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Psychedelic Poetry


Nature is analog, ever flowing and continuous; spo
Hello everyone, for my first thread on the new forum software I figured I'd make a thread for everybody to post some poetry pertaining to their experiences, or maybe just some psychedelic wisdom. Anybody is welcome in this thread to post any poetry you have, it doesn't have to be explicitly about a psychedelic experience.... anything you learned from those experiences or integration would also be great! So without further ado, I'll post the first poem that I made:

"I could be your father giving wisdom and advice, I could be your enemy and say it all not nice, I could be the preacher warning you against your vice, or the words upon a fortune cookie random like a dice.

I could be the madman out there talking to himself, I could be the therapist who helps his mental health. I could be an artist or a poet or an elf. And if you clear your mind then I could even be yourself.

I could be a billboard moving quickly from your sight, delivering a message manifested from the light. Life is a game of poker I'm the joker I'm the king. I'm me I'm you I'm all that's true, why yes I'm everything!"
Here's another one I made recently too-

I come bearing the secret, hidden right under your nose.
Something there is scheming, within the light that flows.

Messages sent unwittingly, in many forms and faces
Telling you so fittingly, of forces that embrace us

The world is just a masquerade, my words are just one mask
We're learning how to master games, so sold on just one task

Like children playing hide n seek, we peak out through the eyes
Of teachers, preachers, fool and kings, a life that never dies

So open your eyes and open your soul, we're waiting just for you
In your thoughts and your surroundings, if you just pick up the cue

The system is a circus, and though we may be clowns
We're walking on a tightrope, if you shake it we'll go down

Vibrations getting more intense, in the shaken souls in power
The nations must get more patience, before we break the final hour

Nuclear warheads piling up, tempers prone to flaring
Egos get us riled up, then strip us of our caring

But do not fear, trust in the scheme, remember it's one love
We'll make it through, it's all in you, not some kingly god above.

But do not fear, trust in the scheme, remember it's one love
We'll make it through, it's all in you, not some kingly god above.
This was beautiful! I love these last two lines especially, I was just thinking about this. I'd love to contribute to this, I'll post a poem I wrote two or so years ago about anxiety while I was going through a very rough time in my life. It was certainly surreal and psychedelic in nature, so I think it'd fit here... it's a little long
The Flowers Have Eyes And They Can See Me Weeping

the flowers have eyes and they can see me weeping
laughing, sobbing, seething, sleeping
at my heart my thoughts are eating
But at my mind these vines will seize me

through brush i move without flower’s blessing
soaked in tears - own sweat a dressing
eye nectar sweet, collected with reticle
to caked salt, simply antithetical

bittersweet, and sensitive to touch
a tulip leans down - whispers, “what cares you so much?”
i turneth round with thoughts a wander
words in response forever pondered

flowers prance and trees will shake;
neurons in consciousness’ mighty wake
i turn ‘round quick and shout my answer
“Myself is what keeps me o’ graceful dancer!”

With swift moves sought watch petals saunter
“A peculiar issue such,” they then discuss
“A perfect way to trap you
and it really won’t take much -

did ever you find yourself without the luck
Of a million other stars?
Do the waters in your mind;
the streams through which consciousness does wind,

Nurture stories,
of what you used to be
And now you can’t stop thinking;
The sapling turns into a tree.

Did it ever see the sun?
Did it ever see the light?
You can’t stop thinking of that night -
Does the artist in your mind,

Paint different pictures of what always could have been;
Carve his own statues, of what he doth mean to you?
Should the farmer count his blessings,
As he’s tending to the garden, in a chapel overgrown?

Do the pictures in your mind,
Show the love you can still find;
When you kiss when two hearts bind?
We are flowers, but we aren’t blind

You should know this
Come and bathe,
in your own opus
And never leave.”

Animals prance and flowers shudder
Milk fed in tube from celestial udder
Ponder upon words been spoken
And even more upon those yet to be-

Spoken that is
Although possibly not
Thoughts muddled - you can
look to the ground as vines rot

extend a hand,
An arm, and a leg
I will need strength for the rest of my way
Through this garden.

I watch tulips twist in coordinated fashion
With skinny green hips that swivel on their stems
Big green eyes without lips,
But a tongue no surprise

Into, will i glare, those big green eyes
That look skyward so hopefully
Lost in the thought of themselves
And a god must be far up above

Pupils lock onto passing dove, a dying breed
White feathers like silk so desperately desired
And yet diminishing species saved naught
For in hopelessness desperate flora shall rot

Rot with all their hopes and wishes
Not carried out only to
Watch the weeds grow
Undiscovered by Mr. and Mrs.

Or the brothers and sisters
And the neighboring stars
We can see from afar
So consistently disconnected

Watch the artist paint a picture and
Present it to the garden
Or carve a bust to watch it burst
To spend his free time in the hurst

by himself and unbothered
Within sand, only solace
The priest will pickpocket the wallets
With multitudes of millions of dollars

The only green in the garden
Is that which grows from the ground
Present their colorful iris
Strong conjoined conscious thought -

I lay down in the grass,
feel soft blades brush my back
A cerebral system of trees
Intertwined with their skinny, and hollow roots

Skinny fists with the fingers
That probe the depths of my mind
Make me feel unwanted feelings
Trap me within its confines

The flowers send messages to me
Message through movement as they flail ever so vigorously
Their pollen - infected sperm that sways in the wind
Lays dormant; shrinks; and, speaks
To me through silence

There will be violence
There must be violence

Brain and heart the same -
Universes apart yet
Simultaneously synonymous
Reflected surfaces bear alternate
And opposite objects

I want to leave.
I must leave.

Sweet stench of spring, oh so tempting
Gyrating stems, entice me with their dancing
A little more time within the garden -
No harm in seeing what it's worth

Emotion spreads through me
In marmalade skies
So laugh as i prance through fields of eyes
But cry, will I

On the inside flipped outside
See rain fall from the clouds
From that marmalade sky
The roots will soak up the liquid

Grow in the garden will they
Fatten their stems
With their bulging eyes
Bursting with blood vessels for miles and miles

Eyeballs peer into my soul
Peering into every hole
Neverending search to reach a never ending, ever-undefined mad goal
A foal it prances, innocent soul watch as it dances

Over vines of which to it shoot glances
It couldn’t be me
Dreaming up impossible romances
Knowing inside
I will never be free -

“That horse would look better with some lances”
“He should really take more chances”
“And end his stupid dances”
“‘Should become more practical, and spend time in the flowers”

Foal’s goal, end role, leg for toll
Foot stuck in bowl
Within sinking hole he rolls
Mole, coal, payroll, ever-sober k-hole

Horses morph in grotesque fashion
Intertwining with
Lacerated lesions,
Indulging in lying lessons

Unbeknownst to me
As puddle turns to sea
Of my mind flora is a thief
Stealing what belongs to itself

Doing nothing, but negating its own health
Her own?
His own?
What, when not defined by chromosome

When separate from the body, licking
Large quantities
Of neurons
Of electric signals

No longer in connection to identity
A mind of its own
Unbeknownst to me.
Misunderstanding, in and of itself -
Of backwards femininity

And through it falls the ever complex shelf
Built sturdy, strong, and without flaw
The downfall for few
What was designed to protect us all

Fight or flight as i run through pastures
In chapel search for relieving pastors
Repent for sin and previous guilt of
Crimes against myself yet i cry over the spilt milk

The garden watches with great interest
In truth i must admit i’m terrified,
Fight for survival; what is it i am trying to keep alive -
But deep down i know beauty surrounds me

Beauty around me.
Oscillating gently,
With every second growing ever so slightly
Unfurling petals like praying hands with

messages to heaven
That rebound back to itself
Because God is unaware,
That in fact are they themselves
And I hope that my family will stay in good health,
And that they will know I've become lost in the garden.

Pink and vibrant petals
Bear pearly white flesh.
Oracular eyes that
Gaze into the mind that,

Relate to a doctor in Pennsylvania
His mind filled with the mania
That shows glimpses of inner dimensions
When we override our cells

But we do it all without even telling ourselves.

Over grass prairie i wander
Over broken ceramic, dead leaves, and yonder
Weighed down by ball and chain with the
Predicament yet been killing me

Dead poets rise
Live writers die -
What is it
What is it that what he wanted

O’ why had he left
And sent me to the garden
“I’ve moved on with my life,
So why can’t you move on with yours”

Words hurt like
Roses’ thorn
And self scorn
And self hatred

Vines that wrap around my feet
The garden i have stepped into is sacred
My limbs begin to struggle
As my body begins to fill with the heat

I see the flowers look into me
With pretty petals;
A muted pink
How they remind me of his cheeks

Their vibrant eyes displaying
The complexity of the mind, saying
How terrified I should be -
“Stupid boy, it’s dangerous”

“Yes, wolves and bears and dangerous things,” an orchid agrees
Their eyes spitting out liquid;
Attracting massive bees with colorful intestines
That shoot forth like fireworks

These grand defenses futile
The garden is now angered
They are right, I am in danger
I should be terrified

As small war wages in the garden
Insectoid warriors that bend and break
Their flaccid bodies melting into the earth
For what but posterity’s sake

From organless cadaver will rise new life
A dandelion - with fresh, wet eyes
Eyes protruding with the fur
Of those dead from before -
Even with eyes these flowers are blind

Agapanthus, Aconitums, Lilies, Chrysanthemums
Spout their shouts
Drool over pews
Like watercolors
Colorful snakes from a horrible scene
Mixed with the pallet from that of a dream
By the artist so angered stomps upon his creation
Glares at me, what do I see
but a reflection of myself
Yet faceless soon will I be

“What if? What if?”
The flowers spout, shout -
Bellow and bawl
“What if? What if?”
They yell and call
Squawk, shriek, holler, vociferate

Not satisfied are they
Until their infected selves
Will the garden proliferate
“What if? What if?”

Around my legs wrap thick trunks - and
Ergo falls this passing dove
Ergot crawls all up my walls
Upon myself this fate befalls

Flowers bind
Weeds grind
Eyes form gears
Mosaic masterpiece
Disaster born from beauty
What else was the garden to be -

Hung am I upon a tee
on display
For thou to see.

i present prose in bows to rows of roses
statues splayed in revealing poses
organs flayed bear cerebral noses
no strength to share as leaflet closes

the flowers have eyes and they can see me screaming
scratching, pleading, hardly breathing
thorn in foot and root in cell
from the heavens i hear my final bell

And created is my own, ungodly, hell

the flowers have mouths and it is me they are eating
chewing, slurping, upon my ego, feasting
upon every orifice do vines invade
suffocating in the garden of which my own was made

o’ what’s surreal when my real is no longer real
what is the difference between my flesh and that of venison or veal
As the flowers cause my soul to seal
But in time, i know that i will heal -

In time i know this i will get over
I will prune back these flowers
And keep in check the field of clover
Hold the reigns of this here garden -

But asked, am I
“Why, why is it you cry?”
From a star in a distant universe
Suffocating in the vines that entangle me
Respond with words softly -

because the flowers have eyes and they can see me weeping
because the flowers have limbs, and constantly behind me are they creeping
because the flowers have mouths, and until i die will they be eating
because the flowers are me, and their own downfall is what they are seeking.”
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