is cut open,
and you can feel her red hair
spreading through you like a fever
you were always tired of her boyfriend
and you are already tired of los angeles
and you are only in texas.
you’ve been here for three days
and the earth shakes with *******
and gold bikinis. you sip a harvey wallbanger
and watch people **** in the fountain
and you resent your boyfriend
you cross your legs. you study the greek myths,
holding a cigarette.
her name is roxanne
and her mouth is a vase
of red flowers standing in the kitchen
of your connecticut home
when you are thirteen and
everyone is still alive
she is wearing black
and so are you.
you’ve never been ****** before.
the sun pushes through swelling flowers
towards the bar. you can’t stop blinking
when he leans into you, you giggle
like a mouse in a minidress
and uncross your legs, slowly
like you learned about in the magazines.
you’re wondering how much coke
one person can do in one night
(a lot)
but it’s not you, and the red fills the room
and you have benzodiazepine in your pocket
and you think about the word “calamity”
calm, or not?
what is the music industry?
you have started to sleep face down
and you keep the flowers close at night
and in the morning.
you’ve been kissing the sun
with your mouth open
so your boyfriend does a stage dive on national television
from 30 ft up
and the red fills the room.
when you are invited to his house
you want to say no
but instead you dress in silks
and take peyote, or LSD
roxanne drifts, laureled, around the ceilings
the host is drooling mad words
all over the candles. they’re not going out
and neither are you.
do you deserve half a million dollars,
or are you just telling yourself that?
roxanne doesn’t feel the gun in her mouth
until it’s going off
and she can see you outside on the beach
building your dream house out of sand-
but only for a second.
obviously, you didn’t think
you’d ever love your boyfriend again
but he relearned to walk
and you think it’s admirable
and strong, and brave
you’re the only one that los angeles didn’t swallow
by this time, the sun is going out
the blood around her mouth like a vase
of flowers on the kitchen table
give it a minute, you’ll be gone too.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
Put on your make up
while we're in the car
peyote in our air
travelling through the desert
holding hands
air conditioner broke
smoking 4 dollar cigarettes
kissing
wiping the sweat off our faces
with old shirts
torn sweaters
you wore a dress
that exposed your knees
no bra
and your shoulders were bright
like your eyes
it was 100 degrees
lip stick smeared on the rear view mirror
when we kissed kansas goodbye
driving with no shoes on
let's stop for gas
but the wind
the heat the peyote and the lips of yours are
keeping me on the road
melting like hot candle wax
we stopped at a motel
the windows let in a draft of hot air
coffee machine broken
the cable television speaking spanish
making love
listening to dogs bark
as if we were aristocrats
in a private box
at an opera
the sink leaked
adding background static
to the sounds of the air conditioner humming
sputtering for air
we bought bad whiskey
took off our clothes
fell asleep in the sand mixed with mexico's moon light
when I woke up
my good sweater was gone
the 1980'd-rusted-flat tired-oldsmobile was gone
she left me a cigarette
the rest of whiskey.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
black carbon paper lips
peyote nothing to eat
lord made em sick
prayed to jesus in a backseat
after birth behemoth's armpit
the end.
the end
the end
the end is near
white flags folded in memoriam
klansmen's hoods
bartered goods for gunpowder
kinds who werent designed
for human eyes to see
cause see son
their light is blinding.
they sleep
when the sun is shining
lying in a field of drug flowers.
hugs for smokes & hot showers.
what's the headcount.
man I was done yesterday.
I'm sitting here suffocating
numb to the new world
attitude & outcome
smothered in
carnal crimson summer
not for money or love or
anything or anyone.
I'm just sitting here
burning under the moon
thinking about alpha omega
& who took it upon themselves
to leave out the in-betweens.
godless heathens.
screechy gospel
that goes on for days
straight trip no stops.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Uncle Sam reclines and unwinds
In his Adirondack chair
The Statue of Liberty reminds the Mater at Arms
Of the time when he was put in a peyote trance
It was only then he caught on
He rammed his head against his headboard every night
Wracking your brain, trying to wrap it around the concept of the excommunication of those who have had their mouths washed out with soap
There will be no fanfare for the stray lambs
They are only meal tickets for the clergy
Concord grapes and word of mouth
Raise the question, "what is in a hot dog?"
Don't latch on to me after I dance with you into mad denial under a brass florescent chandelier in front of all the stock brokers and shareholders
I'll dismantle your silver lining with a spork
The cow pies disappear due to erosion
It's good to see you, I didn't know burlap sacks were all the rage right now
Stencil your name on it for good measure
How do you feel after your ego death?
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
I ate mushrooms in a field in an attempt to reveal gods, I learned much about the thing I am and all the things I'm not, I drank acid by the fistful to open up the sky, but for every answer found there was born another why, I eat peyote in the mountains I know not what I'll find, but what a joy to journey in depths of ones own mind
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
I heard a man
In cowboy clothes
Singing songs
Of life and love
His dazzling sequins and heartbroken stanzas
Boasted mythical tales
Of peyote drifters, hickory winds
And moon-studded shrines
Shrines in the woods around Waycross
Where the words of Flannery and Faulkner
Still drift through the purple swamps
And offer up penance to the moss at midnight
Shrines in the neon river
Of blinking Broadway lights
And the way Hank’s ghost
Yet graces the Ryman stage every dusk
Shrines deep in the desert
Spiraling up in the smoke
Of the cowboy’s last lament
Toward that great gig in the sky
(His ashes sinking like broken glass
Into a horizon
Illuminated by the City of Angels
One hundred miles to the west)
I heard a man in cowboy clothes
Back in my younger days
He stirred to life an old time sound
Within my homesick soul
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
lsd is god
alcohol is medicine
best of all is peyote
--------------------------
all we want is to be allowed to change!
to feel!
to be real!
------------
to make love (have *** until healed
and then!
to climb a mountain
become celibate
and really love!
----------------------
its easy to be fooled
especially if we want to be fooled
being fooled frees our sickness
to give to someone else
DON'T BE LIKE THAT
it is a very ugly way to live
-------------------
sharing our destinies is simple
being a dumb f--k takes too much of our time
so
STOP BEING DUMB F--KS
please
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 11:38 AM UTC
Come Carlos,
take me again
to your Desert,
the land of
Peyote and Palo Verde.
Datura Dreams,
Little Smoke,
teach me the Way
of the Master.
Shape shifting
Kokapolli.
I followed your Flute
and never turned
back.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Fancying the finer Atlantis
A doyen of may prey mantis,
A fervor of astroflight afterlife
A stone to the throw
Insidious pipe!!!
Ayahuasca peyote foray
To exude her plop top blush
A rhythm to all Einstein theory
A broom flyer of must!!!
Predilection
Tis
I do seek
Where the barn door feeds thy hungered
Where the cold is warm cut beamed
Ado of amanita muscaria seeing's
Wherein two worlds make one meaning
As the seam's rip in leather gleaming
By the kratom like capsules to uproar ourn compassion!!!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
1.
An escape beckons,
A slow and dark reunion,
It's calling me once more,
The chains have been broken.
2.
The savage stands upon the distant mound,
A bearded smile, a laughing frown,
And from the peyote trance comes the ancient dance,
Heads on fire!
Transparent funeral pyre.
And so begins the long, slow and frightening fall into divine madness.
3.
How good it is to be back among the insane,
The oceans of hallucinations running amok inside my brain,
The subconscious dweller has returned,
Relighting the quiet inferno,
The songs of ambience ooze from every flame,
Expanding paranoid thought,
Bequeathing forgotten demons,
From the shadows back into the game.
.......................................................................
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC
if he asks who i was to you
glance sideways & lie a little
exaggerate my mistakes &
laugh with him about my shortcomings
then feign bewilderment at the question
if he asks why you skip that song every time
lie a little & say it doesn't play all the way
through anyway but don't
tell him it was our lullaby for the rainy nights
if he asks how big it was
don't hurt his self-esteem
lie just a little bit & tell him
i had chapped plump lips carved from **** roast
a long curved nose like the scroll of a violin
& a heart like a busted squirrel cage
but omit the weeks we spent sprawled naked
on peyote friction furniture digging
our toenails into the floor
when he asks you what you're thinking
don't hint at the nostalgia
buried in your eyes & throat
if he asks what you're writing
on the edge of the bed first thing in the morning
lie a little lean down & kiss him
but never show him the dream journal
you stole from me & are keeping
as your own now
if he wonders aloud how you got those scars
after months of seeing you naked
tell him a little lie & never whisper
the names i gave them that first night
when i kissed your whole body
don't ever show him the tearstained
underside of your pillow &
act like you've forgotten my name
when he claims you say it
in your sleep most nights
if he corners you after work one day
& demands to know who i was
distract him
tell him you love him
& **** him right there in the kitchen
so he forgets to ask about the extra toothbrush in the shower
or the old flannel work-shirt hanging on your side
of the closet that smells like nothing he's ever smelled on you before
when he forgets your favorite flower
on your ******* birthday just shrug &
blow him in the car on the way to his parents' house
so that he never wonders about
your finger on the trigger of the gun at his head
let him fill the spaces i left between your fingers with his fingers
let him plaster the hole in your chest with new promises
let his toned shirtless testosterone replace my warm soft flesh beside you in bed
let his brass belt buckle be more comfortable for your angelic head
than my bare waist
let him replace the lingering scent of my insecurity with the new stench of his over-confidence
eventually he will learn to ignore the way you
twitch when he says my favorite curse word
eventually you will forget how my
bare feet used to tie into yours on the sofa
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
up to alaska,
tundra and me,
tundra and me,
spit on my hands,
shook your hand,
sharp grin,
sharp part in my hair,
you said i'd be bald,
i was a faux pas,
down to portland,
free your mind
in fish bowl,
in windowsill acid,
you said "loosen your tie",
we spent two consecutive
nights throwing dollar bills
across the room as we shook,
slid, stepped fancy, some clumsy,
until free of constraining clothing,
we called landlords
told them not to worry,
i bought you four americanos,
you pounded them out,
you bought me three bottles of wine,
worst night of my life,
across to pine ridge,
you scored peyote,
said it'd help me see,
all i got was sad,
staring at weathered, forgotten men,
and their starving spawn,
we headed back home,
spinning the only cd you own,
bowie's station to station for
28-hours,
i said i loved you,
you said i broke my promise,
bit me, stroked my hands,
said, "well, i guess we'll see where this goes."
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC