Unburdened the guise of physical eyes
lies a the kernal of actual seeing.
< . O ` >
Month: November 2015
No Words
You know, it’s a funny thing.
You learn, you earn your turn, you sing
And just before you burn, you bring
Yourself to fling
The tragic thing you fold away
So magic can take hold
And all the paper scraps you follow
Scripted with your drifted sorrow
Come out from their holding hollow:
One last read, and then tomorrow
A day starts uprooted, lifted
Nothing borrowed ~
A life unscripted
Gunked Up
Rid my mind of all these ghosts
That haunt me taunting, mounting walls
That hide away the truths I toast
While tripping on the old pitfalls
I hid away when I was younger
And those to which are newer, true
That I once thought would feed the hunger
Trembling under all I do
Screw this twisted misfit mountain
Built of shame and pain and pride
Take the clogs from out this fountain
So I may sit upon its side
And meditate the churning waters
So to clearer see
All the toiling tombs and totters
Boiling here in me
And so the heartaches go…
And once again I’m fallen
So hard I hit the earth
The clouds burst up with pollen
Heart felt whispers stir
Aches are ever calling
Go and be with her
Spell of the Moon
Come to me darling
Come to me soon
To glance on the star twines and dance undermoon
Flushing our blood with the freshess of air
the swelling of love
the rushing of daring to run underspell
of the sky above staring us down
Pairing our steps to the wide gliding open
Casting our eyes on the forward unspoken
Weaving together the bond lesser broken
By healing the tokens we’ve wronged
Shot from the Hip
Such beautiful people
Gone, gone…
Such wonderful spirits
Onward on…
Goodbye forever, and never let go
You tide pushers and line rushers
of so much we know
You beatniks, you hippies
You glorious souls
Crushed in the waves
of momentum you rolled
Love in Four Seasons
Merry in Netting
I smoke a toke and become a different bloke that’s chokin
Broke in the open trope of never known n tokin
Floatin the streams of never beens
and ever-seepin grievers
Street-level open-shovel diggin up the reapers
Look at the mangled roots
Look at their stretch
Look upon the tangled poet
showin all he’s etched
Seep into the reaping true to fleeting all the gangles
Always reaching to uphold the scolding credo tangles
This is how a marionette is draped upon the stage
Of all the world in acting’s Globe
in every given age