"shamanic" poems
We all have our own destiny,
written in the celestial mystery,
Mayan cycles in the eternal so trippy,
transition of ego death can be accepted,
our souls last forever protected,
fear is only a shadow from light of awareness,
experience deathless consciousness,
nothing but a transformative change,
a quantum jump strange,
fictional in the cosmic game,
rearrange dance celebrate and play,
welcome the unknown foresty beyonds,
all webs of being are woven better,
we are all one from the beginning until forever,
ceremonial tribal & shamanic let's gather together.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Bluebell Lucy danced in fantastic flames, taught by shamanic figures
when the winter nights grew tiresome
and lonely boys ran passionately in village streets
She stood on ancient structures and sang her song with uttermost vigor
even after mild paranoia sets in, she stands statuesque
breathing harmonic, listening intently to the cloud's chatter
Her cobalt lashes flickered adroitly when she scanned the sky atop her locks
and let the coming rains wash through that azure mane
until the kiss of eternal gratitude arrived from a stray bird
On cobble stone paving, her heels were worn and dampened, she nimbly strides
how beautiful it is to see a spirit so free
and the obstinate world yields to her alone
Loosely, Lucy with a cerulean aura, gathers the injured and feral in alabaster arms
she is yagé and the world hallucinates because of her
a subtle enlightenment she gives to onlookers and thieves
Camu Camu sprouting from the wells she digs with bare hands in midnight moonlight
her compatriots, the beasts of lost tribes, look onwards
and she wails a verse on hemerocallis singular sensation
The flower that she is, a wild one that grows sporadically to enhance the beauty of existence
and everybody incomprehensible in thoughts when she speaks
because she is love when love had died so many suns ago
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
i care, i really do...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
no, i do...
i'm trying...
ha ha...
i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...
the...
ha-shem...
i.e.
the-name....
laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...
the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!
better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...
and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...
aha!
tell me...
what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of
heilung's song,
notably
alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...
because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...
hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -
no wolves in england...
i'll pet a a fox therefore...
scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;
even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...
even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -
the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...
noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...
i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...
no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
a drunk mind,
but a sober heart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
sprinkled sunsets over a lush green landscape
as you hold the flame and watch it evaporate.
inhale mothball secrets, let it expand your lungs
what did you expect, for this to be fun?
new dimensions and planes of existence,
no longer questioning your existence.
shamanic swirls and colourful twirls
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
The Moon and the Stars
It all started one night under the stars.
Lying in the field on the clearest yet brisk last nights of summer's warm-held grasp. Telescope, blankets, friends and stars. We watched and waited as satellites and planes flew overhead; deciphering shooting star from orbital waste, relearning and recalling constellations recognized throughout man's lifelong past. Gazing into the wide open of the unknown with thoughts of extra-terrestrial, black holes, and the possibility of life after death.
The darker the night the more magic seemed to exist. After wrapping up our outdoor viewing of the universe, we headed indoors for peaceful sessions of passing the pipe while listening to shamanic throat singing and overtones, as our friends sat gravely entranced, zoning out to the wonders of the world covered by media through National Geographic and the world-wide-web.
It was somewhere a midst all this where I find myself; body calm and mind relaxed, propped up on the couch pondering the innermost immortal thoughts of the interconnectedness of life and death and sound and energy, spirit and soul as visions of spirals infinitely intertwining as one appear before my eyes. The sensations of what I imagine the reference of “getting the gears rolling” in the center of my brain as my pineal gland begins its first steps of decalcification brought about by the intentions of man.
Up until this point my life was on a one track path. A steady straight line towards the unknown, unawakened, and ignorantly naive, believing everything I had been taught up until that moment was a true solid fact. With this new sensation of the potential for higher vibrations within my own soul, my heart began to rapidly race but without pain and suffering, rather with the excitement of this new realized grace.
Awakening to this new idea, to this new age, to this new way of life.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
and the myth goes along the lines - had i but the eyes to spot
a silver spoon - there chimed a magpie in the the night,
a cackle compared with the rhapsodic
crow call to wake up Barbarossa...
the cackle and the literary laugh...
there she was, with the Kraken -
she was there bewildered
to sing a song, sroka among the magpie calls
to tell tales of silenced lightning
without thunder.....
shamanic in the extreme:
what a strange nationalism being born
with extracts of a former colonialism in Ukraine -
lost, forgotten, and a brief testament to Israel -
do i feel any pride? perhaps i should...
i better myself in the word spoken:
sroka is above magpie -
the serenity of the sharpened consonants,
the flight to become werewolf legend -
sroka, or magpie -
as a language there are some offences -
which cannot translate, but merely
tarnish...
s and r
are two consonants that out-perform stress /
authenticity when m and g are used...
the tongue is more important than the breath,
counter the metaphysical greek breath that's known
as psyche: i.e. γλωßα -
to treat the tongue akin
to the mind, and soul as the authenticity of the verb
thought: when all organs automate, akin
to the kidneys dialysis.
yes, sroka / magpie...
crow / kruk / crux
or the shadow of Golgotha...
toward us: the darkened hour...
to gloss over - to speak a phrase in demand -
sire *** qua non byzantine sprechen.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Yes I Long....
Who turned this power on?
Emotions once weak now are strong
Only a Goddess could ever awake
Ones Spiritual Evolution that would overtake
Vibe Shamanic..Words spoken supersonic
Welcome to the now..Poetry Bionic
Poems structure a piece of my soul
Thoughts released in my flow
Riddle with Rhyme I can bring
In the end we all say the same thing
Infinity connects us all enlightening M.A.N
Keeps me devising not being part of a plan
Didn't mean to drift or get off track
Life is all over the place..That's a fact
In love I become like the sea
Unpredictable waves overcome me
Too many times I've been torn
It's as if my destiny is to be reborn
Shadows of yester-me still inside
Always there..can not hide
The fool in me will always yearn
In Fire of Phoenix that fool will burn
Reformulate pain redirect feel the gain
A spiritual balance is obtained
In the arms of love a heart grows strong
Shines the light of truth for which I long..
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
I have openly altered my state of consciousness and have connected with astral planes where the channelling of transcendental energy into the room has occurred through vibrations from the soul of music.
A spellbinding stream of conscious connectedness truly pulsates through unseen realms of reality.
In order to participate, we must understand that healing cannot be defined by the limitations of familiar vocabulary. Therefore, let us permit shamanic drumming to throb within the network of our being.
Thank you. I can feel your transparency.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
How bombastic is the traditional English breakfast, as she spreads her colorful and cardiac enticements across the span of our traditional expectations.
We have far surpassed the golden age of steam, my gorgeous friend of midnight festivals.
Their truly is an eerie silence which is deafening, when seaweed caresses the surface of oceanic intrepidity. So, my brother of anthropological inseparability – kiss the breeze of this powerful and enigmatic mysticism.
I praise the shamanic divinations of Bolivian forests, where entrails are the delight of Haruspex and the Erythroxylum Coca bends her rigid stem on the West face of the Andes.
I have one question to ask of thee: How do we truly interpret Mesopotamian liver?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.
They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.
They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.
These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.
And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
rddpc your word of honor lives on
our very heart beat drum is us,
God let his heart beat forever
reign peaceful my lover divine .
~~~
He left me as I guarded silence
in shock in my prime later again.
I remained decades sunstruck
in love with this King my twin
no matter what I just do.
~~~
His shamanic drum and ink is my heart beat raising and pausing as
I burn bittersweet at the sound
of his drum beating getting closer
thus my beloved materializes
in my arms again and again
whispering "baby baby" in my ear
for hours in the same hot Atlas.
worshipping him.
~~~
{ JC felt like Rhett B in GWTHW
with Scarlet O running
to women mad for his all
instead of being true to himself and stay with me whom he truly loved
to fall in love after asking a few key questions to see me eye to eye.😂}
✓\✓\✓\__________________________
°°°
His foot steps ink and all I hear
as his familiar rose scent
tickles his chin and I see them there;
then slowly my candle is blown off.
my heart stops ✓}✓\_________
I am never alone our union warps
etched in time and space as a painting safe inside a fortress of loves sacred parameters and divine brain art.
°°°
His whispering drum drumming
remained embedded deep in my soul.
The love of my life my heart beating
he guards
His word of honor he gave to be so
and so it is
thanks Heaven for his loving ways .
~~~~
√/✓\✓\/√√ √\√\√\√\√√ \√\√\√\.
Karijinbba.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 11:51 PM UTC
I can see the mask that you wear
The demon that you hide behind
As it chases you loiter it's shadow
I'll sooth you in the dark alleyways
Directly call the shamanic exorciser
to starlight your pebbled and icy path
I can see the mask that you wear
It laughs and mimic's as you **** it
Carrying a collection of your innocence
the disclosures of the haunted past
I'll reconcile amicably with the villain
sign the treaty permanently on your behalf
I can see your charming face behind that mask
That beautiful facade of yours my dear one
the vision in your eyes written on your iris
the ink that pastes a blank page of my desires
Our seal that wraps the crawls in the cold night
My divine one, let's fly afloat in the attic of our dreams
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest.
Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance.
Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference.
This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities.
It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier.
Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity.
It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend.
Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment.
Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom.
You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere.
Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures.
Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography.
Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy.
Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Free flow, juggling words, consciousness
So to say - like jeweled crescent clouds
Like river laugh - sawing earth-tree
A sound erupts from the deepest depths of mind -
Sorrow, no - something different - completely alien
No language can speak the sound,
For comprehension of said sound turns up no meaning
No meaning in familiar form or shape -
And so the flow flows free, back into the sea
Far from you and far from me
For we are all together, lost abound the creed
Of having something to believe in -
Like thinking that we’re free
But as molecular structure
Binds the soul to ground,
The thought engine runs rapid -
Thinking thoughts resembling ghosts of abstract lands
Lands without land - space without dimension
Seek like tomorrow exists,
And drink to the sun -
Tomorrow remembers nothing
As today is just for fun
We’re free as we sleep
We’re free as we dream
We’re free until we awake
From the unsettling scene - reality screams
The light gleams, past statues of Man,
And petty idols and plastic song
The light shines into the eyes of the knowing -
For the knowing understand
Nothing is permanent nor recognizable
Once the sudden truth is revealed
Through practiced art and dance and talk
Know nothing ‘cept the ignorance of thought
Say nothing save the chance to see
Without ignorance, one cannot know
Without knowing, one cannot live
Without living, one cannot be
Without being, one is without
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
the only greater justice
that i could ever know,
would be to pass
from my flimsy grip
of the world,
into iron clutches
of a higher esteem
than my own for what
has been written
by my callousness.
long gone are the days
of passing into folklore,
or to pass as an erosion
of memory in common song
in celebration of
some event that
pleases the people,
and the state.
perhaps akin to Hölderlin
passing into a patriarchal
***** of Heidegger -
or what can be said in ancient
tongue - toward the misty
ocular eternity:
toward a Homeric
third eye
of blindness: from all
the phantasmagorical ambitions
of man, having been
exposed to the shamanic
yet still returning to
the troughs of grey and boorish
affairs of monetary leverages:
as ever - wishing upon
Archimedes' joke of a pound(£) -
settled on a gamble for
the grand wish of
using a pound(£) as a lever -
to tickle Mammon into coughing
up riches.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Maize stalks
Sage cleansing
Prophetic vision's
Unrelenting
All shamanic gifts!!!!
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
*in english slang: you're a bit of a ***
hence not holy water in russian orthodox,
but holy fool.*
and as david bowie according to w.h. auden saying
'he became his admirers,' i too, but i don't care for admirers,
i have this strange affinity with alcohol,
i'm morose dirge clipping in the night,
but during the day, i speak variations
of peacock onomatopoeias to cats
and laugh a dry fox's laugh
that insists on operatic regurgitated phlegm
for ointment for a vehement approach
to the sung piece of work:
much of our cognitive faculties are
based upon translating optically phonetic
symbols into action, unlike gob-gagging-droop
of seeing the creases (kreskówki, crayon drawings)
of colour upon colour, supra-colours of fantasy
that leave us speaking very little,
much is designated for the ah, within the framework
of dentistry's 'say ah...' aaaaah... good, not the filing
and implants. i lied, there are actually two
aesthetic phonetic units among actual diacritical
units in the polish alphabet: ó (u) and ż (rz, e.g. rzeka / river)
ę and ą are imitable by crouching with the knee bend
of the vowels - still the russians choke the joke:
'polish is all sh sh sz sh sh sz sh sz,' no tak, i szczepta soli /
a pinch of salt.
and when i die, and die i shall, i want the shamanic winds
to turn me into deer and foxes, my greatest patrons
of the senses - and if i die in my sleep, i will never rest
for having the opportunity of looking death in the face
stolen from me; how many painful blinks it might take,
death conscious than death in my sleep.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
my hands are full of waves, walls, kisses, common faces
a shamanic design sometimes
but they still can't bear the weight of words
in a language without wrists
I am a Jane Doe on a metaphoric journey
cause time isn't waiting for me in particular
so I won't waste any more minute on the description
of the darkness of language
better start writing the memoirs of the time to come
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 4:24 PM UTC
To her, a tiny infinity- mostly for reasons unknown,
a dominant archetype or the flowers of her world alone.
Words, jumping out like
waterfalls. And her
realms of unimaginable light
and blur.
To her, a friend; for minnows of metaphors
an uniformity sustaining shamanic storms.
I say not, that I say for,
these neurotic impulses unfolds-
triggers of psychic lore.
Eyes, smiles, and yes
the atmosphere,
her atmosphere (adored).
To her, a beautiful soul. A privilege, must I say
is to know her. Things said, some untold,
cherished by the sky, of matters
unknown.
May be this envelop of culture,
might not understand all the language spoken.
Magical structure explored. Wind whistles-
for inexorably unfolding souls.
To her, the nexus of time and space
for whom the universe moulds.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
The shamanic soul wanders the desert
I trail his shadow!!!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
like doctor teeth
I bring electric mayhem
no prescriptions or special ray bans
shining brighter than
the sun at noon
and before you know it
they'll come for you.
go ahead, act like
your supposed to be here
to sink suspicions
broken beach chairs
on the brinkofevening
so close to despair
soon the moon'll
show mushroom caps
which in turn
exposes each fear.
shamanic surgeons
flourish fast patterns
with flowery curtains
down neural pathways
mouths open morning glories
to cure the bad taste
and service your core being.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
*Winter nights are when the grey wolf cries,
across the skeleton forest shorn of leaves.
Grey and invisible within the resting trees,
Silent and patient intelligent ice blue eyes wait.
It is calling for me to rekindle with the pack
For as a woman I am also partly wolf.
Now my hair turns grey like their coats.
My eyes are as wise as nature.
I lie as they lie with my belly on the earth
in reverence of its timeless wisdom.
to feel its pulsating heartbeat.
The silver shine of my wolfs eyes empower me,
Overflowing my soul, with ancient knowledge.
Though human I lie down in company of the wolf,
suckling the milk of my mother, gaining her strength
Standing in the rains of her wisdom
Her daughter, her immortality, Her wolf.*
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
there's a fire in this madhouse of Venus
where unattainable romance gives birth
to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers
to obsessions of strange mental constructs
something about blood and tears
birthing black ******* and vampires
with vermillion mouths shaped in circles
that gorge themselves on violent thrusting *****
and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs
just asking for it
a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes
and tongues snake into esophageal
swoon revivals of glorious deliverance
flashing souls flit like street lights
and flames of wraith hair
she begs to be strangled with a black chord
and kissed till her brain blurs fizz
she dances
wigwam wiggle and clutches
like a sliding oyster
licking my *******
**** ***** and ruby *****
gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root
falling into submission
for her dark ******* god Faustian thing
a little doll with mythic eyes
a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged *****
with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice
will you **** me with your **** sir
a dark hunger gnaws deep within
so bleed me merciless
like a gushing artery
make me red dead in love in bed
butter **** and properly spread
pound me like a hell ***** ******
in a burning five alarm
emergency suicide ****
-
i corkscrew her
into a writhing
murderous wreckage
as she dissolves under me
like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood
christened by a magic wand
that forces her round belly
up and down like a toilet plunger
her ***** drools like runny yolks
a deep homework
the shamanic decent
an illusive weighing of the heart
the sweet meat priestess
who resuscitates abandoned legends
making my ***** click like castanets
a Mr. Winkey party
spewing Icelandic yogurt
her teeth rattle
as her brains and one eyeball
hang off my ****
like pig trough slobber
her face smiles
and vomits peaches
there's moon glitter
in your beautiful hair
my darling
God save the kink
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 2:35 PM UTC