Living in a world of numbers
Forced the mind to wander
To fields of daisy grass
Memories of childhood past
When did I dream of a fate
Where life would tally on the slate
For dollars and cents I have sold my day
All because I have forgotten to play
How many dollars
Would I sell an hour
Of my life and priceless time
Just to increase the bottom line
What would I pay in the end
To have one of those hours back again

i awoke
inside
to find a web page of windows
looking out into twinkling cosmosis
scrolling through frames
where the doll faced iguana
humming starlight blue,
black, and purple impossibilities
next to the girl
whose only white was sclera
like a portrait from Africa

Yellow dust that matters so much
Once it is within the ceremony begins
It unhinges the body from the mind
Sends the soul where the body cannot go
With eyes that cannot close we follow the flow
We learn a lesson from this show
The mythological journey is about to begin
Deeper and deeper I delve within

Great thread, some amazing stuff in here, feeling inspired just by reading through it. I absolutely love to write but am so constantly consumed by mundane daily routines that writer's block seems to always be in place. I've never been a great speaker and find that I can so much better organize my thoughts and convey my intent through writing. I've been thinking if I begin keeping a journal and just write something, anything, on a daily basis that maybe I can slowly get rid of the constant writer's block. Here's something I wrote a few weeks ago.



Stepping Stoned

I ponder just how long I've been pacing this
infinitely branched, omnidirectional, spiral of a crossroad.
Statuesque and routinely biding time, apathetic as rhythm really comes.

Some paths are more well lit than others after all,
and as enigmatic as some of the more promising passes seem;
I'm drawn to believe that perhaps solace is best found concealed in the far reaches of my vision,
Divinely teasing the peripheral.
All along a path of not-quite symmetry,
Faintly luminescent and woven a different shade of gray.
Nothing is put together for me.
Everything is in it's right place.

How long have I been beckoned by it?
Yet entrenched myself with precise sideways stumbles.
Too afraid to deviate,
and why?

It's all a circle, after all.

Take one step.
Catch a breath, lift the veil, and
open.

This short moment within the chrysalis has ended.
No more biding time.

Take one step.
Inhale infinitely, consciously.
Lift the veil and
open.

Choose one spiral and ride it until it stops.
Let it go and open --
Your Heart, your Hands,
Your Eyes.

Smile as you realize that it was and is
all a circle after all.

Dig out and take one step.

I need flames that lick the sky, much too hot to touch and far too blinding to look at. I need flames that brighten my entire existence even with my eyes closed. I need flames that render the intangible and the unattainable palpable and within reach--flames that illuminate all the paths and all the people surrounding me. Some I know, and some I don’t--it makes no difference because I love them all. In that perfect moment I am void of hate, void of negativity, bursting at the seams with empathy for my sisters, my brothers, all of their choices and all of mine. The light of the fire makes our eyes again resilient, its warmth gently dousing the cold ache of disillusioned shadows and radiating back onto the Earth from which it came in phosphorescent perfect circles. I need flames that once extinguished leave a vital spark for all who need one to ignite their wild and weary eyes, to wash the world in light, to fluoresce and shine on others so that they may brighten, awaken, shine themselves and do the same.

Alejandro en los muertos de noche,
que han allanado el camino empatía,
que esculpidas en las posibilidades del cielo piedra.
El que había un accidente cerebrovascular y un diamante cincel.

A quatrain for Shulgin...

Self-amused
A wealth of confusion babtizes me
Suprising scenes from behind I think
A Sign and then I sink
Into oblivion
You religion digs its crooked nails in
Into my eyes
Justifying your disguises
Indoctrinizing our demise
And us led blindly to the gallows
By the hallowed feet of a phalic symbol
Metal jingles
Lining pockets
Not those of us bottom feeders
Who knows, but we can't trust our leaders

My sweat and tears
Support my fears
And iron-barred tiers
Where the abused can abuse
And become amused
At the diffused strands of life they grasp in their hand
Ingorants like them can't understand
So here's a plan and this could be the answer
Fight for reform remove this cancer
Black with spite
Awake be born, ignore man's fear
As I write the veil is torn and celestial sands clear

Despited that Fake is the norm
Do we lay forlorn or rise to cleanse the smear?
Our fear is our plight
Making us hate to sense whats near
Its not right
For this 6th Reich
To keep our fire doused in fear
Now we're afraid
To open our ears to the sound
To open our eyes to the light
To open our mouths to yell out
At the agony of the sight
Of the antagonizing, self-relying system
We took the shot but the bullet missed 'em

I wrote that about a year ago after a friend of mine got shipped to the middle east. Its not about spice but its still poetry. What do you guys think?

I'm glad this thread is here as poetry is about the only art I feel like I'm worth a damn at.I got this gem to share

Sometimes while pondering I find in fact I'm wandering
Across the path and not down it
Just pacing back and forth like clockwork
Back and forth like a pendulum makes a frown.
It chases me back and forth; never up, never down
Back and forth I laugh and dance merry as a clown
Like I'm in a circus while yous stare, just smirk
And watch as the clown dances
Away his life to the cadence
Of bombs fallig all around
Him as he passes the path on which he should hav been bound

If your a pendulum and learn
The clock you swing frow ain't a swiss one
And as the cogs and gears turn, wear and tear
Take momentum from you swing
All the sudden you can think
Clear enough to vocalise
"Its all my fault!" asyou close your eyes

Slower now
You don't think, but rather know somehow
That before you learned less about more when WOW!
You should have learned more about less.

But you hadn't the time with all your restless swinging
Keeping the noon-bells ringing out uselessly in an empty house
And then you stop

At that moment, the bombs falling all around the clown found their mark
The last was dropped
In the middle and the top
Of the path he should have walked from the start
But who knows their destination when they depart?
There is an art to taking apart distractions
And reacting in a manner so as to lead you to the planner,
Always plotting our routes
From the roots of our nows to the ends of our thens,
Making our ends all depend on how we spend our nows.
Whether we'll rise to the skys or get lost in the clouds.

The Dreamer

There once was a small dark corner of time
Wherein sat a child, nothing more, nothing less,
Who knew nothing of lonliness, sadness, or crime
Could never partake of the sins of the flesh.
He drifted to sleep, his only escape,
And dreamed up his own world, unthought of before
Filled it with light of infinite yore
And bound light with his breath, giving it shape.
So different this dream, possibilties galore,
That he decided to stay; to wake nevermore.

The dream it got deeper, its plot more complex;
Light birthing form birthing laws birthing life.
Ever gorwing and changing, the dream-world did vex
The dreamer who gladly let go of his strife.
"All this beauty I've made," he declared to himself
"Must be more true than that pit that did once
Hold me aloft in a shadow that shuns
All creative thoughts to the bowels of hell."
Oh how a child, in his youth, seldow confronts
The horror of not yet knowing his wants.

The strife that the dreamer let go from his heart,
Strife from having no control of his lot,
Found its way into the world he did start
From the darkness he came from; the life he forgot.
This pain turned to evil, as often pain does,
And tainted his creature with violence and greed.
Wars ran rampant as thier lust was freed
With noone to whom their woes to entrust.
The creator did mourn his creation indeed,
As the just among them, to him, did plead.

Yet, oh, to few dreamers control what they dream,
As only few souls can control what they do,
And nightmares tear open sweet dreams at the seems.
Soon the dreamer's whole world came unglued.
Oh the pious did pray, as the evil waged war;
Prayed to the dreamer who could only sit by,
And watch the growing chaos thru teary eyes
Until he grew ill and could watch this no more.
He longed for the long-lost timeless dark shore,
But to whom could the helpless child now implore?

His dream now unraveling, the dreamer, distraught,
Dreamed up a fire his world to consume
In hopes that in it he might be caught
And be awoken by this dreamed up doom.
He watched as this flame ate all in its path.
As all the glory of his world passed away
He couldn't help what he had to betray,
And percieved the anguish and the wrath
He caused to come about on this day
That all of time ceased its magnificient play.

There once was a small dark corner of time
Where a universe was born from the dream of a child
Who knew nothing of lonliness, sadness, or crime,
Yet undid existence while he in beauty beguiled
Accidently discovered the wonderful, wild
And glorious madness of the grit and the grime
That one must experience before he must die

SOL, 11/22/2010

Good stuff here, vovin and fraters, your words resonate well with me. I like it well enough, I'll try to add to this thread with my own whims of creation. My style is a little different, maybe hard to read, but I'd call it a lucid prose. Maybe passionate exorcism.

Who would give to me?

Feelings that swell like demons and tsunami anger approach me with dark laughter mocking my stupid worry I run around trying to save this life, trying not to spill water from my cup, and hold onto the slick cavern walls with wet feet and sticky tongue in twilight searching seek caravans winding away while Im still young still no crime I seek to commit that d'aint deserve to be done I am ecstatic in proper nature wind in air water in skin salt taste the lips of sin I am in no wrong doing yet what any old man hath many a times imagined having done with his own soul and character bending in the light making shadows of prey predator delight, skunk spice on fingertips and twisting in the air as my cosmic canvas give me sweet December dream nights, reddened eyes cold nose much spite growing in the heart growing so large as to tear it apart rip away the ways and boughs of the makings of original me original now gone fallen breaking away in pieces and shades of grey losing saturation and wiping the days with heart sweat alternating cold heat and feet that can’t stop runaway soul twisting turning away from everything I come to know - will it ever show? will it ever show me it-s-elf or will it forever make away and toss about like a child’s forgotten hair in autumn's breeze

Well what can I say? it hurts me to write this, i wake up every day feeling cold dead and lifeless, spineleess, i have to reach inside my mind with a clenched fist and rip out the shit that I don't want to keep, unpleasent memories awake or asleep, the shit I choose to take makes me want to weep, but it seems that inside a part's obsolete, something's missing, a switch not connected, flip the breaker and make me corrected, GIVE IN, GIVE UP, ACCEPT IT, this is what you expected!
and I couldn't say I'm surprised that I'm feeling rejected, it seems that miscommunication and pain gets projected around my brain, so I inspect it, take it apart and feed it to my heart but that's no good, it feels sharp, like splinters of wood, what do I do? I know what I should, but without you it feels like cooking with mud, sick, fucked up, it's one or the other, do I feel numb or like killing a fucker?
Spilling my illness, do I really feel this? Angry like a baby without a goodnight, sitting still for too long makes me want to fight, break his jaw with a left and a right, CLEAR MY SIGHT, I'M NOT ALRIGHT, this noose of fear has my throat wrapped tight, the truth is near but I'm fucking blind, fighting a war on the inside, I feel fried, my vision is narrowing, just let myself die with acid and heroin, can't care again, it's too harrowing, draining and painful, stuck alone and shameful, get yourself a brainful of what I'm thinking, it comes and goes with the blur of the drinking, the one-man ship sinking, it's time to let go, to grow and watch the muddy waters flow green, I know what you mean and I know what you meant, fuck, I still love you, I MISS MY FRIEND, get over, get under, forget her, fuck her! Nope I can't feel it, can't mean it, I look at the moon and I want to scream it, I love you! I'm fucked! My ticket's expired, hope I can redeem it, get on a new train, open up to a new day, a sunrise with open eyes, open ears, no more fears, no more tears, songs to sing and the rain washes away all the pain, I feel nothing but peace, sweet warm release, it reminds me of when I kissed you.

Fuck, I miss you.

Tie firm loose sails, of wild aggression
Open the hatches of apprehension
Calm this sea 'nuff to mention
What is thy hearts true intention?

Hmm, seems a lot of us face similar difficulties, duality banging at the door ringing in the mind.

This is one of mine that doesn't feature so much opposing feelings. I wrote this the other night.

It was one of those pain pill months. The bottle is there, in the cabinet, on the counter, my hand on the lid. My mind is slow, for unknown reasons, contemplating hard on the value of relief. Bam, next thing I know, I’m high again. Alone. Cold air. Go out to find something warm to bump into. Instead come back inside with a coffee and a hotdog. Sing a hum of some father love to turn away the last creeping anxiety and guilt. All is warm and well. The food is to be forgotten, it was getting it in that counted. One day bled into the next and the only pain was the thought of waiting longer to eat more pills. Delaying the pleasure carriage was not an idea to be toyed with. Big white bottle. Yum yum. All mine. Sweet release. The phone rings less. My eyes see less. My mind drops all pressure from all places, simply forgets the pain. Little bottle of hard white love.

For the record, I didn't have a pain pill month, just a couple days. I don't think they are that positive really, just feel good.

okay so i mean i got a shit ton i could post but i wanna publish a book and i dont know if i want any of it searchable on google ya know so i thought id flow some for you guys


so this we say as we drift away hello good bye its a hell of a ride
we got through it again but whats the use when tis just abuse i got news for you their on to you know what you do your leaving clues but its all good so dont worry but slow up your hurry this is fresh and unused till its abused and you dont wanna know what happens then as you fall again under your skin your moving through its used to you but not you to it your sick of it you regret it you sweat it its hitting again your falling right in beneath the rim over the edge of sanity its grabbing me and pulling slowly undoing the pain keeps on screwin the ties that dig through the lies troubling me into obscurity out of the ether pain that cant be there what can ya do when the troubles with you slowly let it seep out releasing the doubt that fogs and blinds you slowly unwinds you let it ensue and keep well with truth ~psy

wildly laughing beneath the sun for what use the minds been undone hopelessly one with the aether breathing from within showing peace there that keeps them from sin its true what they say once free no going back so remember that and keep it so escape the pain of those with the truth they wish not to know ~psy

sunshine in the rain very little left the same brand new gentle world with new truths to unfurl again we walk into a new day that we use to walk and look within where all our past has not been ~psy

To all the gamblers out there:
The money is nice
every kid knows
that eating the rice
doesn't feel gross

So why do we need,
more than we use,
cause money does buy us,
a whole lot of shoes

My intention was large,
i wanted a ۩
i wanted a plane
but unfortunately...

i was waiting in vain.

The beauty of it?
Most will come soon,
so richness will come,
before next full moon