777 feels good

john girl

flying

and the beauty of vodlka
is to question it's spelling
of course while imbibing...

LOVE the PILOTS!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

john girl

BIBLICAL

BURNING BUSHES

a
b
c


and seein' #37 every fucxkin' where
waz' up with that, GOD!!!

john girl

and I really do pray alot
with the assistance of the Marys'

john girl

blame the juke box
blame me

john girl

inside of me
is it
paranoia
paranormal

my instinct, logic and analytical nature
claim it as both
and that is OKAY,
with me, my campadre

*I'm writing these "seemingly nonsensical" posts
to try to make some sense out it ( these thoughts, these obseverances {of signs}, these feelings, for myself... and I am blood
brain matter
emotion
and flesh,
oh yes
and
nothing more
in the excesses
of my own will,
oh yes


in the plows
in the plows

john girl

what's that famous line from Hawaii 5 - 0 ?

john girl

WAY~VANA
WAY~VANA
WAY~VANA

john girl

as I sit down to edit,

Roger Daltry on TV
a picture of Stonehenge
Led Zeppelin on the Sterio Houses of the Holy
a memo pad with LEMONADE on the cover
very psychdelic picture of the lemonade

I'm on Syd Barret, I'm on

Baby Lemonade

POETRY~MUSIC~SPIRIT

LOVE YOU

john girl

with Elvis

#330

high times

john girl

want to hold her head under water

john girl

Was Jesus a stoner???

john girl

THAN GOD IS SEVEN
then God is 7
then god is seven

this Monkey's gone to heaven,

yeah! and I
ran outta
thread

john girl

Seven leaves...

john girl

Tight

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

john girl

The Mystery Of Paper

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.

john girl

What Grows from Spring

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.

john girl

drivin june

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.

john girl

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~

john girl

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...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FinsburyParkCarrots

I just wish you'd write more often for us.

Thank you.