At Nineteen,
I bore witness to the live Birth of my Son.
He was adopted out via Open Adoption
to a very nice Family a few Hours away in Ukiah.
I'm still in contact with them, I get pictures every six Months
and I'm very happy to also be able to see Him every so many Months.

At Twenty,
I lost my Father. I found him on the floor and called 911. I paid for his Cremation the next day.
It was what he told me he wanted; his ashes are in a box in my room.
Perhaps even moreso than he was my "Father", he was by best Friend;
for better and for worse.

At Twenty-One;
my Girlfriend of Five Years, who was also Mother of the aforementioned Child, and I
broke up on Friendly terms. Now she lives about 200 miles away.
We're still cordial, and I'm glad we still speak.
Eternal Allies are rare to come by,
to say the least.

So far, Twenety-Two has been rather turbulently eventful, as well.
Between Family and their lack, personal choices and relationships,
and the furtherment of my Self as well as my expressive Capacities,
it's been a hell of a Twenty-Two so far,
to say the least.

All of these things leave me with an Understanding
that I cannot ever judge anyone, for I know not of their struggles
and that no One can ever truly judge anyone else,
for the same reason.

Through all of this, I feel evermore
that this Life is ******* great,
and that's no sarcastic remark:

Life
is a trippy and tumultuous Journey
and I'm thankful for this opportunity
to experience this Holiest of Realities, to say the least;
though it is a Lesson in Humility, to say the least.

And thus:

Thank you for reading my writings.
Thank you for taking time out to read what I have to bring forth.
Thank you for existing and expressing.

Blessings upon thy Paths;
wheresoever you've been
wheresoever you're going
thank you just for Being.

Please be your Self; you owe it to your Self,
for that is all you ever have, to say the least,
and so, once more:

*Blessings upon thy Path.

I have been insulted for sharing out
my peasant songs, pataphorical poems,
on the table of the cultural patriarchy
the insults have come in a serial flow
into my dark soul a basin of condemn,
it began as my duty to take my poetry
to the bottom of African latrine,
followed by volley of insults like ;
cerebral panicking insensitive idiot,
a gifted ******* of arsolian poetry
One other contumely went aboveboard
to announce me a better dead ******,
i wondered how much one can ****
without erstwhile duty of creation,
now i have been condemned in starkness,
to be a beautiful walking ghost
of William Seward Burroughs,
Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong,
this  accolade, i seriously decline to take,
my innateness is not wounded at all,
by anything near to genetic disorder,
i am only conscious of my luckless past,
of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism
Then poverty spiced by open ridicule ,
And partly trenchant and half-****** tease
firmly fuelled by racial intolerance,
i have now been mistaken in awry,
to  be a looming ghost of William Burroughs,
and i am not
i am  purely my self,
without imperious wide blood
any where in my by black veins,
i may easily have chimpanzee blood,
Flowing turbulently through my vessels,
but no tincture of white blood in my zoo,
Burroughs broke his virginity with a *****,
i have remained a ****** for three decades,
As African virgins marry only virgins,
Burroughs was the king of underworlds;
chasing lessbian prostitutes and  gays,
to quench his mad ******  appetite
the turf in which i am a  better sham,
Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run,
my soul is clean as new pin,
in fact  gorgeously dressed
in the unique royal attires
of as a Bristol pin merchant,
Billy worshiped crime and drugs
my piety is anchored on freedom of all,
Billy went to Latin America for *****
i  have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia,
the Nobelite who was alone in deathly  solicitude
Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny,
my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing,
other than African chantings for  liberty,
freedom for the white and black peasants
perhaps to unyoke themselves,
from the yoke of vicious human avarice.

You and I grew
up by the outskirts
of their society, with no other
choice, but to observe…

We pretended to hide
from a cruel
and indifferent world,
that was never looking
for us to begin with.

Turbulently, we grew
into erratic teenagers,
pillaging our world
with a vengeance.
My youthful rage dulled
with the waning of age, but
you never ceased to seethe.

I stumble by a lake
to find you there;
flinging pebbles to break
the surface, distorting
the reflection of yourself
you’ve never wanted to see.
In the settled water I greeted the
uncertain face, solemn as I was
to share a likeness…
And hesitantly I asked you
what brought you here.

We both said nothing
(we knew you had nowhere else to go)
All we could tell the world
they stole from our tongues;
The reflected face distanced her glance
from you, an aloof and bitter woman
of the rest of society,
and beyond your bent knees
the water had never settled,
revealing cryptic shards
of a jigsaw puzzle face.

Yet in that water I had drowned
a part of myself;
my animosity, and pride
against a mechanical world
that never pitied me…
Your vengeful heart
stayed forever smoldering,
never forgiving a careless god
that let you suffer, blinded
by the walls surrounding
your lesser world.

The Cannibal’s dream and the inverse conclusion
Twist of the seam, sunken scattered illusion

Shouts of the spy fastened tight to the pylon
Sacrifice sweating; bygones can’t just be bygones
Mustard gas moans, whip lashed in the fire
Cunning glass masters burned alive at the pyre
Miscarriage minister delivers the sponge-bath
Alive at the eve of divination, the wrath
Blasphemous cries vindicate putrid powder
Sweet crystal cradling, swaddling sheets on the shrouder

Arcane sessions in the cavern deep
Turbulently righteous ideas to reap
Divine purification at an alchemy flame
A zenith of nostrums, bad medicine, blame
Strip off the layers and chant benediction
A hand, from the mind, reaching out for conviction
Sharp swords of lead, heavy, shifting to gold
Sentient beings search for truth to behold

Excavate, deviate, a stranger to demonstrate
Colloquial séance with panic to elevate
Head leads body, a path of insurrection
The soul and the mind at war for correction
The crotches of branches, slits of the eyes
A crevasse of lonesome; wedged in, we writhe
Anticipating the sting that comes with the change
Of transforming the cave into a mountain range

I can savor
The taste of fear
Riding upon the wind
As turbulently
As your troubled mind
Seeks desperately
To understand the mortality of this moment

The life and death mechanics of reality
The realization
That we are to die
As evident of the staccato pant
Of your futile labour

Frivolous at best
Arouses a sense
Of ******* justice

Hard truths
Brought to bear witness of
Your infidelities
Your betrayal

Lies
Aborning of arsenic
Sputters froth
From your womb

Searing traces of bitterness
Cascades a corrupted truth
Transformed into an ugliness
That has become us

Two hearts that once beat as one
Cast fervently
Into a cold war

Unrelenting hatred
Reciprocated  
Ricochet
Unmitigated threats

Wounds
That cannot be reprieved

How did we get here?
Do you even care-
To ponder the thought?

How
I once loved thee
A dream shattered
By the realization of now

But
The now I can live with
The thought of losing you I cannot
**** this relationship

Endure
I must
For the taste of you
Is the sake of me
My sustenance

I close my eyes
In perusal of happier times
When life was bearable

Abruptly
I'm jolted out of my reverie
By hilt of your scorn
Protruding from my chest

Animately
I touch
As if to confirm its legitimacy
A reason for its being

Overwhelmed by solemn peace
I collapse in passive supplication

And as she turns and walk away
Contemptuous
Of the final utterance
To flee my lips
I forgive you

I ponder
If she ever
Loved me at all

when our mind is full of great ideas
we want to write them down
yet there are times when we  discover
that there is no connection from our brain
to all the instruments we use
to transcribe our flighty thoughts
    to give them shape on paper, screen, or in the sand

sometimes it helps to pause a bit and reconsider
what we do really want to say  
    focus and concentrate
    articulate precisely yet suggestively
our indomitable urge to formulate
    the turmoil of emotions we may harbor
    our wild ideas of revolution
    the overbearing pain of loss and separation
    grey landscapes of depression
    attractions of dramatic suicide
also the joy and pleasures of deep love
    of unexpected friendships found
        where even angels fear to tread
    the happiness of our children
    the love we recognize
        often too late
    our parents have bestowed on us

et cetera  et cetera

the catalogue of our themes
expands through our lives
so do the challenges
of how to tell the tale

it helps to aim for clarity
we have to  let our instruments of writing know
which of our turbulently swirling thoughts
should earn the privilege
to become words
    and be communicated
to people who
    before they read our verse
have no idea at all
    that we exist

Further down the river
is a quiet island,
my hideout in days of yore
when love as a narcotic
seeped in to my blood streams
coursing wildly to the beat
of my thumping heart.
Tides from the estuary
never touch its shores
waters are wave-less there,
nature is at her fecund best.

We rowed and rowed
but found nothing there,
turbulently lashing waves
told us a story different
from the one  for long
in my mind encapsulated.
I stood for a moment, accepting defeat
and felt  the maelstrom of time
swirling around, emphasizing on
the irrevocability of  the things past.

From where does this pain come?

Once close to my heart,
the island in my mind's stream,
though I left behind and
swam forward not to look back,
is still there, though not here in space.

I miss your breath after
a few shots
breathing on my neck
Corroding my skin
Leaving wounds the shape
of your mouth
the size of continents
seeping down
in to my bones
like radiation ,
rusting them
grinding my knee caps
my elbows
shifting the tides of
my blood
your fingers sail down
my spine turbulently
I could feel arthritis
On your lips
Taste myself on
Your tongue
and feel the collision
of a car crash being
pressed against me
everywhere

The train window swallows mansions and fields and rivers and box-like houses as if all are mere stick figures

There are tears pressed behind my eyes, and they desperately want to jump from the red rims of my eyelids and end it all

End it all

The water pressure in my head has reached a point where the measurements start to break down, thoughts tossed turbulently into darkness and suddenly breathing water seems better than breathing air

My headphones crackle with music as I gaze at my fellow passengers in disbelief- the woman next to me is looking at shoes

Doesn't she get it? Don't they get it? How futile it all is? How beautifully endlessly painful and deadly life is?
I choke on rain when I close my eyes

The train roars forward in mechanical bliss with its destruction of the scenery outside

A boy is sitting across from me now. He leans closer and I catch death in his dark, empty eyes.
'And you thought you were going to be okay' he sneers.
My tears and water soaked brain are paralyzed into ice.
'My dear' he confides, wrapping me in his bitter, syrupy touch.
You will never be okay.*

He laughs, melting through the screeching train car
And my iced-over tears break
I know now he waits patiently on the train's tracks
And I fervently hope I will never meet him there

Trees that are rising, with trunks fading to black,
Before you were woven from wood, now of the rocks that crack.
With you standing tall, and always the shade to rest my back.
From then til' today I could never repack,
All the sins, that you devour on track.
Since long I have not wronged by the stars of that song.
Maybe I should numb what was strong,
Because the silence of your breath becomes flat.

With leaves of wide shape and shining colour.
Reflecting the shadows and its silhouettes.
Home to different creature of its lore.
The furious, silent, and respectful.
Like the ever changing skins of your growing fruits.
From remedies, poisons, and delicacies just to fill.
Giving abundances of gifts but nonetheless it is you who takes it.

Time moves forward,
It is seen that yesterday is tomorrow,
The ebb and flow is very evident,
What was calm,
Turbulently testing today,
Gathering all its forces,
While throwing what is wasteful and foolish.

It will never be clear to me,
     If stars have shadows,
Or was it the deep, dark night
Altogether, proud
     Of its profundity?

If so, then
Why do I wait for you, you,
     Who turbulently loved me?
How come each of my night
Has to be for star-gazing,
     And yours an early sleep?

Why do I bother,
Staring
     At your closed eyes?

Tell me, why do I dream
     Ahead of you,
Miles, lightyears,
     A future away?

Love, perhaps, is a journey
To contentment. It is either
I am looking for it, or, with hope,
     Finding someone
Who will be contented
     With what I have.

So, If I will do this, bravely,
Just this, just this one kiss,
     Will you kiss me back?

Because if you do, dearest,
     With an impenitent sweetness,
Then I would be running out of queries,
And it will all go down
     To one last question, graceful,
          Unfurling,

     Which I’d rather not ask,
          That I’d rather leave answered.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Morning frost
lays crystal sheets,
steaming in
the early heat.

Autumn breathing
steep release,
surrendering
last leafy green;
final piece
of creaking tree
won't let go
so easily.

Achieved by
a tease of
frigid degrees,
reason's razor
sharp, now cleaves
between stability
besieged by treason
and terminal
velocity agreed,
competing speed
descending free;
earthen dirt
eagerly pleas
and receives;
turbulently earning
unpredictability,
it careens.

A final sigh,
falling relief,
I hold my breath,
freeze expectantly;
winter seized
as seasons leave
seed buried
somewhere
six feet deep
beneath dry bones
and brittle debris,
lost in all
of eden's weeds,
covered in
a snowflake sea,
icy geometry impedes.

Heart, a beat,
syllable speaks,
rhythm repeats
infrequently;
silence broken
for a moment,
it meekly greets
and peaks,
exhausting extreme
expediently;
though gravity
its greedy thief,
time denies
my soul to keep;
not dying yet
in faded defeat,
mortality has
still not ceased;
just enough
life left to lead.

Still hope to be
and blessedly believe-
a flame to flicker
in the breeze
when you need
the light to carve
through dark to see,
if only ever our meeting
but fleeting and
happening briefly.

Dark circles
and a ******
of crows' feet creased,
show me deprived
of sleep, fatigued
on the eve of
dreams, leaping;
as the sun sets
in the west weeping,
reflects again,
blinding iris
rising east,
horizon breached
again eventually;
coronary arteries
won't concede
until this vessel
bleeds empty.

Cacophonous waves smash the ever-breaking sides of the boat
And there is nothing but doom on th' horizon

Rain soaks the faces of men and women as the ocean rocks us ever so turbulently
Not letting go of the new wooden toy, she's found in her hands

The sails give way
The ship cracks and creaks
As water pours into the, now, frail frame that was once, long ago, so strong.

There's nothing but peace among the peoples; however, and this so delicately contrasts the violence surrounding.

Gripping crosses, Bibles, family, Love.

Love and Peace surround the peoples with rain soaked faces
There's light in the distance
And no one feels cold
There's light in the distance
"It is well with my soul."

A ship sailing in the pale blue
Waters of the placid sea;
We hold our lives and
Float in the world similarly.

Sometimes the moon enthrals
And the stars shine, its  heavenly.
Other times the sea snarls,
And the waves thrash turbulently!

The challenge for us is to accept
Both occurrence with equanimity,
For the power that rocks the ship,
Is the same one that holds it steady.

And our faith will help us in
Overcoming every adversity.

It's the water that bothers me,
Feelings of submersion,
The need of being salty to be ocean,
To overflow slowly drop by drop.

It's the water that keeps me liquid,
Turbulently running from state to state,
Mood to mood,
Tide to tide,
To be wave and current and breeze,
To dislocate within continents,
To somehow be attached to the land,
To avoid the sky to penetrate Earth,
To hold the void beneath.

It's the water, strong and weak,
Carving stone hearts through a strange dance
That make me look to the sky everyday
To expect a new kind of rain
To bring sand
Where only clouds, ice and river are known.

When you flow
Dancing rhythmically
On the top of the mountain
Nobody is rallying to see you

When you fall
Suffering turbulently,
Down here in the valley
Many are saluting you
With standing ovation