Spit Jazz (Stalk's Genetic Poetry Thread)

What a great thread!

 

Daddy-
Your legs are long,
crawling up the wall

and then a fox stands up
and whispers to the moon
"I love you"

 

I thank you midst a stroke of the beard

 

when was the last time you were certain?
Earth's uneasy hitchin a ride on stacked tortoise.
Her doppelganger waves through space;
Small feet,
of jalstrom's comet
dust.

safe distance is the intangible.

 

inside the head
thru a spectrum of
inner gates of self
all tied, fluid as a
rainbow
'round midnight

and inside is god,
happy as the suns'
eye's shut.

sphere's shadow of a
butterfly

 

sunshine through the fall of a thousand leaves.
listening to three rhythms in the cocophony
on a log.
O i could try to describe to you the stream that carried me away
just beneath my feet.
and O how i could try to explain the feelings that occured
somewhere in my head.
but O! it felt so amazing to be alive! !
triumphantly strumming on strings that flicked my pick into the crick
just beneath my feet.
yellow it was, marching away,
to be picked up by some other musician,
some other day.

not that that stopped us.

we ventured passed the sunshine
to the graveyard of stones
where the lake should have been.
and with this wind we swarm
the music
into existance
under the Himalayan tree
where the griffons landed.​

 

Last Fall brings up some beautiful images in my mind, very nice.

 

Oh, oh, oh! I adore this one! It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

 

O I feel similarities
knowing someone else
understands it's simplicity!

Nag Champa?

 

I'm going to get drunk and spit jazz all over my computer,

expect to try to make sense of sensory data.

 

Introductions could last the entire lifetime
of a fly. Here's to the american dime,
and sudden shudders down the humans spine,
minding his Zosros to uncurl then shine
dimlit faces

a poet enlightened and resonating lightly,
collecting smoke, tangled up in his lotus nightly.
who wrote from moons,
and plastic spoons
can be found in the corners on the carpet.

the sunshine was tile
and it took him a while
to really rotate, and see,
that all these branches coming back to me.
my brainstorm.

dusty clouds
are likely shrouds
of other eyes
and maybe flies
will gather.

panic struck our waltz,
Let's move along now to the vaults
of Obo's
and old Lego's
that kids never found,

I can not help it,
I'm barely here on Earth
so when I write
I'm usually somewhere weightless and
orange.

 

orange
outlined in red
I am yellow
you are dead?

 

dear whirlwind
that spins
and twists thru my
spine-

 

from the ocean was a rock
was some grass
turned a tree
a hand held glass, to the sun

 

quatrain
unpolluted
spit thru the hippy forums
to simulate

 

sunshine
sing it with me
sunshine
harmonized the wized vocal chords 'neath Banyan

 

O banyan
tan yan
Yin yang
of love, I melt melted's all accross my belly sky

and I drew a mandala
of triangles
on your breast
while you dreamt of pyramids

 

I've melted the melted
over and over
and a feast upon Heat
stirs premordial motion

and life is a song,
You hear it! The word
Universe is just an interlude;
abridged.

 

somehow
hypagogic clouds
fall into the ocean
like i did, too

 

Amazing, amazing and I know no other words! You blow my mind, then you piece it back together like some psychedelic jigsaw with your psychedelic jazz... And only afterwards do I wonder where all the colours came from.

Where do you find the colours? Do they grow on trees? I'd love to see the field they came from, all bright and beautiful as they are.