I really want to share this with someone.

Since it seems they've taken away the poetry forum (???) I want to share my recent work with someone, if just one person. Reading Allen Ginsberg was like a revelation in my brain that turned my writing style around. Here goes.

Ode to San Francisco

The dead streets of San Francisco wail and bleed bone-chilling the memories of the past and shiver in the endless winter of abandoned rememberance,
I walk skeletal down a bitter road with a broken sign... haunted, illegible. A gaseous, invisible wind chokes the skittering ghosts as they crawl and drown throughout the forgotten sewers of time.
I stop to look down as turqoise waters begin to lap around my ankles, and I laugh as they will soon engulf me.
Ode to San Francisco, once the city of dreams; where Diggers swarmed naked with black-light ribbons of ecstasy curling around their fingers, they're tickled souls ripe with the fervor that once grew plentiful on the illusionary vines of the Haight.
Ode to San Francisco! For she will soon consume me with a laugh that will echo down the vacuum corridors of outer space, dive and sputter along the death-kissed river of time only, only to reach the loesome ear of the stoned troubador rebel who once dipped his naked feet into the waters that are now up to my ankles
Up to my knees
Up to my thighs
Up to my chest
Up to my neck...
And my soul escapes down the swirling watery gown of a woman who's name is Peace.
Ode to San Francisco:
For her time has now come.

I Walk Alone

However many people on Earth,
However many stars in the sky,
However many miles in the sun;
So long shall I walk alone.
Through writhing fields of sorrow,
Past souls for sale or borrow,
By ghosts a-doomed to follow;
Alone shall I walk: alone.
However many roads to the top,
However many drops in the rain,
However many footsteps to dawn;
So long shall I walk alone.
Through the nightmare planes of winter,
Past the chained and desperate sinner,
By graveyard stone and splinter;
Alone shall I walk: alone.
However many times that we've tried,
However many people have died,
However many tears that I've cried;
So long shall I walk alone.
Through mountains all crowned with fire,
Through glutton-wreathed desire,
Through the blackened opal spire;
Alone shall I walk: alone.
Quarrels of blood and weeping
Souls a-fit for reaping
Ghoulish shadows creeping
Lonesome hallows sleeping
Songs of freedom calling
The dying children crawling
Cliffs and mountains falling
Claws of demons mauling
Deceitful sirens singing
The cries of men a-ringing
The fear that death is bringing
A pendulum of doom is swinging;
And so long shall I walk alone
Alone shall I walk: alone.

Jim, My Love

Jim, my love, you played our heartstrings well
Was the world a bit too cruel for your tender heart?
To all who stand aside to get their fill
Pour out your soul from heaven.

Jimi Brought the Fire

"Jimi brought the fire up in Sacrifice,"
My father told me as we looked into your eyes.
It's fate that all the good and young must die
Ride the soul of that guitar to heaven.

Keep the Hope Alive

John Lennon with the songs of love and peace
It's true you had so much more to do here.
Was it just the wrong time to be free?
Keep the hope alive in heaven.

Moral Insanity, Peaceful Anarchy

There is no such thing as clean fun
There is only moral monotony and unacceptable excitement
NO in between.
When I see the ignorant adult children partake in fake-smile naive arrogant so-called fun I cringe.
When I see the scorned scapegoat freedom fighting wind chasing drunks being stalked by the fuzz through L.A. motels, I grin.
Moral insanity
Peaceful anarchy
In the era of freedom, opression will hang on a cross like my dear Morrison Christ in The Unknown Soldier with all the intended symbolism.
Or, or, if the asylum right holds the throne, there will be no flowers in the guns. Just bullets and freedom will lie bleeding, arms outstretched on a wooden plank.

Modern Medicine

Hello, Mr. Madman
Can you not see I'm neurotic?
Come back later.
What is this?
I thought your chainsaw was out of fuel!
My mother ordered you to saw my mind up
My father paid you didn't he
Taste your own medicine
Force it down your own throat
Because I am only neurotic
You, sir, are a madman.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

Holy Christ Morrison
Jesus Christ Morrison
A show and a quiet chaos
One fanatic grabs the nails
Another fetches the wood
Here! Let me find a hill upon which we might crucify him!
We are selfish!
Never satisfied
Always wanting more
The superhuman
The unnatural
The impossible
More than music
Ism
Schism
This
That
What now are we missing?
The hammer!
Yes, the hammer.
Let me ask that policeman over there if he's got a hammer for me.
In the middle of a song
A silent crucifixion.

To America 2007 with Love

Note to stupidity:
I would laugh to see you drown in your hollister-crowned pseudo ecstasy built around fake psychological pleasure and non-existant standards.
You are not mad
I am.
You are not insane
That is also me.
You are not mental
I AM.
You are stupid
Shallow
Basking in your praised sunlight of jello-mold intelligence which is not intelligence at all
Those who posess real intelligence are scorned
We are the poets to bitter and suggestive for our work to be shared in school
We are potheads and acidheads and heroin addicts
We smirk at authority
You hate us
We hate you
You call us communists
We laugh and say really thanks
Society is the greatest factory, the largest stainless steel exhaust spewing facility, so vast in fact that its mass sprawls accross the entire width of America.
They don't make toys or refrigerators
No.
They make people
They forge intelligence from plastic minds
Love from silicon hearts
It's not real
Because plastic is not real
It doesn't breathe or live
The intelligence is merely a standard
A plastic entity
And we hate it because our real, existing tissue minds are spat upon
So goes it for the troubadors until our time doth come
In the plastic era
The millenium of a billion fakes
The choking murderous stalking venom of the new superficial revolution
Oh woe is me.

The Psychedelic Experience

Drink warily from the cup of Euphoria,
For you will see-
The Great Spirit wears a coat of many colors.
Ecstasy, pleasure, pain and woe hang like tassles from massive belt
And none can tell for sure what one may find in tasting the forbidden fruit for the very first time.

About That Weekend

Saturday
A girl plays the blues by the country moonlight railroad tracks
Kicks a stone through the gravel
Wishing her father loved her the way the neighbor man loves his sons.
Sunday
A six-o-clock rendesvous in a graffiti tunnel
Her clothes fall to the cement reluctantly
Has passionless sex in the tedious lacklove dusk after smoking one last cigarette
Little brother plays in the ashes
Avoids her mother
Washes the smell of smoke from her knuckles
Guilt night.

With A Sigh

Sunday smells like incense
Feels like regret
Tastes like semen
Looks like rising smoke
Sounds like black metal
Seems malignant.

Lament to Dakota Dean

Following is a lament to a gone young soul I dug as Dakota Dean, highway child
A sorrow-song for herb-smoke irie meditation in the sunlight laughing
A whispered tear in lone darkness for naked frolics in the humming flower bed of love-making
But a sigh by mourning railways a beggar for your soft hair and intellectual touch.
I once had a dream, you know
Of you and me, side by side staring to the westward Buddha mountains laden with caverns of thought
And you contemplating the every twitch of their stony minds
I listening
Us loving in the grass reciting 'Howl' to one another, you know.
Not sure whether to tell you that I saw Allen Ginsberg in your eyes when you told me how the best minds of your generation were destroyed by madness
The madness in you
The madness in me
Orgasmic under the infernal sun red as indian summer
Ganja weds dutifully the desert air and they're smoky love child drifts off to melt into the sunset haze
The love is made
The peace pipe is passed
Mother Earth caresses us in a blanket of evening so close to our bodies we can taste the vacuum blackness.
You tell me revelations of a great mind
I give you simple words
'I love you'
And thus a lament to a gone young soul I dug as Dakota Dean, highway child.

Yet Another Song for Lady Savior

Ease into me, sweet love
I invite you to penetrate barrier of flesh,
To stay but a moment
To bestow your solute sweetwater euphoria unto my sacred pool.
For the day is long passed! Darkness has consumed light, and all that burns now in my eyes is the candle in the corner, the corner where you and I cower, where a last droplet of honeydew trickles from your silver scepter.
Ease out of me, dear love
Until tomorrow, when the final drop from the cup of ecstasy falls to thirsting tongue
When writhing flesh fantasizes your blissful touch
When fear, joy, love and lust collide:
Ease into me, sweet love
Let pain on pain obliterate suffering.

In the Still of the Night

In the still of the night
Before the sun's forceful rays had pierced the clouds
We lay there
Caressed by a blanket of smoke and fog
Crowded together
Longing for shelter
In the still of the night.
Far across the moonlit fields were blinding lights
And he stood there
His golden head bowed and his arm outstretched
The fluttering tassles streaming behind his tambourine
And rhythmically he thrust it against the palm of his hand
Just like this...
In the still of the night.
So we stood there
Letting the melodies pass through us
And mingle with the sound of the rain as it torrented down on every child who huddled under the zenith of the smoke-screened sky.
We danced with that music
We danced in that mud
Naked and posessed
Fading in and out of consciousness
In the still of the night.
And just as the clouds began to relent
Just as the sun began to rise
The guitars sang louder than ever
The euphoria distorted the harmonies into beautiful sound still yet to be heard by human ears.
We lay there as the morning began to swallow the night
Starving in our bodies
But satisfied in out souls
Secretly wondering if there really is a bit of heaven in a disaster area.
So he sang about it, his golden hair trailing behind him as he chased a fleeting glimpse of light, tambourine in hand
And it sounded just like this...
In the still of the night.
But with the breaking of the dawn the music subsided
The campfires that once dotted the rolling hills of Yasgur's farm smoldered before failing altogether
And the half-million that lit those fires must've disappeared into the night, perhaps chasing the stars.
The night is coming once again
And no shoes have tread on the green since we lay there
Crowded together
Longing for shelter
In the still of the night.

(copyright August 18th 2007)

 

Damn. Those are deep sister.

 

There's lots of excellent stuff! Keep writing!

By the way they didn't take away the peotry forum, it has only been moved into the writers forums.

 

Oh, wow. I only wish I had such amazing talent. Keep it up, love.

 

Wow. Just wow.

I really loved it all.

 

That really was amazing.

 

far out. I liked "No one here gets out alive" probably because I love that book, and "I walk alone"

 

Yup. It was written about the book.
Thank you guys so much.
Heh, or thank Allen Ginsberg. If not for reading him, my wrting would've never gotten to that next level.

 

Yea I love Ginsberg.

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed
by madness, starving hysterical naked."

genius

 

"Dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix..."

 

exactly

 

If we kept on quoting Howl this thread would be 50 pages long. :X

 

yea, lol, we better stop, which is hard to do once you start

 

I hear you.
I love your username! Veg Out! I should start saying that. Maybe it'll catch on.

 

haha. That'd be awesome. I like ur sig btw

 

Thanks
Veg OUT! *does a dance*
Yours too, Jim is my lover.

 

haha. Anyway. Nice talking to you. i love meeting new people. But I' getting tired. Time for me to turn in

Peace

 

Good night friend

 

Beautiful as always!

 

Wou im so small picece of galaxy.