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Poetry Club

The onion, now that’s something else.
Its innards don’t exist.
Nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist.
Oniony on the inside,
onionesque it appears.
It follows its own daimonion
without our human tears.

Our skin is just a coverup
for the land where none dare go,
an internal inferno,
the anathema of anatomy.
In an onion there’s only onion
from its top to its toe,
onionymous monomania,
unanimous omninudity.

At peace, of a peace,
internally at rest.
Inside it, there’s a smaller one
of undiminished worth.
The second holds a third one
the third contains a fourth.
A centripetal fugue.
Polyphony compressed.

Nature’s rotundest tummy
its greatest success story,
the onion drapes itself in its
own aureoles of glory.
We hold veins, nerves, and fat,
secretions’ secret sections.
Not for us such idiotic
onionoid perfections.
 
Mo Poe!

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

~Edgar Allan Poe
 
In transit through the time-zones, trails her colors everywhere,
Her spectrographic spectrums lance ethereal through the air,
Fragmenting rainbow spears and curves of bending light,
Arcing jet-streams counterpoint with sunspots blinding bright.
And in the dreams I have of her beneath blown skies of tangerine,
Angelic, incandescent, paints the sweetest forms I’ve ever seen.
Elated on the desert winds she flickers some prismatic ghost,
Tripping ruined beauty from each pillar to each mystic post,
Deep emerald light refracted as cracked ice in shining eyes,
A telepathic temptress breathing winter sleep and summer sighs.
And in the morning sun that kisses glacial seas of bathtub blue,
She walks the dunes of memory, on golden beaches combing through.

~Tony Bush
 
I started trying to write haikus to give myself a limitation to try and work with. It is interesting, and I like it. I think it is a good exercise for me. I did not achieve a secondary goal of trying to be less wordy! I wound up writing a longer poem made of increasingly disobedient Haiku type stanzas.


Laying in bed like
A fool... health and care myths
Flutter by like wine

I lay and try here
Imbedded in strength, alone
Ensconced in down, wrapped (up)

Dear minds, hearts soar by
Care drops like gossamer
Illusion of spring

Not seen or felt, yet,
But questioned and sensed
My breath dry with thought

Praying for insight
Alone, I pray for a word
To help stem the time
 
It doesn't interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn't interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

~Oriah Mountain Dreamer
 
This one is about my dmt girlfriend, she’s a powerful goddess creator

Purpose is the key

She seems easily handled
Her smooth-like skin
Makes me quiet and gentle
This section where I’m in

She’s beautiful in blue
Where she goes, she returns
She’s Always pure and true, A part of you
Her powers are endless, in it’s entirety
In her, purpose is the key
 
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I've been questioning whether to share this one. It is about an unpleasant Acid trip many years ago, when I was 21. I was still tripping a bit when I wrote it. It was how I felt at the time. It seems appropriate to share now, as I had a wee hyperslap yesterday which came after a very pleasant experience. They were both very worthwhile experiences, and have been very Illuminating. Needless to say, I have tempered some of my opinions that I expressed here in the intervening years.

"ARE YOU WITH ME?"

Psychedelic bunglehatching remnants of a former gloaming

Desperate fears of distant years forgetting what the morning's shown me

"Are you with me?"; ivory tower in a mist - like fog of changes

Memories of mornings being with a stone and of its story



When a taste was given you from other aspects of the world

Twas never spurred by chemistry and tortured atoms screaming, "HOLD!"

But, "LIGHT!", you scream - it looks real neat from deep the other end of mirror

The insane see what they must see when that's all that they think they got

You know a truth
Inside your skull
And hope to amplify it, right?

But throw the blot
Into your blood
And, soon, it doesn't feel quite right

It almost feels
As though you're prying
Open wounds that have been healed

Or, time! It sends you
Are you with me?
To your destiny of love
To your destiny on a silver ship

Light's in the sky, not fibrous blot;
your path is clear, but there it's not

All relations become clear when you remove the binding rot

Your heart's desire points the way, which you look for in other ways

Follow what is yours by life, and not some chemist's weird mistake

YOU ARE NOT THE UNIVERSE

U KNOW

U R, A?

REMEMBER
 
Bat Chain Puller - Captain Beefheart

(Don van Vliet)

Bat chain
Puller
Bat chain puller
Puller, puller

A chain with yellow lights
That glistens like oil beads
On its slick smooth trunk
That trails behind on tracks, and thumps
A wing hangs limp and retreats

Bat chain puller
Puller puller

Bulbs shoot from its snoot
And vanish into darkness
It whistles like a root snatched from dry earth
Sodbustin’ rakes with grey dust claws
Announces its coming in the morning
This train with grey tubes
That houses people’s very thoughts and belongings.

Bat chain puller
Puller puller

This train with grey tubes that houses people’s thoughts,
Their very remains and belongings.
A grey cloth patch
Caught with four threads
In the hollow wind of its stacks
Ripples felt fades and grey sparks clacks,
Lunging the cushioned thickets.
Pumpkins span the hills
With orange crayola patches.
Green inflated trees
Balloon up into marshmallow soot
That walks away in forty circles,
Caught in grey blisters
With twinkling lights and green sashes
Uuh
Pulled by rubber dolphins with gold yawning mouths
That blister and break in agony
In souls of rust
They kill gold sawdust into dust.

Bat chain puller,
Puller puller.
 
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Wind me up, watch me rattle down the block.

The binding of anxiety, twice right, always the broken clock.

Sunken perspective, looking through the airlock.

Self preservation pushing me into deadly paradox.

"Ground control, I'm besieged by powerful Warlocks."

Send help yesterday, deliver me from the otherness on this beautiful living rock.
 
staring into the gnarling maw, desperate for a brief respite.

oblivious to the malice's snarling, I'm beckoning it closer to ease my plight.

higher climbs the firing, eyes burning, smoke clouding the emergency exit light, enter fright.

about time to find the Varia, you know you'd feel safer as an armored knight.

fight the good fight, but you can't build with the pointy end.

fairweather friend or Skeletor's minion, too bad things are murky with 2020 vision.

Sic Semper Tyrannis, drown the traitor within. guilded altars, and holy temples dedicated to sin.

I'm wishing you well. Don't worry about tossing a quarter in.

Inquisition searching for a new soul to save. misunderstand the message, and offer new flesh to fillet.

days long as they are difficult, it's best not to go through them in a self-induced malaise.
 
Symbolic thoughts

We all leave words behind
We all have a name
We all have symbolic thoughts
We all are the same

I had a dream last night
I dreamed we played a game
Dreams of symbolic thoughts
Decipher them within my name

The message is arcane aesthetic
It will rattle a few
If you don’t truly know yourself
You will never hold the clue
 
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