On Sporadic free mind nights, I glean hope
and listful wish for merriment and the melting innovative
wash
of inevitable crisis overcome
by intelligent design fantastical
and moral awakened ’man of the dirt
On erratic scream in the coming dark days I curse
evolution
creating this beast
and what sociopathic greed malevolent stare into extinction and laugh
with bursting paper green eyes
and wish it never envisaged
On habitual sunken eyes of the afternoon rise
I sit idly slouching by
and watch madness curtail madness uncoil
within our blackened hearts
and frostbitten toes of the retreating soul
and stupefy the mind
with unfathomable awe at my impossible present... Being
And the New Moon sets the eternal cycle in motion once more
Tag: poetry
Impermanence
Dribbling lines in the blood-stained sand are but fleeting nicknames in the churning larvae construct of time of human super imposition laid upon the confused face of iris green and supple oceanic skin and cracked white decimate teeth which has no name other than metamorphosis beauty or absolute soul incarnate
Silence
Sometimes when it's under cover quiet in the lonesome peaceful night when the newest scam's done shouting at our eyes and fried egg brains and the beast's stopped propagating poisoned air and the vans and yellow coats and blackened teeth are gone for now For now we can hear our own voices maybe silent almost imperceptible screaming and writhing to be free or fight or cry from constant noise and daily trauma and why is everything dying or dead or outrageously preposterous rich in the daylight safe sunlight where compassion supposedly prospered
Defense Rations
I'm addicted
to doing nothing
or flushing my life away into the plastic ocean to swim with cigarette ends
and endless bottle caps
and a corked archipelago
stained the colour of ethanol blood
all the while telling myself that it'll work out
living your dreams in your imagination
is ok
when it's as vivid as mine
or yours.
I once read
that Einstein worked 4 hours a day
and he was a frizzy geinus
so why shouldn't that be true
of me or you
i ask myself
though i know i know sure, i know
it's all conciliatory lies
comforting shameful delusionary conciliatory lies
and yet it still remains
the rational defense of a lazy beanpole
trapped for a quarter century
in what if's and drowning imaginary possibilities
and christ
what if you actually make it?
Queen Bee
Sometimes I sit and drink a gallon of wine to see the blackout glorious forgetting stench of a night lost to the ether beautiful sorrow sinking sinking sinking sinking is that a working well are you sure we'll float crying nonetheless buoyant steady recreation we'll wake up tomorrow maybe more fulfilled or maybe horribly worse but does it matter the medicine's sequestered itself your pain's been buried hahaha did you want that? or was it an accident party therapy party therapy do you feel better now? maybe you do or maybe you're looking for a hive a symbiotic naturally occurring supportive nest bed for sleeping, if you want to or being a queen I know you've got it in you
Fuck you
sip on my watermelon nectar
sit down and watch me
make a fool of myself
singing to JT you cringe while
I'm in my element element basic 00's element
you know you feel it
nodding your head in a secret ashamed guilty groove
my homeless hair swaying
prancing through the fairy air
as we sip gay gordons
through llama and cactus straws
sometimes you cry
and I cry too but we do it together
shut out the backwards falling backwards criminally insane indoctrination nuthouse world
pretend it's not there
for a moment
we exist in this outrageous space
multi-faceted as joseph's coat we pass
through
screaming haemorrhaging gacking fracking
deep the buried joy we'll find
love and joy and togetherness and not giving a shit
we'll know forevermore
because fuck you
depressive black beast always
we'll get you
and shove you deep up your own hollow vacuous rectum
never to return
motherfucker fuck you
The Devil’s Work
How often do you think a Devil doth lie and greet you as an angel just to squeeze into a soulful pantie and twist it awful wedgie tight whilst you holla righteous holy purpose and how many once courteous are now finished broken at the hands of a monster so belligerent and coy it's forlorn to tell the difference it happens so often by earthen hands whose aren't so always kniving dastardly thieving as monsters proposing as angels that it must though you'd never know for sure
Ode to YOU
There are millions of writers
who are better than me
wittier and more expressive than me
almost all of them
in fact
and many more
who should be poets
and don’t know it yet.
But
none of that matters
I love this shit
and one day
if just enough people
can feel me
and I’ve lived just slightly enough
to fill that bar of happiness
every single body seeks
I’ll die the gladdest of men
and hopefully too
will all of you.
Always love,
Your dearest degenerate
Paper Straws
The clouds are a bowl of appropriated
fucking poisoned oatmeal
on sunken hues
of navy blue
and carbonated so carbonated teal
Sucking us further always further into
a storm of which there is no relent
one of fire and flooding
and broken Earthen bones.
But what does it matter
you gotta live your life right?
Drive your car
suck on the lactating tit
of craven consumerism
and nothing beats a factory farmed steak
Right?
Paper straws
You gotta save us
please
we ain’t gonna do it ourselves.
Hot Také
DRiNK
your own melancholy music
pushing pushing you further into a self inflicted pit
of who the fuck
and what and why and when
you’ll be ruler straight
as narrow as a hot wheels track
bending forever round
a preconditioned hairpin
you hope will, one day
straighten out.
Christ bury the shock
the day you realise
you’re going in
endless devastating precipitated circles.
haahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
help us please.
Look upon this plea
and give our spines a wholesome hug
a hug we’ve been begging for
for half a generation, and one
that maybe we can
pass on
beyond our feeble arms.
Haribo
(A guest vibe by June Rayne)
A grand new world inspires you
colours shine so bright
whats and whys you crave for
yet your senses produce fright.
To sit and learn is easy
for those that you call friends
an overwhelmed brain in despair
can only hope it blends.
You listen to her closely
but there’s so much going on;
The walls are full of pictures
and where’s the sunshine gone?
All their eyes are on you
you want to hide or run
but there you sit afraid to move
dreaming of having fun.
Whim
You don’t need
to be a conspiracy
theorist
to see through
the fog.
All you need
to know
is that the
politics
of Caring
does not exist
in power
crazed
men.
And
when it does
maybe then
everything might
be
a little
better.
Beat me
I am a beat poet
Born eighty years too late.
Introduce me
To Neil Cassady
And Kerouac and William S. Burroughs and beautiful Bukowski.
Induct me into the Dharma Bums.
I’ll sit on a mountain top with you
And visit that higher realm
You always claim to know
If only we’ll never have to leave.
Dancing forevermore to a song
That never will
become as old as us.
Saving Face
Sit on my face
And absorb the madness within my skull
searching for a flow that I can listen to
And be so wildly separate from.
Sit on my face
And witness the beautiful curly haired forever mine undeniable queen
I’m sharing the plains of mist
With.
Dark eyes and a mesmerising dance
Intoxicated
Intoxicated
Intoxicated
Feed me tacos
And a tune that shreds your soul and mine
A drop that sends us both
And a two day bender
That breaks us entwined
Yet holds our outrageous ignorance
In a stunning embrace.
I love you.
Smile
This is a symphony
of love and loss and endless compromise because understanding is the key to sucking on the dummy of companionship forever
give me a crackin’ smiley
it’s really hot and it fucking hurts
yet it’s all we yearn for, kindness and care and a warm intoxicated cuddle at the end of every day
the loving smile
the grace in the face of an action which lends a warm disgrace
amid a subtle understanding of that which made you who you are
a loveable occasionally excrutiating asshole
Dopamine
Sit in the mist and soak up the electric atmosphere surrounding you
X-Ray cancerous pulses of dopamine dopamine dopamine.
Feed me my worth
Sell me back my hooked addicted plugged in out of control soul
For a pittance, if you will.
The fairy’s junky lights are burnt out again
Pass her a hit of me or you or that guy who makes funny videos with his derpy-ass cat.
Our void is becoming one too deep to shine through
She’s almost dust
The empath always dies by our hand or its own in the face of stagnant superficial self-interested desire.
It’s cool though,
It’ll only plague our minds for a second or two
Until the next video drops.
Descend
Descend into the pits of being, you reckless dainty soul. A blinding light before your face does fold unto itself and yank you through an effervescent portal to the higher plane. A place with dancing sprites of every colour, creeping violent broken shades and absurd outrageous landscapes laid out in fractals which twist and grow and pull attention from all that which you came to do.
But push on now, blinkered through a smoke of all you know to be distraction, hunting for the source of soul or the seat of ego it must be scorched forever from this land so you can sit amongst it, awakened from material slumber to the peace of only nothing.
Through the layers of psyche you go, accosting fight or flight and instinctual dread as it tries to tell you NO! Don’t do this you’re going to die you’re going to die please, please, don’t do this don’t do this you’re going to die.
You must.
Blast on through unhinged emotion and tear asunder attachment and aching desperate dreams. Cry your final tear and slice the limbs of pride and longing this spectral being you once aspired to grow and nurture, it’s almost time to be.
Rip away at constricting useless rational webs of who am I and what it is to live and there it is the silver eye of godly crystal awaiting your demise or ascent to high vibration or the crumbling of this box you’re trapped in. You’re here. What next?
Leeches
Stuck in the amber abyss I try to create a picture of something that might catch your attention. A thread of life perhaps, or an action so intense that it wakes up the hairs on the crest of your neck. And yet the curse of individualism will tell most that all that lies in these letters is hopeless impossible ramble. What if I told you that an ever restless soul resides here, screaming under a patchwork of black and blinding white monotony. Aching and writhing, begging you to sit up and notice its twisted dreams and its paranoid self-reflection and its shuddering egotistical genius. Ripping at the seams of this being it dwells in, it longs to bellow sweet nothings until your ear drums burst and it can burrow inside so its crushing voice becomes that which you hear when you tell yourself that everything is not ok even though it could be if we learned to smell which of the leeches is kind for fruitful benevolence and which is merely a disease utilising lifetimes’ worth of beautiful star-born vibration to gain access to resources which are nothing more than collectively enforced bridges to undeserved narciscisstic decadence. Alas, how can we when Truth is lying in a twisted broken pile in the lobby of human conciousness, bearing gushing stab wounds from the selfish and giant great boot marks from corporation issue cover up kicks. Collective Goodwill and Endless Prayer are no match for the Pyschopathic Fucking Syncophant.
.
.
.
Oh, the caves I hide in, cowering beneath the expectation of an unwarranted shakespearean pipe dream.
Table Skit
The Kraken is free and I’m burning his candle. I drank his soul and now I’m melting his body, sealing him Forever. We did it to the skeletons and now they stand as statues all black and white and locked away on our funky juju table cloth.
Next to my black book that’s empty now and the tower that speaks and the stained leather tome that’s almost full but will never be finished.
If only I could filter my shells and wrap them up in sticky paper,
But I need them for burning crop with a Marc on my head
While I toss stones into the water.
Oh, the phonic in my head,
The childish NU: phonic that rattles in my skull.
ΔΔΔ
Dogmatic
In the beginning naught did shine but light and hope and clouds they all had lustre,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning there swam free peace conscious and curious lives we hungered,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning both beast and man sweet harmony sang and we fed them and they fed us our joy,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning O’ heavens they were hallowed and unknown too was hallowed though thy name On High unknown,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning there was but green and blue and rustle and trickle and crack and splash all over,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning connected all did feel and balance all knew well,
And then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the end all was bleak exhaust flew through the cracks and poisoned,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end there was no peace and wonder was survival dead,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the beasts lay caged or worse and mania-amaranthine so long beset them,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the heavens all had clogged with hopeless quests to conquer,
Thy name unknown endured.
In the end there was no green or blue just black and endless thunder,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the link it severed and all life fell asunder,
The Cycle shall reset you.
Dogmatic.
Courage
When the curtain falls, where will you be?
Probably roasting in the fire with everyone else.
Go on, Give me a nice internal scream,
Maybe the camera will pick up your hopeless twisted despair.
I’ll post an emoji on there that cries with laughter, just to lighten the mood.
There.
Now off it goes to my closest friend.
Oblivion.
Turn yourself around, Subject.
Watch your creations disassemble the irrational ambitionism you gave them. Isn’t it beautiful?
For one to return to that from which it was hedonistically ripped. That, is art.
What you’ve done, subconsciously and with robust naivety,
to foster fake meaning and concoct a great poisonous grey matter purpose
in order to get a continuous hit of its alluring fake-peace high.
Folly Folly Folly
The deed is almost complete,
and only when it is shall you see the depths of your own misdirection.
Maybe then you will be worthy of life.
Not that you’ll have enough left to act.
Esnesnon
Grey and black and white and brown the anti’s-rainbow frown delight,
Anti-rain opaque as fate falls on the sky from trees that hang root side up-down-up-down and back oh right?
Spider’s silk don’t stick it slides and Silkyparks are oh so fun for UP you stop and don’t come back,
And anti-flies walk right side down cus uplift’s dead so planes cut ground and Ant’s do scramble anti-fair.
Murder’s life and pregnant’s death so punish much astonish!
Anti-baby Humon 3 does run the Earth but clout has so much doubt,
And war it’s all just kiss and kiss and sandpit sandpit fun.
Lightning hush and thunder shiggle in quite lightheart delight they fiddle,
Push is pull with much confu and books they have no numbers!
Stars are black but anti-white is oh so bright the night is day and girl oh girl! We’re in a right new mental fright,
For all our sdrow and all our sight is right way bront to fack!
The Black and the Bicycles
Bicycles ran as honey over my drums
And our moon did gift goosebumps of gratification
As I thanked her for lighting my way,
Though little did I know of any way.
Sycamores on the skirts
Silhouettes as the space of everything possible to know,
Though not by me.
And a road in the yonder
Blessed with direction but little destination
And lights with no enlight
Beyond the A and the B.
Neither would exist here.
Our moon wandered me to the centre of my black
The artificial glow of secure insecurity shone down the path
In competition with the light of question
And winning for proximity, against the will of its beholder.
The glimmer of all we know does poison all we wish upon
And none I know had witnessed the glow of family
Before the glow of our exploit.
The black and the bicycles did dance with me here
Holding me still and staring in a separate place
Beyond sight and will we remained still and yet forever moving in mind
Together and all alone.
Our moon,
Revered and haloed above the horizon
Had lost her family
Save the greatest persevered
Who would speckle our sky with a limp recollection of its wonderful dance.
And how sad it must be
To reach our Earth and never be seen
To twinkle for life and not one will wish.
The black and the bicycles will mourn with me here
For our lost friends and our lonely family would dance amongst us
If only they were able.
RJP's Vernacular 