"psilocybin" poems
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
** ** **
Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown
** ** **
Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
Listen to this @ https://soundcloud.com/spiritbarehear/the-living-instrument
PRESSURE - like animal skin stretched over the head of a drum,
my heart,
BEATING, like ancient hands, BEATING
an even more ancient rhythm, BEATING. BEATING.
tribal eyes wide, pupils bare, BEATING
with ayahausca or psilocybin, ibogain or some sort of villlage speed
BEATEN. BEATEN.
with dirt and herbs, a lion's adrenal gland to make the Super Amphetamine,
royal in it's derivatives
and it makes the heart BEAT BEAT BEAT
like a prisoner in the straight jacket of lungs it BEATS and screams blood into bursting vessels
it BEATS like the misunderstood youth of the 20th Century, the frenetic spirit HOT and LOUD
and lost...
POUNDING HEART BEAT NO MORE FOR THE NON-SHIT GIVERS!
leave it to the liver to filter out those toxic connections that evoke those dire emotions
arresting both the heart and the breath
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
let it be because if I were to live any longer in a happiness, it would just be unfair to the rest
that if I were to live any longer in a happiness
the whole of my being would fold into the openness of my chest
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
it will not be caused by a PANIC, a PANIC caused by a PUSH, a PUSH caused by discontentment, discontentment caused by impatience, and impatience caused
by the resounding WUBwubWUBwubWUBwub of a beating heart.
THE LIVING INSTRUMENT.
living instrument, sing to me what is meant
living instrument, can you forget
what once made your strings as heavy as led?
what once made you wrench?
living instrument, twice as large as the machine in the skull, why do we bother with loving?
living instrument, are you solid enough to take this fall?
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
I can't tell you
How many times
I've hit backspace
Trying to write
This.. this.. poem
About you
About your death
And how it sits
So uneasy
In my blood cells
The horror of it
Plays in my mind
And I wish it didn't
I wish it couldn't
I see it all
Everyday
So vividly
The violent rage
Fueled by psilocybin
That you went into
As you slammed your
Fist through glass
The faces of the
Officers as you
Bled to death
On the floor
In front of your mother
The screams that ring
Through my ears
From that night
Slice through
My unstable soul
I miss you
Plain and simple
I wish there was
Somehow more time
Or a way to
Trade
I don't think that's
Possible
But I really would
Trade
Because the thought
Of my best friend
Losing her
Brother
Of sixteen
To drugs
Simply
Haunts my bones
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
psilocybin
made me a better student,
son, brother, friend,
person.
So why would it
make me a disgrace
to my
parents?
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Hello Mr Shroom man
I ask you how things are
Hello Mr Shroom man
I ask how things should be
You return to me with, 'Look,
Inside yourself you're shook
It's a reflection of the state
Said shaking's shall negate
The atrocity around...'
sound
'...How you choose to engage
Your emphasis on form
I'm sorry that's ok'
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
It seeped through my bones,
Made me a sputtering heart,
Lo this numbness,
See it in my eyes,
Touch me now!
Feel it inside,
This burning, white-hot cold.
I know you mean to tell me different,
That I may be over-reacting,
Over-imag'ning.
Thou skin has gone deaf to my calls,
Dead.
But tell me,
Lest thou eyes deceive you,
Do you not see mine own pallid skin?
See this now!
Dare not to tell me different,
Never mind, hold your tongue!
Thou face has already given away thou intentions.
Fix me dear therapevtees,
Take away this old lady's ailments,
Do not ail me.
Give me the Nepenthe,
Help me chase away my sorrows.
***** could be good,
Do you think?
I'll take anything you have,
Black Henbane, even Psilocybin.
Mend me please,
Stop this cold,
Make my days less dreadful.
It won't be long now.
Let this old lady go to death grinning,
However stupid it may seem.
I shall laugh in the face of death,
This old, sagging face shall laugh,
Just me and death,
Very old friends.
-Firefly
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
A belly of butterflies
Danced to the sound
Of harmonica trees
And the violin leaves
Synesthesia bound
To the whispering winds
Of the sweet nothing skies
Playing fungi Fall fiddles
To tempos of riddles
Sensational melodies made in her eyes
Resonant love
In a breath of fresh air
These orchestra waves
In my deepest sea caves
Drifted away to the shores of nowhere
Then bottled-up notes
In time-signature sands
Wrote ballads of blisses
From strawberry kisses
Plucked from the tunes of our heartstring commands
And each nymph and faun
Composed of the Earth
Out of many songs one
And our voice was the sun
Crescendoing to a symphonic rebirth
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
the same toothless chatter heard always
bruised biceps scratched with defensive wounds
too hungover for spanish class
so it’s a bowl of kief for the remedy
I’m singing in the rain
only it’s sunny out
and the toads are all escaping
hop up on another high
and scrape up against a new low
are we there yet?
Rock Bottom looks a lot like your apartment
forge filigreed with fools gold
black eyes and sore knees
soaking wet sleeping in a doorway
so long as the DMT is purple and not orange
then we’ll soon be biblical prophets
touched by God so that we could better understand
that the dishes aren’t going to do themselves
ever tried to pronounce psilocybin when you’re tripping?
cough medicine has another meaning
it’s just like the music videos
only my heart is exploding
my chest caving in
and the hurricane inside my head is blind
spark up another sweet
and pour another glass of sour
be well rested
tomorrow you’ve got another spanish class to not go to
I just took too much
all of these walls are still spinning
holy **** I’m high
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised)
How to say this briefly:
Firstly,
Words that help convey the hidden.
They exist.
Here is the gist:
Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim
Of being chosen.
Tenets frozen,
Woven into scripture
Which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
Spirit's -ality puts stress on union,
The approach to life
Emphases
On oneness under all beliefs;
On peace and joy and getting these;
Transcendence over time and space
A sense of being face to face
With truths about reality, its indescribability -
Yet not impossible to give a voice to.
Fear that goes,
Love that grows.
Agape’s universal call,
Connecting to an All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song,
Means to fit all shapes and sizes,
Geniuses as well as dunces,
Non-, theistic preferences
Which need to be demystified.
Not magic, pagan, or god-based,
Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful,
And mystical, the core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
Carla,
Whom I love and regret in equal measure,
Told me to talk less and think only in the morning.
It’s unfair, she said, for someone with your demons,
To obsess past mid day.
You will only exhaust yourself,
Become dizzy from looking over your shoulder.
It’s the sparrow’s lunch you eat, she said
Afterwards you think only of suicide,
It’s your pathetic answer to everything.
You have a propensity, an absolute need to confess, Carla advised me,
You see sin as an obligation,
As a necessity to fuel your ridiculous notion of salvation,
Repentance is a shell game,
No sooner have you apologized for being yourself,
Than you begin sinning all over again.
Your quest for innocence is a self-selected Sisyphean task.
I told her I had no idea what she was talking about,
And that if she wanted to save me she had to speak in simpler terms.
Quit looking for the meaning in things, Carla said,
Life is lived on the surface,
What we really fear is not that we will die,
But how we will die,
I mean good god,
The insane Christians
Have us picturing death
With nails driven through our hands and feet,
Hanging from a crucifix,
Can you imagine the indignity,
While some low level centurion,
Stabs at us with a sword,
I mean really,
Hauling crosses up mountainsides
Being laughed at and scorned in our weakest moment,
The drama is laughable,
When the absolute truth is most of us
Will die peacefully in our sleep,
Gone without even knowing the party is over.
Replace your metaphysics with a game of chess, Carla told me,
At least do psilocybin once in awhile
And have a genuine spiritual experience,
And she held up her hand for two more glasses of scotch,
Neat,
And lit her cigar.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious
How to say this briefly:
Firstly, find words for the inexpressible.
They do exist.
Here is the gist:
Each has components -
Churches, sects and cults, their creeds:
The claim of being chosen.
Pure spirit's -ality doesn’t seem to need
A system woven
Into scripture which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
The spiritual as an approach to life,
Seems to place the emphases
On unity within the mixture of beliefs;
On peace and joy, and getting these;
Transcendent over time and space
And, most of all,
A sense that you are face to face
With truth about reality,
Its indescribability.
Yet not impossible to give a voice to;
Love that comes, fear that goes!
****** no. A loving kindness big & small,
Universal, – if you will,
That permeates, recalibrates,
Connecting to an All that’s spirit: All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song:
The mystical both caused or opened.
That said, non- theistic preference
Needs to be demystified, a road for genius, dunce.
Not piety, religion, magic, paganism, or god-based,
Not theological nor physical,
But meta-, deeply meaningful,
Yes mystical!
The core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
The Universe
She is in you
You breathe Her
Both inhale and exhale
She is the goosebumps on your skin
And the sweat on the soles of your feet
She is the curiosity you possess
Your consciousness
Your frontal lobe and pineal gland
Your posture and your aura
She is your euphoric first high
And Psilocybin Mushroom trip
I long for everyone to feel the concept that The Universe is truly
everything we see, touch, think, feel, speak and write
The steps towards one-ness
Towards self love and universal acceptance
Is instantly magical
I preach to just about everyone I meet that The Universe makes no mistakes. That everything in the entire world is exactly as it is because that's exactly how it’s supposed to be. If it wasn’t supposed to be, it wouldn’t be. When entering any kind of metamorphosis or spiritual pilgrimage, it is crucial to keep the latter in mind. Trust in the Universe is the biggest, most crucial element of the Path of liberation. Only with complete trust in the Universe can one have little to no doubt, worry, fear, anxieties, remorse, or regret.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
God I'm
crazy and
weak.
I wish I still
believed and
could pray -it
really did
help-
A godless
world is exactly
what you'd imagine
it to be -partially
because we
live in it-
I hate
that once
a month I'm
stuck being a
girl with girl needs
and girl whims
I hate that
it makes me
actually miss
you when you're
gone: acknowledge,
assess, process,
exactly
how long it's
been
Maddening.
I imagine
disgusting globs
of whatever
stuff you claim
to have so much of
sloughing
off,
crawling away
half dead in the
cold coming to
the window to
tap, or perhaps
the door
to
knock like a
lonely soul and
you know
I've a psilocybin
enduced empathetic
streak embedded deep,
couldn't possibly
leave a thing to
freeze on its
own,
but
still yet
intruding
against my
will:
This is
the only
explanation:
I could not
thus feel
otherwise
by myself,
nevertheless
being mired
in such muck
I hate
being stuck
with the absence
of you for days
at a time
-especially with
these blobs
reminding of how
once
you were willing
to drive to
Tom's before
I had to cath him
at 2:30
in the morning
Just to smoke
and talk
a little
while
I doubt any of that
even matters now
God...
I must
be crazy
going crazy
acting crazy
I hate it.
I also hate
hating things.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
setting, delicately on the ten foot
two by six
scooting gingerly as to encourage
no splinters
clad in both sparkly regalia
and plain jeans
the inebriated fairgoer glanced
through half-lids
swaying while speaking, reeking of whiskey
lips moved quiet
inaudible outside of guttural
groans and grunts
we all sat watching, both in awe and shock
the strange man
so overloaded on psilocybin
could just be
and we, so high on the marijuana,
only laughed –
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
Dirt don't call the lightning
blue or femoral.
In a furious upstroke
my mushroomed spine
explodes in the crown,
splinters of bone
and black lit pumas.
Driven to hell
through a straw
and all the trees
are dead on the road.
My dry lip
adheres to a dry gum
and my teeth are broke
and purple.
The lyrics are garbled
and tongue-spoke.
Guttural curses
cling to my head,
both hands holding
back the temples
of past myths,
lies and discontents.
Marriage of heaven and earth -
strike down, down, down,
that I may shut you up.
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
I said "hey check out the captain", and the sailors all agreed, so we strung him to the masthead and he flapped there in the breeze.
We were sailing past the dover cliffs with neptune on our side, and I walked into the captain's cabin with the crows nest in my eyes.
The Druid winds kept up our sails with an aztec tiller man, and up from the depths came Jonah's whale as we sailed across the sands.
With the cannons spiting broken glass we passed the coasts of Africa. The amazon flowed underneath and the snow began to fall, with hail stones as big as clubs they joined us in the hull. We spent the nights in holocaust but our blood it mixed below. So we put a **** in Panama and Hawaii loomed up slow, with burlap sacks of psilocybin from the volcanoes rotting shell. The fire gushed up from underneath, we were on our way in hell.
Electric raindrops filled the sky, like a insect's buzzing din, it seemed Zues was coming with us and the light began to bend. The sun it cracked wide open and in the chain reaction's swell, our whole galactic nebula was shattered and we fell.
Only to be born again on tomorrow's distant shores, for each atomic particle was as fertile as your soil, and the motion and the friction was only nature's oil. But just as death must balance life when nature's had her fill, we probably will rise again and learn to hate and ****
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
Psilocybin silly when the
cops arrive.
Sitting on the couch naked,
laughter aching jaws.
They ask where my wallet is?
I ask, where my pants are?
Even they laugh.
I can't say mushrooms are
all bad.
They are the catalyst that
brought me back to the
hospital to deal with the
real killer...
*****
Oct 3, 2022
Oct 3, 2022 at 11:16 AM UTC
psilocybin and peyote
transport me to the spirit lands
where I commune
with father bear
mother eagle
and grandfather time embodied
as a Kodiak bear
They tell me of the past
and hint me the future
but mostly they tell me
of the now
and the pain
thoughts come to me like rain
memories form but not remembered
I awake, refreshed with new knowledge
that shapes my outlook and ideas
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
An inkling of
something authentic
laced in Psilocybin
decides to reminisce-
she stood there once again
brown eyed and secret filled,
a testament of time
and how it can’t heal the ill
Thought I was spent,
but it’s those days of my youth
when nothing needed
to make sense
where I traced the message
as it connects:
an answer undesirable,
still honesty none the less
Hope straightens its back
as I attempt to settle the past
and grasp at the present,
assuring that ego will learn
how to just let things happen
How to ride the
unknowable wave,
and sense these gentle
reminders
that there is no escape
because we are
simply messengers
conscious for reasons
understood
only when in symbiosis
with Mother Earth
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 1:59 AM UTC
I remember the day you taped plastic
over all of the windows in our new home.
You said, "We'll be warmer this way,"
but with you I was never cold.
I remember then looking through them,
the world glowing white
in an opalescent haze,
and the snow slowly falling.
This was the same year the water rose so high
that we could no longer see the riverbank.
I remember nights dreaming of being washed away
in that great raging river.
I remember the drive to Grand Haven.
Losing our minds in the back seat,
while our friends expanded theirs
to Psilocybin.
I remember the Great Journey,
the stairs,
the sand,
the sky,
the mighty rolling waves.
I remember an orange
dropped to the ground,
and a kiss
among old friends.
I remember the fall we moved
into this new home,
and how by winter we had gorged ourselves
on cold days and sunsets.
I remember the blankets we hung
to help keep the warm in,
to keep out the light.
I remember the heavy red wool
a backdrop to our love,
dancing with the specks of dust
through pinholes of light.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Scriptural
How to say this briefly:
How to find words for the inexpressible.
They exist.
Here is the gist:
Components - churches, sects, cults,creeds:
The claim of being chosen.
Inner spirit doesn’t need a system woven
Into scripture claiming knowing
What is best for all.
One wherein if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
The faith-based places emphases
On unity of life within the mixture of belief;
Consensus, peace and joy, and getting these;
Transcendent over time and space,
The sense that you are face to face
With truth above reality,
Its indescribability.
Not impossible to voice
With Love that comes, fear that goes!
****** no, more loving kindness big & small,
Universal, if you will.
Permeating, calibrating,
Affixing to an All that’s spirit: all in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song.
The non- theistic preference
Needs to be demystified,
With road for genius or dunce.
Not piety, religion, magic, paganism, or god-based;
Theological or physical,
But meta-, deeply meaningful,
Yes mystical:
The core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Scriptural 4.4.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Met a girl in Memphis,
home to Mississippi,
4am to Tunica or Tupelo,
I got lost in the mix of it.
She stole my breath that morning, knocked the wind out of me,
lost the lights of the discotheque,
we were pollinating free.
Psilocybin chocolates and silk ******* stars as far as eyes could see,
city lights replaced by fireflies,
the Delta's soul soothes a detoured man's decree.
Scent of perfume or poison,
could have been the peonies,
moon shined on domestic horses,
staring back cautiously.
Breeze sang static harmonies through the telephone wires,
And we whispered our hearts desires.
If you asked us,
about the world back then,
We'd have a laugh for an answer for you my friend.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
not until you have felt erotical goosebumps
running through your body with the northern wind,
a may so called it could awaken you
skeleton to prance, outside your body...
such cold of
a spring...
but such that there is any eroticism
in that sensation? in that
springtime cold?
and that there is such a "thing"?
it almost feels like the antidote
to the western concept of
st. thomas' gospel
and the nag hammadi
entries...
you want a *** change"?
o earth, yawn and take these
poor souls to their graves,
but sacrifice their lot, not,
for the living next;
of those that ask: and what of the children
to come?
are we all really bore
people whether we grow a beard?
and don unapproachable ideas?
what's that? is that even fashionable
these days?
cougar mama! what now? what now?
dunno... grow a beard and start
deeming yourself a philosopher,
a vampire, a werewolf? huh? where who aloof?
as bad jokes go... that was a crusty pancake
of a joke, so don't mind it;
but i'm dead serious about
the cold of a may spring...
it's not about the scent of flowers
suddenly oppening and going all
berserker with an opulence of scents...
which could make anyone into
a psilocybin-induced viking warrior,
or so they say.
but it's the cold, it's the cold...
it's so ****** ****** in that it gives me
goosebumps...
geese bim bim, bim bá tá too?
alt. ba(h) ta(h) tow in two?
is this becoming a jewish joke?
am i going to deep-fry some bread to get
a bagel out, as if i was scottish and deep-fried a slice of pizza?
come on!
all i'm saying is that i find cold air ******
my ******* get hard, and i'm thinking about
the hair on my abdoment and my eden region;
what's wrong with equating cold air
with a "mild" form of eroticism?
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC