Three years
to presence,
a look
the light
of a dream
I confess
this is not the
sickest world
I have intruded
Life is poetry
and
I LIVE IT
wholly,
and
I CHERISH THIS
completly,
my womb
my mind
my soul
it is the might
of it to
hold me close
~tight
{oh, madonna}
for myself to finally kick in those last barriers of my furious stupidities,
I see the eighth sea
Amen
I can't leave you
...
down to
my thoughts
there
you all are
renewal
in
ink
drop
letters
stretching
youth and dream,
memory and wrinkle
unfolding at the edges
of panic
I distressed
as when I am
my silent enemy
and still anger
when I am my
voiceless alliance
those words have me
at a gathering
the best she served
paper cuts are
healing...
slid
in a sight
a call was
acknowledged
in a K-Mart passage,
a miracle
as far as I could
see the buddha
gold
three or so many
years and
verses
ago
the blue lit errands
for water,
puddles
dug it up
weeds floating with petals
dream carnations
yellows had glows
in the last garden tried
and true to red
you are not a lonely bloom
in the beads of rain
we are wet and stems
of summers shine
at the wheel of a turn left
or was it my luck of the draw
in a prayer
to say to
my drive in speaker
God
was it a thought
to jar, to thank
a fear of nothing
to guess at
my right of suspicion
pasting on a page
to burn her i want
to fire the movie leaves
that I had heard
that I had you fallin'
in hopes
and I need no reason
but love running the road
we all travel
to the dead ends
living our own shows
don't leave me bare
as I stood
I am always first
in line to mock my own body
so twisted and warm
and laid it to the land
I want to understand
how you spell it
I
love
you
and it wasn't me
who would crash it
in the misty roll
the slow time tears
of the dew scripted
I know his body so near
we picked the words up
and threw them like
they were rocks
the rocks of our tears
from some empty lot
we are the noise
of the junk and the wreckage...
to the end
in why
I was stilled
by grand impressions
the shy hands played
and shivered
me to silence
her action
in words,
my mouth had a song
it covered
out of breath
no more
and I deliver
my lie
into his felt
you saw to cut me
at a bend of folded paper
releasing he opened
a waste of no ones station
walking in these wounds of control
myself exists
unmoved in the dark
if I had not asked
where is that key of no unknown
unlocking a secret I was in it
to be opened
as a plea to be devoured
by the dare in my heart
of believing
if i could just cry
I want more
out of my own
two hands~
the last three years have been
literally "spiritual boot camp"
and rock- n- roll high school
always playing in the back ground
I never wrote poetry,until three years ago
It all started by a "chance" encounter
of seeing the Dalai Lama and him looking back at me
It probably was maybe a mutual glance that was a second or two
but for me it is the moment that is timeless
and defining
complete and for myself transforming
at first I couldn't define what I was trying to write
But it was rock n roll that gave me the canvas...
but I don't have a computer, unless I go to Kinko's, sneak into college libraries, or, or, or...
Also I am taking kind of a break from writing poetry to try to get the technicals of my book together, and to really absorb what I wrote,
I am coming to understand alot of the depths of poetry, and I have to fight that choking feeling and that little voice that tells me I'm an immature, no good writer, and stupid
I thank "god" for the rebellious nature of thought and action I have from time to time~ that voice in me loves what I am doing, keeps me going and fighting and writing
I love that voice that says "I don't give a flyin' fuck what anybody else may think, I am a poet god dammit "
It really is the only thing I ever want to do or how I want to think of myself "a POet"
I have been reading Steven J. Bernstein's book, I stare at the photos of him, and read his stuff, and he's been keeping me going
lately for Jessie I will be +++++++++++++++ positive
Originally posted by john girl Black, talkin' to herself...
the arts
why
you know there just gets to be a point in life
what else can I do to get what i need???
(beyond the deepest depths of depression)
that point being AFTER
youv'e condsidered all your alternatives
but you realize that for whatever various reason, value or responsibility
that you can't even retreat to those escapes
I'm at that point
fuck IT
what can i do?
i
laugh
and let life do
what life will do
allowing Fate now
to step in
releasing
dreams, hope, desires
zero point
no expectations anymore
I'm through fighting
you
I'm through fighting myself
God
damn
just so know
I'm trapped
and have to play
but inside
my thoughts
I
don't
have
too
like the rules
quietly with a smile
i'm thinkin'
fuck this
and
fuck you
i have faith
but i'm pissed
why didn't i have intrests in business mgt. or math?
You say something else, John Girl. I mean it. Thank you.
29 they alone see truly who see that all actions
are performed by prakiti, while the Self re
30 mains unmoved. When they see the variety of
creation rooted in that unity and growing out
of it, they attain fulfillment in Brahman.
31This supreme Self is without a beginning,
undifferentiatted, deathless. Though it dwells
in the body, Arjuna, it neither acts nor is touched
32by action. As akasha pervades the
cosmos but remains unstained, the Self can
never be tainted though it dwells in every
creature.
33 As the sun lights up the world, the Self dwell-
ing in the field is the source of all light in the
34 field. Those who, with the eye of wisdom,
distinguish the field from its Knower and
the way to freedomfrom the bondage of
prakiti, attain the supreme goal.
Reading Andre Breton's Surrealism Manifesto's 1 and 2!
and I wrote this before the Northern Star was released
Desiree
you knew the way to get inside
trusted feelings and the plight
(that was not right)
to go, to leave and so I
crushed the last battle
the desire is so deep, I lied
within my walls
forced against
the stalls
ringing "Desiree"
calls me like
a longing wind
for love
love is surrender
in what I can't see
trusted my love
inside me~
G irl you have a lot of talent, and potential that may still be untapped. The best way to harness this is to read as much as you can, absorb all the details of those who came before and those who are your contemporaries and blend them both into a style all your own.
Also if you like Breton, go pick up Les Chants De Maldoror
by the Counte de Lautremont, a poetic genius who died at the tender age of 26, but left so much valuable behind before he left, incredibly dark stuff, but wildly entertaining.
And of course keep pumping it out, you'll find you can never really take a break from poetry, just a break from poems, keep a pocket sized notebook with you and just jot down all the scraps that cross the brain barrier and are lost in an hour if you don't put em down.
was lip liner,
brandy
and litttle arms
message'd
cross'd
youths
demure,
and cries
warm color, a pencil
shade be light
monologued
the film
upon
the mirrors
of arts heart
and the mystries
elusive
recanted,
enchanted
haunts of moirae
meant
delight
that
it be said
amore
it was
love
that spoke
back to me
and I get
written early eve' July 13 2004
ez 8 motel
with leonard cohen and in utero present
Alan Freed
Discus throwers
dig for that punk
and deified fire
this is Romeos quince
calling all to the choir
are you in, son
in the minefield pen chatter
Turn It Up
got have it louder
this is a chore again
so fuck the scores of
black listed, stipends make the charts
open the doors
the radios are never closed
as the heart quest (?)
the seasons of
unclear crusades
and I raped for the blues
riots chose her a stanzas a cage
so my mouths out and my envy us
between the thighs
all lies of my cats trapdoor
this is a sit in so take it over
albeit the combative romancer
not the misty caller
to recover sleeves and today
was a piece of work
to refashion the powderless shell
I courted only the radio violence
free my ears, mix and musee
rocking "surge" where did it fit in
the discipline of the undisciplined
and ginger has fucked us
all role play (cough)
my grooms near here
black peonies in vinyl
we lounged for the damned admiration
and baby cotton nipples
captivated, listen to this peep show
Originally posted by john girl written early eve' July 13 2004
ez 8 motel
with leonard cohen and in utero present
Alan Freed
Discus throwers
dig for that punk
and deified fire
this is Romeos quince
calling all to the choir
are you in, son
in the minefield pen chatter
Turn It Up
got have it louder
this is a chore again
so fuck the scores of
black listed, stipends make the charts
open the doors
the radios are never closed
as the heart quest (?)
the seasons of
unclear crusades
and I raped for the blues
riots chose her a stanzas a cage
so my mouths out and my envy us
between the thighs
all lies of my cats trapdoor
this is a sit in so take it over
albeit the combative romancer
not the misty caller
to recover sleeves and today
was a piece of work
to refashion the powderless shell
I courted only the radio violence
free my ears, mix and musee
rocking "surge" where did it fit in
the discipline of the undisciplined
and ginger has fucked us
all role play (cough)
my grooms near here
black peonies in vinyl
we lounged for the damned admiration
and baby cotton nipples
captivated, listen to this peep show
the groupies kicked it in
mr
Oh yeah! I'm diggin' this one!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
***************************************************
joy is practicing my electric guitar in my bra and panties, with becks beer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sea change practice the c change
Seers of the dawns tread
Rise anywhere and imagine the sea
knows of the moon's ruby eclipse
I paid May's dew
in the awe of the green corona
of sunset
to west turn indie
so to those Isles, beaches of rose
the unveiling future's come ashore
la lady knew Samuels court
secrets we kept a sailin for
silk roads by ship this lobe hears
to the steering by my captors of hem
the seers return salvation
Begin by rows across all oars
and arms over our hearts
in peace
Time to release the breaking waves
we are in tears of tea,
saucers in the cups of life
rafts are not for sinking
I wish for the sound of laughter
alive with the crying
we're all wearing the sari's
from long ago
biting the golden trade
we are the second coming
remember this age anew
tau and true mint
drinking the lightness
engage the tasters
and fearless
the humble scent...
Comments
then God is 7
then god is seven
this Monkey's gone to heaven,
yeah! and I
ran outta
thread
Three years
to presence,
a look
the light
of a dream
I confess
this is not the
sickest world
I have intruded
Life is poetry
and
I LIVE IT
wholly,
and
I CHERISH THIS
completly,
my womb
my mind
my soul
it is the might
of it to
hold me close
~tight
{oh, madonna}
for myself to finally kick in those last barriers of my furious stupidities,
I see the eighth sea
Amen
I can't leave you
...
down to
my thoughts
there
you all are
renewal
in
ink
drop
letters
stretching
youth and dream,
memory and wrinkle
unfolding at the edges
of panic
I distressed
as when I am
my silent enemy
and still anger
when I am my
voiceless alliance
those words have me
at a gathering
the best she served
paper cuts are
healing...
m.r.
slid
in a sight
a call was
acknowledged
in a K-Mart passage,
a miracle
as far as I could
see the buddha
gold
three or so many
years and
verses
ago
the blue lit errands
for water,
puddles
dug it up
weeds floating with petals
dream carnations
yellows had glows
in the last garden tried
and true to red
you are not a lonely bloom
in the beads of rain
we are wet and stems
of summers shine
m.r.
at the wheel of a turn left
or was it my luck of the draw
in a prayer
to say to
my drive in speaker
God
was it a thought
to jar, to thank
a fear of nothing
to guess at
my right of suspicion
pasting on a page
to burn her i want
to fire the movie leaves
that I had heard
that I had you fallin'
in hopes
and I need no reason
but love running the road
we all travel
to the dead ends
living our own shows
don't leave me bare
as I stood
I am always first
in line to mock my own body
so twisted and warm
and laid it to the land
I want to understand
how you spell it
I
love
you
and it wasn't me
who would crash it
in the misty roll
the slow time tears
of the dew scripted
I know his body so near
we picked the words up
and threw them like
they were rocks
the rocks of our tears
from some empty lot
we are the noise
of the junk and the wreckage...
m.r.
in why
I was stilled
by grand impressions
the shy hands played
and shivered
me to silence
her action
in words,
my mouth had a song
it covered
out of breath
no more
and I deliver
my lie
into his felt
you saw to cut me
at a bend of folded paper
releasing he opened
a waste of no ones station
walking in these wounds of control
myself exists
unmoved in the dark
if I had not asked
where is that key of no unknown
unlocking a secret I was in it
to be opened
as a plea to be devoured
by the dare in my heart
of believing
if i could just cry
I want more
out of my own
two hands~
literally "spiritual boot camp"
and rock- n- roll high school
always playing in the back ground
I never wrote poetry,until three years ago
It all started by a "chance" encounter
of seeing the Dalai Lama and him looking back at me
It probably was maybe a mutual glance that was a second or two
but for me it is the moment that is timeless
and defining
complete and for myself transforming
at first I couldn't define what I was trying to write
But it was rock n roll that gave me the canvas...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you.
Also I am taking kind of a break from writing poetry to try to get the technicals of my book together, and to really absorb what I wrote,
I am coming to understand alot of the depths of poetry, and I have to fight that choking feeling and that little voice that tells me I'm an immature, no good writer, and stupid
I thank "god" for the rebellious nature of thought and action I have from time to time~ that voice in me loves what I am doing, keeps me going and fighting and writing
I love that voice that says "I don't give a flyin' fuck what anybody else may think, I am a poet god dammit "
It really is the only thing I ever want to do or how I want to think of myself "a POet"
I have been reading Steven J. Bernstein's book, I stare at the photos of him, and read his stuff, and he's been keeping me going
lately for Jessie I will be +++++++++++++++ positive
be peace
love
You say something else, John Girl. I mean it. Thank you.
are performed by prakiti, while the Self re
30 mains unmoved. When they see the variety of
creation rooted in that unity and growing out
of it, they attain fulfillment in Brahman.
31This supreme Self is without a beginning,
undifferentiatted, deathless. Though it dwells
in the body, Arjuna, it neither acts nor is touched
32by action. As akasha pervades the
cosmos but remains unstained, the Self can
never be tainted though it dwells in every
creature.
33 As the sun lights up the world, the Self dwell-
ing in the field is the source of all light in the
34 field. Those who, with the eye of wisdom,
distinguish the field from its Knower and
the way to freedomfrom the bondage of
prakiti, attain the supreme goal.
Reading Andre Breton's Surrealism Manifesto's 1 and 2!
and I wrote this before the Northern Star was released
Desiree
you knew the way to get inside
trusted feelings and the plight
(that was not right)
to go, to leave and so I
crushed the last battle
the desire is so deep, I lied
within my walls
forced against
the stalls
ringing "Desiree"
calls me like
a longing wind
for love
love is surrender
in what I can't see
trusted my love
inside me~
nir "out": vana "to blow"
Also if you like Breton, go pick up Les Chants De Maldoror
by the Counte de Lautremont, a poetic genius who died at the tender age of 26, but left so much valuable behind before he left, incredibly dark stuff, but wildly entertaining.
And of course keep pumping it out, you'll find you can never really take a break from poetry, just a break from poems, keep a pocket sized notebook with you and just jot down all the scraps that cross the brain barrier and are lost in an hour if you don't put em down.
Poetry is an overlooked gift, and you've got it.
you can be in my bath tub anytime UNPLUGGED from electrical outlets that might cause me bodily harm, of course,
the entities that are music and poetry is about all I can trust,
thank you
Amen.
blue folder
poems
x2
without out
is with
and to be
sea maidens
name
I of nail
is the missing
and guards
the end
with
E
brandy
and litttle arms
message'd
cross'd
youths
demure,
and cries
warm color, a pencil
shade be light
monologued
the film
upon
the mirrors
of arts heart
and the mystries
elusive
recanted,
enchanted
haunts of moirae
meant
delight
that
it be said
amore
it was
love
that spoke
back to me
and I get
~* ~
a sprinkling revised
"I ma back door, man, eye eats more chicken than any, man"
Back, Door Man
ez 8 motel
with leonard cohen and in utero present
Alan Freed
Discus throwers
dig for that punk
and deified fire
this is Romeos quince
calling all to the choir
are you in, son
in the minefield pen chatter
Turn It Up
got have it louder
this is a chore again
so fuck the scores of
black listed, stipends make the charts
open the doors
the radios are never closed
as the heart quest (?)
the seasons of
unclear crusades
and I raped for the blues
riots chose her a stanzas a cage
so my mouths out and my envy us
between the thighs
all lies of my cats trapdoor
this is a sit in so take it over
albeit the combative romancer
not the misty caller
to recover sleeves and today
was a piece of work
to refashion the powderless shell
I courted only the radio violence
free my ears, mix and musee
rocking "surge" where did it fit in
the discipline of the undisciplined
and ginger has fucked us
all role play (cough)
my grooms near here
black peonies in vinyl
we lounged for the damned admiration
and baby cotton nipples
captivated, listen to this peep show
the groupies kicked it in
mr
and I thought I was all alone
kiss kiss, and love to you
Oh yeah! I'm diggin' this one!
there's a natural mystic feelin in the air
Poetry rocks
I love the way angels conspire
there is so much of something deeper going on out there
Joy is typing in your bra and panties when it is hot and humid
joy is practicing my electric guitar in my bra and panties, with becks beer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sea change practice the c change
I know there is a heaven,
Kim Sun Il "my life is important, your life is important"
Peace be with you, with us all, Peace
and hurt us so deeply
but I still believe this world can change for the better, that is the only hope we have to believe in eachother,
I struggle at times to remain an optimist,
I am just rambling my thoughts,
for a peace filled night
Rise anywhere and imagine the sea
knows of the moon's ruby eclipse
I paid May's dew
in the awe of the green corona
of sunset
to west turn indie
so to those Isles, beaches of rose
the unveiling future's come ashore
la lady knew Samuels court
secrets we kept a sailin for
silk roads by ship this lobe hears
to the steering by my captors of hem
the seers return salvation
Begin by rows across all oars
and arms over our hearts
in peace
Time to release the breaking waves
we are in tears of tea,
saucers in the cups of life
rafts are not for sinking
I wish for the sound of laughter
alive with the crying
we're all wearing the sari's
from long ago
biting the golden trade
we are the second coming
remember this age anew
tau and true mint
drinking the lightness
engage the tasters
and fearless
the humble scent...
Michelle Raine