"psychedelia" poems
* [Part the First]
There's some giddy, childish sensation
The hope of a new generation
Faceless cameras war for my voice
A flashing ocean of stomps and shoves
Taken from me is my choice
Given is a false sense of love
They smile too wide to be true
Contorted and stretched, like some plastic
But they're all I have before the blue
So deep breaths, and then come dramatics
People who pass me by
Don't seem to realise
The emptiness of the sky
When they look into my eyes
They ask:
Is it lonely up in space?
Is it a cold, abandoned place?
Is it bright amongst the stars?
Do you know who you really are?
[Part the Second]
My life has faded to drunken thoughts
Reality doesn't confirm what can't be bought
The multicoloured psychedelia
Of nebula turning to rainbows
Now looks more fake than ever
And so my sanity goes
There's a beast out there, lurking
I'm not sure if it wants me
But my hope is hiding, sulking
From the abyss that can hear and see
The worst way to die is alone
Where there's no one who can help me
As my punishment destroys my home
At least, from my memory
They screech:
It's so lonely up in space
It's a cold, abandoned place
It's too bright amongst the stars
I think I'm dreaming too far
[Part the Third]
The faintest echo of laughter
Presents itself as my only answer
It's distant, like someone drowning in ecstasy
But it rings from the walls to my ears
The effect of the starry-eyed seas
Has mutated into whimpering fears
I know I'm not amongst the stars anymore
But the damage cannot be undone
So I gave myself to the floor
I could lie here, and never see the sun
Space could've never actually existed
Just a vivid fantasy of escape
But my mind has been so twisted
It must've been the cruelty of fate
They wonder:
Was it lonely up in space?
Was it a cold, abandoned place?
Will the stars ever forgive?
Do I still have a life to live?
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
Once upon a Time there lived a peasant
whose poems were whisperings of nature.
Nature aims toward growth, abundance
and decays softly back to succulent soils.
My homeland is not for your feet to step
upon, you belong to surrealistic cynicism.
My psychedelia does not approve of horrors
mundi and skips on every third classical tune.
What was impulsively chosen, can be a mistake
in pompous rituals on established compilations.
Apologies, for all the misdeeds lacking a true
appearances. You implied my life is a great lie.
No, it's not! Sometimes it is a knotted charade,
noose chameleon dreams wanting to create in
Castles build upon puffy clouds, youthful Ars
Poetica meeting a Pat Metheney's wonderland.
Beck is a phenomenal artist loving green lands.
Bachus was a goat. And Artemis protects us all!
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
I write about you in my head,
Without even knowing when and how.
I do not love you like the bee loves flowers,
I do not blush for you like a brook in the sunlight.
I love you like a nocturnal psychedelia.
I love you like darkness,
Consuming and hauntingly beautiful.
I know how I want you,
Meet me on a December night.
Undress me,
Shut my eyes,
Drink me raw,
Smell my hair,
Colour me in your murky lust.
Smoke me like a cigarette,
Burn my ***** with your smouldering lips.
Annihilate me,
Fail me,
Love me and then, leave me.
Sing Sinatra to me,
Ruin a song,
A song that I cannot listen to, again.
I want to wake up next to you,
Looking at your face, knowing you can’t be mine.
I’ll bring you coffee in bed,
Be gone before I come,
Escape from the back door.
Be the infidel Zeus,
Leave me naked in your linen, whiffing.
Annihilate me,
Fail me,
Love me and then, leave me.
**** me in the wintry mist,
I’ll scream in the starry night.
Leave me shivering with a gushing sadness
Curled up on the cold floor, naked
Forget me, disengage,
Love me and then, leave me, would you?
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
It's been one hell of a night.
She sat in blue light, artificial,
fingers tangled in dreds, natural,
head bobbing to bare beats
and **** draws upon the well of
electronica, O' jazzia,
O' sense-sinking psychedelia,
O' fleeting fingers ********* false feelings in the dark;
And this is what music is.
This is what music has always been.
The arrangement of sounds to tell a story,
paint a picture,
build mindscapes and landscapes upon which stories and feelings
will meld and melt and freeze to ice,
hot ice,
a paradoxical nocturnal noctuary of dreams and nightmares and candles dripping with wax.
Sing me home, Chet Faker,
bring me back to your apartment.
Sing it long and sing it low,
(This gas station fluorescence sure is hard on the eyes.)
sing me back to Boulder, Colorado;
to Joliet, Montana.
O' jazzia, my jazzia,
my sweet sand dollar saxophony,
will you meet me in Amarillo, Texas?
Will you play me a tune before the water-meter puts me to sleep?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
so, here i sit, having read that semicolons are a ******** tool - im only a partial ******* so, its admissable. in a bar drunk, sass'd, white bitch'd, hot as ever-living hell, hoping for a saxophonist. white ******* off bike lock keys in the bathroom as the door is attempted to be opened; "Sorry, we were ******* splurted, what an excuse; white ***** on a bike lock key - protection from theft, i guess. almost out of tobacco, yet i feel i can sustain, excuse me, remain. "i cant believe you did that, ***** crystal." (not what you think (totally what i think)) ambient psychedelia and a saxophonist (shes been mentioned) wailing, wail, whaling; expunge that Conscious ocean as if you were a Japo. yeah, racial slurs racial slurs. im told its 11.55 post on the 7th, but i am quite aware thats a lie. (most knowledge is (vindication symplified and unerred) unaware of what is being typed anymore) ..
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
The feeling doesn't come around very often
An old friend familiar footwise to different pastures fitting the fantasy
New experiences constructing strong someone's admirable psychology, fresh beauteous landscapes making up the ends of days that aren't quite taken for granted, but nonetheless become more and more common
As life becomes such an obvious thing to engage with, to fill the mind with an intangible, unnecessary to reconstruct explicability, defining reality
Where that ******* smirk just works, and is taken for granted
Forgive me for being jealous
As austerity and holding back defines our culture in recent times, suits and faces for hating, numbers and reports spurring disparagement, and sentiments of dream and realisation eroded and rained down with flu
Optimism becoming uphill, a difficult sentiment to come naturally, I try nonetheless when such metaphysical and intense psychedelia sits uncomfortably in the back of the mind
Fuck's sake Britain give me a break
But um..
That girl, that guy, those people, that moment in all those minds that grows from a simple glimpse of a day dream into an empowering determination, realised more and more through presences and establishments from the outside world
Those are the opportunities I'm looking for, amongst solidarity in a fluid and ****** up world
As I steal that smirk from that smug self involved person in the paradise of personality
To see into space and realise how my reflection looks good amongst such fantastical potential realisations
Yeah.. I should go to sleep, but a bit of clarity as to my direction, a little a bit of mirror monologue giving a bit of 'you're all right', well it isn't **** all to complain about.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
Grey sky
Don't believe you are not as beautiful as a blue sky.
Dave Matthews wrote a song about you
I love it to this day.
Vanilla Fudge
keeps my psychedelia streak going.
I listen as I look
at my beautiful grey sky.
Now Bob Dylan takes over my ears,
"Tomorrow is a long time."
I can see grey clouds
many miles away.
They give pretty background
to my trees across the way.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Sat in the room at that back of the house.
Where all my secrets hang out.
They're hanging about.
Somewhat strung.
Hiding inside my vacant head.
T.V. flashes colours of psychedelia,
Beatles concert in full swing.
Hopped onto the merry-go-round.
Tagged on for the ride,
Thought I'd scrawl a word or two,
Before more memories invade my sorry head.
Sad because, you're gone.
Now, only tired memories hang out in my troubled head.
You know what baby, one day we'll both be dead.
I'll still have cupid's ******* arrow transfixing in my heart.
Until the day, my mortal coil sprung, at the setting of my silent sun .
(C) Livvi
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
The black deer graces headlights again,
Unusually an often occurrence.
Beams burn the animal,
But it feels love.
Absolutely, entirely backwards.
The deer is broken,
Like the light reflecting off your cheeks.
Head pain, a headache,
Left little for the mind to chew
And I've been suffering for weeks now.
I drew inspiration from dust off strangers feet.
I've never been so dull, so bland, so colourless.
Mental instability, she's pretty but she's dead
And he's looking for cheap ****
Welcome to psychedelia and the twisted webs of today's society.
Paint your own empty shadow,
No one else wants it until you join pop
And pop ain't my thing.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
Psychedelics abstract One's viewpoint
and thus give One an opportunity
to learn about things in a new light
including and especially Oneself;
It makes good sense that certain schools of thought
would seek to stamp them out.
It also makes sense that certain people
wouldn't be able to work them out;
They open many doors and windows
not all of which are desirable; many are scary,
but many are valuable if only One figures out
how One can learn from them.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
You’re green, bubbly, and magenta.
You’ve transformed my vision of what I call psychedelia—
Wow!
I wouldn’t have expected you to walk up to me right here, right now.
You have candy canes on your face!
Funny you should come to this place....
Do you like it here?
See, look! A blue deer!
Wait, why is he sad?
Come along, please don’t be mad...
...a pretty color indeed!
Yes, I think it’s very sweet.
I’m so very curious, sir.
Why is it that the mangroves stir?
I find your idea rather enchanting,
However my imagination is too demanding...
Why are you here?
What summoned you and told you to appear?
Never the matter, let’s bask away;
Hurry, there’s only so much left today.
Beautiful, yes it is,
But stranger than a ghost’s kiss...
I don’t quite understand...
My fate doesn’t feel too grand,
And I suddenly realize
The meaning behind all your lies.
You were the one.
You took away the sun,
Leaving me with night
And a heart filled with fright.
You were the one.
You said it’d be fun,
And guided me in my infancy
To not worry or look too closely
Until one day it was gone
And I tried to forget
That you were the one.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
Drenched in psychedelia
The asylum you bury yourself along with your burdens in
But it’s always temporary
Despondency is always in season
Not forthcoming is change
You perpetuator you
Purpose ravaged by a river of lost opportunities
You lost a piece of yourself when the steel doors slammed shut in your face
And yours was one hell of a knock
Now Inebriation is your newly found crutch
Oh the irony!
The bottom of the clear glass bottle is not where you belong
This self pity is getting rather tedious
Get off your ****
Walk through the fire, do not go round it
For you my dear, will prevail.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Psyche--the soul
In a wave of abstract art
Living in one infinite painting
of dizzying swirls
The soul? It
Frolics in its hallucinations
In its nightly hallucinations
Dreams that don't come true
They are only in
MY
MIND
A vague psychedelia is this life
Because I walk, and I hear you
Calling my name
I fall asleep in what to me
Is your arms
In actuality only emptiness.
In the uncertain blur between
Sleep and Wake, I
am FALLING
from my dreams
I feel everything rushing past me
As I fall and I feel pain, out of breath
When I crash,
Fell from my bed, yet I landed
There as well.....And my eyes open
Wide with shock.
The spiders crawl all over me
And I am afraid, those nights I
CAN'T SLEEP
When you were here, you would
Comfort me, your words would
hold me, so close, so tight
And all my fear was gone,
Only love, your love, my love,
OUR LOVE.
But it is gone.
So I feel them alone.
Abstract painting...
I live there! Where all the
Colors blur, I can't even name them.
It makes my head hurt, my heart,
My very SOUL feel an icy chill.
You, my love, are no longer here
To melt my winters.
So all my symphonies,
My poems, HUMANITIES
Are kept to myself now;
They are alone.
And I live in psychedelia.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
How did I sleep on this?
How did I manage to keep myself in this charade
Any longer then I need to even fathom if I believed you,
It still wouldn't be the same,
Everyone is a victim,
Pushing lies on one another just to see how it
Will impact them,
I've been there,
Done that,
For sure it wasn't an impact,
It was an improvement to see how fake people
React,
Thinking out loud,
Days have became a bit solid and filled with
Magnolias,
Sorry that there's no trace of psychedelia,
Just me and a couple of snacks with a liter root beer
Sitting in the corner of grandma's room,
Flowers keep blooming outside putting roots on
The wall and savoring the roof.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
Death valley drone,
warm sun flesh draped over,
stiff, parched bone - joint torn,
cored roasted ligament on stifling plains.
Sun set delerium,
excitement, psychedelia in,
wild minds, winding, twisting ways,
flushed skin, bleached hair,
death wish depraved,
melancholy-mania taking hits,
under rapture days
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
She sits cool
On a lawn chair
In her dad’s garage
Blaring old cassette tapes
Of small town psychedelia
Regretting the years she squandered
Climbing the community college social ladder
When she could’ve been here
Sonic surfing with the boys
Making waves
And riding them
All the way in
To the local
Top ten
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
*quivering joystick
mellow honeypot
perfect blend!
fantasies
exciting hues
life is kicking!
huge dreams
coupled creations
cream puff realization!
dimples and smiling eyes
pretty gums drooling
sunshine babies!
art on the clouds
mad shapes
psychedelia anew!
o the futility
wishes were horses
flight and dissipation!*
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
wandering in the west wonderland of the east
coast of psychedelia along the northern coast
of a southern island
I came to the perception
of me as a scorpion
tail held high prancing venomously
striking the hand that fed me
along the willowing trails of honey nectar
the rainbow sailing sailboats in sun
colors glistening
the breathing cloud skies of blue gold
right next to a godlike creature sat I
tail up telling tales
with poison assed consequences,
making promises like a politician
was a bad trip then , until,
I saw bodhisattva sipping brandy and being just him
along side a unicorn on a hill
outside Hollywood
I took his hand
his discipline his calm
his realm now mine. He gratefully shared.
Now this was my kind of dude.
I waited around and he melted away
and ten vestile virgins appeared in his wake.
Each more beautiful than I can say.
And we ate strawberries and flew in the sky wingless
partied on shortcake and cream and I was happy once.
A beautiful dream a memorable trip.
It opened my eyes. My senses cleansed.
I try to live just like that.
Imaging Nirvana again, every day
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 3:15 AM UTC
You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island.
Starved for weeks.
Catching flies in the cave that hung open in your mouth.
Swaying on the wind until it was worn too thin and died.
And you see a series of the most beautiful sunrises.
Which you paint in my sleep every night after you've crept through my skull and come visit me.
Telling me all that you know of the habits of flies
While the new ones
Those kids
Dance around my breathing nose
To settle and sleep on my gums.-
All waiting to hatch to get a glimpse of that sunrise
Of which their parents dreamt.
A timeless chant
The only thing that god can be called
And the skin fell off of the shell of their light to make naked a thing that can not be named.
Cracking and peeling back their eyes to make way for the divine to come pouring out
Drowning a bloated belly thirst
Light explodes from every inch of the body-
It is the building of Ash,
The ripening of the past.
Until all that is left is he lthe two pupils falling
Like flies giving up on their lives
Into a pool of pure psychedelia
Dropping as a pearl tastes in the ignorant mouth of a thousand wanting oysters swallowing down the ****** of said god.
Who chokes on its own divine light
That it can finally die
Away from the madness of its mind
-overandover
andoveragain.
And our island
Is a venus fly trap
Devouring its neighboring flowers
Until there's no distinction between
The sweetness of rotting
And the living which is a thing we call ours.
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
Phonics in a symphony
assembles into an unreality,
swirling into trance worlds
and opens the minds door.
Tic Toc bass intrudes at whim
and images fragment out,
mimicking psychedelia in the stars
as heavens trip the music flies.
Fading slow in audible waves
through a keyhole in time,
the insistence of journey's end
adopts the guise of deity.
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
Psychedelics can be a great opportunity for inspiration
but it can also take so ******* long
to get those awesome ideas
out of your head
and onto paper
or into recorded sound
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
Ethereal light shines down
On modern Londinium
As we sit by the lake
Near St Giles-without-Cripplegate
Felicity leans forward
Her head slightly bowed
As if in silent prayer
Me – her confessor
Abruptly she stands
Taller than Shakespeare Tower
Why do you always come here?
It’s the antithesis of home
She adjusts her skirt
Last night it seemed too long
A duck lifts its tail feathers
***** on the concrete
Felicity is a rainbow
Most clearly seen during rain
Her moods still move me
Psychedelia made real
Your strange – she says
Your beautiful – my reply
She smiles – her face like coloured glass
The window of a great Cathedral
I see God in your face
I thought you followed Sartre
I did….I do…
This place suits both
I caught you last night
Eyeing that girl
Near Blackfriars bridge
Keep your eyes on the prize
Yes – you did
Now she’s my confessor
But she hadn’t your colour
Your pattern or form
Felicity kisses me
I squeeze her tight
By evening we’ll make love
Leave the ducks to the Barbican.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC