Search

truth

 

In my external search for meaning
No one person could reveal me
The answer to the riddle of life
A solution that was deep inside me
That which lay dormant in my soul
Could be summoned by none save me
Through guidance did I extract truth
Many have tried to steer my ethics
From the dawn of my virgin knowledge
I was taught not truth but rather faith
When finally I resolved the difference
Verily had I become enlightened to life
The seedlings of wisdom were planted
Blossoming into a lotus of enlightenment
Catching my dreams, refining my Chakra
Flowers which grew amid Belladonna
Bewitching and beguiling petals of desire
In the breast of this garden did I seek truth
But wisdom withheld the secrets of faith
Though my heart thirsted to be quenched inside it
And my body yearned to hold and touch it
The mysteries that faith cajoled remain silent
Only this has been revealed unto my tired eyes
Yesterday is the history recorded from today
Tomorrow is the dreams of today’s future self
And with each tick and every beat of the heart
Truth reveals to me that time never existed
It was created in its own image
Follow the path that love carves
And enjoy the ride
Live and Love in Peace

Awaiting The Raven

mirror

 

Who owns that face
Look deeper
In the mirror
Do you see them?
Sad tired eyes
Echoing back
Tormented orbs
Dimensions of sorrow
Volumes of pain
Clouds of regret
Obscuring the view
But I see
Fragmented visions
Broken glass
Pieces of pasts
Vows crumbling
Degradation and humiliation
People pointing
Laughing from afar
Whispering rumors
Stinging sarcasm
Now I see the reflection
An old man waiting
To meet the Raven
Be brave old friend

 
Look!
There in the mirror
Image comes clearer
Hair of silver
Vaguely familiar
Lines from laughter
Deep of disaster
Tracks from tears
Shed over years
Who owns that face
Who’s been misplaced
That can’t be me
I look so hollow
A bitter pill to swallow
The anguish and rage
My refection has aged

 
I wasted so many breaths
Trying to change
What had already occurred
Can’t change the past
So I guess my advice
Would be this
Waste no time
Attempting to alter
What has come and gone
Focus your efforts
On forging a future
Bury your past
Because before you know it
You become a strained reflection of yourself
Awaiting the Raven

 
Live and Love in Peace

Seeker Of Truth

seeker

 

I knelt naked before a gallery of gods
Waiting in judgment of singular rule
Which divinity will clothe me in faith
I seeker of truth
Searching the chasm of dominions
Pleading for some truth I bared my soul
The mother romancer received me
Adorned me with dreams to dream
Fed me certitude to consume my cynicism
I gave unto her my unwavering fidelity
But it was not truth

 

So many sleeps have come and gone
The dreams so long ago forgotten or gone
Many a deity swaddled me in hypocrisies
I the seeker of truth
Now standing at the dawn of my twilight
Looking to the oracle of enlightenment
Who reveals to me a painting of words
My eyes ached red as I perused salvation
The scriptures given were barren of fact
Yet gleefully exalted in lessons melodic
Cold and calculated I memorized the songs
But it was not the truth

 

I sang of prophesies written on the wind
Which gently blew out the light from the stars
Alone in my darkness I light the lantern of quest
I the seeker of truth
Once more Mother Romancer beckoned me
Asked me to quench her spiritual passions
I gave to her free from the weight of gratitude
Yet still I was cast in the molding of evil
Alone in the unlit passageway I open my eyes
For only from darkness can we truly see light
That is my truth

Too Much Truth

truth

 

The truth can break the bonds which burden you
But too much enlightenment can shine a false beam
Illuminating the nighttime’s with unwanted realities
Casting the darkness of an eclipse upon daylight
Revealing the impurity of our own righteousness
Sculpting our rectitude and directing the moral compass
Seeing too much truth can reveal a lack of honor
Integrity is a marble rock chiseled by truths
The more you take away the more you see
Unless it’s carved into a likeness of the self
If we search the answer in the puddles of ego
Unaware that the reflection is aggrandizing
For all of us stand in the same sunlight
Yet we all cast a uniquely separate shadow
Our silhouettes traced upon the same moon
Yet each exclusive to the music of our own profile
We can stifle the drumsticks that beat our rhythm
We can loosen the strings of our cogent guitars
But we can never stop the songs of our truth
For our legitimacy will lay upon us as a harness
Directing us to places we never knew existed
Perhaps the graveyard where memories go to die
Perhaps the nursery where dreams are conceived
The search existential is far from a mere crisis
It’s a revelation to the edification of true life
Oft times much too hard to carry by oneself
If I could I would hold midnight in my hands
And offer it to you as love to guide you to victory
Because one of my truths is I’m tired of losing
Not of harmonies mislaid but of people gone
I struggle because each day I see all of them
I see their eyes
The hope, the anger, despair and joy
I see them close their eyes to dream
All of them lost as a rainbow at dawn
And that’s too much truth for me to bear

 

 

 

 

Live and Love in Peace

A Clockwork Existential (An Existential Beat/Street Poem)

clockwork71

 

 

What’s it to be then Eh?
What is your identity Alex my Droog? Does your soul know your dreams?

 

 

From the wet and dark
Arose life anew
Full of raging violence
Wild and auspicious
Unbound of rule
In a world of chaos
In a digital epoch
Where violence is king
Not much different than today
Survival of the fittest
Ultra-violence life
Sharpened with synthemesc
Opium for the Lewdies
Real Horrorshow yarblockos
Until betrayed by droogies
Handed over to the millicents
Sent to prison
What’s it going to be Alex?

 

 

What’s it to be then eh?
Loss of your freedom
Or loss of your identity
Stay boxed and shut
In a cage full of clones
Uniform yet all alone
No longer free to make a choice
Or in a cage on the street
An jigsaw of yourself
Bound together by rules
One of society’s jewels
Unique yet robotic
Unable to speak your mind
Free but neurotic

 

 

What’s it to be then, eh?
Stay as you are condemned to prison
Pacing in your container
Forced to be humble
To a servant with keys
Mind shaped in rage
A soldier of mediocrity
Counting scratchmarks on the wall
Is that who you are?
Same ole same thing
Dancing to your own tune
Singing an aria of your life
Day after day
To unhearing ears
Lost in a sea of indifference
Or would you like to walk free

 

 

What’s it to be then, eh?
Manufactured nurture
Become a sandcastle
Built by society
Waiting for high tide
To carry away your self
Stripped of imagination
A perfect Orange fruit
Spinning like clockwork
Dancing to their rhythm
Singing their song
Living chapter to chapter
In society’s book mundane
But free to pace the streets
Absolved of your of sins
Yet unable to choose evil
A hamster in their wheel
Reserved and compliant
Void of expression
Trapped in the expectations
Of societal programmability

 

 
The Ludovico Technique
Gave Alex a choice
Life In prison
Or social experiment
Complacency or individuality
Join the theater of the sublime
Leave behind the slime
Become a cog in the wheel
However unreal
But free in the street
To all the vonny soddy bratchnies you meet
Free of the evil that possessed you
Or stay behind
With your evil mind
What’s it to be then Alex?
Eyes clamped open
Medicine of goodness
Dripping tears of complacency
Exorcized evil
Yes yes yes my one and only friend
Until Ludwig Von pierced your ego
Shattered it in a million pieces
Awaiting the vengeance due
Haven’t you ever seen a movie
Or watched a magic show
Nothing is ever what it seems to be my boy
Especially choice
But rejoice
Soon you’ll be free
Just not who you used to be
Lobotomized by law and order
What’s it to be then eh?
Your nature or their nurture

 

 

 
Little Alex
Our humble narrator
Filled with rage
Locked in a cage
A prison of damnation
You’re an editorial sensation
In a Jail
Of your own creation
Your life waiting on cremation
Alienation of a generation of mutations
Locked away for committing a crime
Imprisoned to a life of time
Loads and loads of time
Nothing but time
You were brought to trial
No longer a juvenile
Now locked in exile
Unable to smile or sashay in style
Because what you did was so vile
Now little Alex is a murderer
Surrounded by hate
Either translate or eradicate
But you will acclimate to a criminal fate
Or perish and dissipate
Full on mind amputate
You’re a lost little malchick Alex
What’s it to be indeed
What’s anything to be?

 

 

Inspired by a book that once helped shape a young mans free and open mind, A Clockwork Orange in which the very basic essence of existentialism is explored. Is a person still a person once stripped of choice and free will? Is there such a thing as free will? Is it up to a society to determine nurture or nature? Is the self the central theme of essence? I have read and reread the book many times, viewed the movie many times, and both still inspire deep philosophical questions of existence and cause and effect for me. The clockwork part is easy to work out, the running of the same regimens day after day without change but the orange has duel meanings for me. Anthony Burgess explains that the orange is a perfect fruit but I maintain a second meaning. No other word rhymes with orange giving it a sense of individuality and uniqueness. When they “cured “ Alex they were in effect coming up with other words that rhymed for Alex, stripping him of his individuality and winding him up in a clockwork. Anyway, my tribute to Stanley Kubrick, Anthony Burgess, and the words that jumped off the pages and into my heart and mind….
In street beat poetry

The Quintessential Preacher and The Existential Baker

preacher

 

He entered the room
With a lingering scent
Of superiority
I sat in my chair
With a lingering sense
Of doubt
My son he began
I’m here to save you
Pray tell preacher
Who said I need saving
Your dark soul screams
My son I can help
Give forgiveness and salvation
Absolve you of evil deeds
I thought him self righteous
Dose not everyone have deeds
In need of forgiveness
Even you my dark friend
So….
Why me your holy orator
The preacher sat down
Removed his hat
Placed a black book on my table
You like to read my son
An avid reader since I can remember I offered
Well reading is a path to enlightenments isn’t it
I seek truths about myself and others in books
Sometimes you need to read into the abyss
The preacher proudly thumped his Bible
This here book, my Bible, have you ever read it
Yes preacher I love fiction
My son, this is not fiction
It is divine history
This is life
The book of all truths
The greatest book ever written
Impossible I protested
He looked at me with incredulous curiosity
Nothing is impossible my boy
Well then if nothing is impossible preacher
Write a book greater than this one
Showing some frustration he angled deeper into my psyche
To attempt anything greater than the Lords work is blasphemy
Perhaps when you read it the evil was within you
Read it again and perhaps you will understand
I have read it preacher, I found it full of discrepancies
As well as hypocritical concepts
My son I beg of you to read it with me
I will prove to you that no greater book can ever be written
Preacher I said, if this book is the greatest thing ever has been written
What hope have we
It has too many inconsistencies
Claiming we should love all equally
Then telling us to stone prostitutes and homosexuals
It is laced with violence as well as forgiveness
Violence does not equate to forgiveness, only more violence
Besides preacher, if nothing greater could ever be written
Then what would be the point of writing anything at all
What would the writers have to strive for
You see the world in perfect terms
Perfect when you follow the Lord
Writing my son is a form of communication that can lead to enlightenment
So are cell phones preacher, why not have the divine one send me the greatest text ever and we’ll be done
The preacher stood up, put on his hat
May God have mercy on your soul my existential wanderer
It was the greatest conversation I’ve ever had
So far

I am not anti-religious, merely anti-religious manipulation. If your religion tells you its your duty to make everyone else believe what you do, you are confusing religion with political party. Because my religion comes from my heart, my spirituality comes from within, and I am certainly willing to share them with anyone who cares to, because my religion is love and inclusion free of indoctrination. Attempting to force someone to follow my beliefs goes against my very own core beliefs and sense of spiritual self. Educate yourself, evaluate what’s important to you, and follow your belief free of the force-feeding false prophets who insist you will perish in hell if you don’t do as they do. Never force your opinions upon any other living being, and no matter how misguided they may seem do not judge. Live and love in Peace my brothers and sisters

Existential Road Trip

journey

 

 

Journey of essence
To the center of self
Illuminating the awareness of all being
Pursuit of the light
Beacon of knowledge
Without eyes lie the truth of  all-seeing

 

A journey too far
To travel by foot
Paths that are littered with ominous dangers
Temptations abound
Tricksters are many
Offering treats of avarice masked in chambers

 

No one travels alone
Be in good company
Because the road can be eerily undetermined
Come take my hand
I’ll shoulder the load
Together unscramble a life giving sermon

 
The destination omega
To a wonderful world
The place where everyone’s dreams are conceived
Histories are written
Prophecies fulfilled
A fantasy that must be lived before its believed

 
Tread careful the avenues
Streets possess extra eyes
Recording our visions profound and soul deep
Sights that will take you
To the edge of the universe
Where mourning willows laugh as the hyena’s weep

 
But its not the destination
It’s the trip ethereal
The peace we search for must surely depend
On crossing river Styx
With paradigms of absolution
The final mile we will all make amends

 

 
All of us must embark on our own journey, and once we accomplish the search of our selves to figure out who we are the journey becomes enjoyable. Our paths are exclusive to ourselves but our destinations remain the same. It’s a path to enlightenment, or nirvana, salvation in heaven, rebirth, the collective consciousness, next phase, astral plane, or maybe just another rung on the ladder of life. Does it even matter? It takes a far better person than I to answer such profound queries but what I do know is no matter where or when or how we end up, we will all be there together

A Face From The Ancient Gallery

face

 

 

(Inspired by a Welsh poet who refused to go gentle into that good night)

 

I was King of the evening

Time was my mistress

So many darkness’s ago

Life beckoned my call

I was the survivor forever

Fortunate dreamer

Age clutched me close to her breast

A pillow of confidence

Embraced me in endlessness

Swimming side by side

A vast ocean of pleasures

Drifting in her grace

Filling my vessel

Warm compassionate smiles

And enough comfort to keep me asleep

As she whispered promises

So many promises

Whispered dreams

So many dreams

Visions of greatness and grandeur

Oh the potential of those reveries

Dreams she only leased me

Mine to pay back

 

Endowed with dominion over the night

Writhing in the passion filled light

In darkness of nights

When my world needed observing

She shone her light across my obscurity

Her torch to my ear

She whispered close

“Dreams yet to come will burst with elation

Don’t rush past them in your haste my love

Live inside them and breathe deep

The brass spiral is yours for the climbing

And the world yours to embrace

While you keep your dream alive”

 

 

Time held my hand close to her heart

Laid my head on her shoulder

Tenderly caressing my soul

Her hair smelled of sweet promise

Of vows once confided

She murmured into my core

My prophecy is a life of bliss

With condition

Embrace them together

But heed this warning my love

Do not close your eyes or blink

Never let your lamp grow dim

You may also miss precious moments

She looked past me into the horizon

Eyes hinting of sadness

Sorrows of mine yet to come

Foretelling misfortune

Our eyes once met in an embrace

Together we shared a teardrop

And a moment

A precious moment

 

Time is a calculating prophet

I wish I had paid closer attention

My prophecy I was bound to fulfill

Blindly I continued chasing the air

Sunrises and sunsets came and then left

Leaving me lonely and tired of eye

Until her prophecy emerged full

I shut my eyes too tightly to see

For only one brief second

Moments morphed into memories

Both time and I grew older of age

As time got more distant she added some pounds

Placed the weight of the world on our backs

Stripped me my carefree title of midnights

Made me slave of my own 9 to 5

Stresses of lifetimes pulling me down

Gravitationally held in a rut

My dreams collided confused

Love or success?

 

Please I begged her spare me the onus

No longer can I bear the demand

I was offered beverage of self confident stupor

To lighten the load of spiritual bricks

Took more than my share

Far too many times

Filled my lungs with wisps of contentment and joy

Laughing my way past my life

In constant search

Found euphoric fulfillment in carnal release

Seeking out intimate solace

Passions moaned softly under silken enticements

Blissfully groaning in tandem with love

In the midst of salacious confusion

Of blind indulgence I blinked once again

It was gone

 

 

 

I stood still as my dream ran right past me

Forgotten moments tucked under its arm

My eyes became heavy with lost opportunity

Too much weight for my tear ducts to bear

Dejected I blinked once again

In an instant I was again abandoned

Leaving me alone to negotiate the forest ferocious

Void of strength to fight

Unable to flee

Unwilling to enter the brawl

No longer able to face the dangers I once braved

Behind me trailed ashes of my yesterdays

Billowing smoke of pale ghost dreams

Time left me for another

I’m old enough to care now

But I’m too tired to cry

 

A face from the ancient gallery sang her plea

“Why must it take so long,” she inquired

“Why must it take so long?”

Time blinked

Confused by her query

Once more she offered dreary supplication

As we waded in my teardrops she spoke

“Why must it take so God damn long to die?”

Time held me tender caressing my head

“Close your eyes my love, and let me hold you a while ”

She sang a song so soft and sweet

A warm embrace

Her lullaby was like a dream

So I slept

 

 

Happy Mothers Day Mom

Dispossessed

dispossessed

 

I love music but I am far from what you Call musically inclined. I couldn’t read a note of music even if it were played on Rosetta Stone. I always pounded my own drum to my own off beat and even in the shower my singing voice is atrocious. I couldn’t carry a tune in a wheel barrel. But be that as it may from time to time an interlude of sounds takes up space in my brain and pleads me to give it words. I’m far from a songwriter, but not being something has never stopped me from deluding myself so I wrote the words.

 

Dispossessed

 

 

Four course dinner

A movie a dance

While little children waste away

Hoping for a chance

To earn a piece of bread

Wash the pains away

Praying for some silence

When the bombs begin to play

Smart car- cell phone -flatscreen scene

Blindfolded luxuries

To watch a movie and not see

The homeless refugees

 

 

We’ll never change the world if all we do is justify

We’ll never change ourselves if we believe we’re satisfied

Don’t hide behind complacency of nothing can be done

Don’t shake your head but shake your fist until the peace has won

 

 

Bomber jets fly overhead

Then circle to come back

And drop destruction on the land

A civilian home attack

Family lives being shattered

Don’t even know if the children live

Chemicals fill in the cracks of life

Somethings got to give

Get those rockets in the air

Limbless children blood and gore

Close our eyes so we cant see

Families dispossessed by war

 

We’ll never change the world if all we do is justify

We’ll never change ourselves if we believe we’re satisfied

Don’t hide behind complacency of nothing more can be done

Don’t shake your head but shake your fist cause war is never won

 

 

Eighty year old in Ukraine

Lost her house today

Lived in it her whole damn life

Until a war blew it away

With a fifty year old crippled son

Alone in the forest hear them cry

Hold each other tight and pray

That sometime soon they’ll die

But I gotta go to yoga class

And I gotta buy some wine

Then turn on my favorite TV show

O I can try to justify

 

Don’t glorify or justify

Just open your heart and unify

Tome to give real peace a try

Yet still the war machines roll on

Fuck political camp-pains

Use the donations for starvation

Because if we continue on medication

Our world will spin in indignation

And we will continue to build destruction

And we will continue to create deconstrution

Because murder can be a tax deduction

Fuck it, I’m done with my rap Y’all

Peace out, right on

Live and love in peace

 

Moments Of Time And Thoughts About Reincarnations

The Buddhist wheel of life showing numerous stages of reincarnation
The Buddhist wheel of life showing numerous stages of reincarnation

 

 

(A convivial wandering through Existential and Absurdist delusions)

 

Moments in time are snapshots of cosmic grandeur stored in the corridors of our past. If we dare to pace the hallways with our ghosts we need be prepared for the unexpected be it wraith, phantom, or merely a shadow. The hope is of course that time itself will hold still and allow us to share a treasured vision of comfort through the crevice of our memories. But maybe you think some of those stored memories are from the moments of a previous life. Some of your memories seem like they’re not yours at all. Far too often what becomes revealed when we tread too deep into philosophies of life and death down our corridors of reflection an unclear picture leaves us more confused than content. Ghosts talk in a strange language.

 

Went to see the blind man

Upon the mountains crest

Came across no man of vision

Just a buzzard at his nest

Disdainful perched and grinning

Bird of opportunity and prey

Screeched a baneful warning

Told me to walk the fuck away

Although the Buzzard scared me

Sent the blood up to my head

I stared right down his beak

And this is what I said

I came here in search of my moments

Scraps of time which are mine to own

It’s the sage that I thought would have them

Instead some buzzard sits at his throne

This made my buzzard angry

To be spoken to in verse

He scoffed at me disdainfully

As though I were perverse

But I came to see the wise one

The sighted blind old sage

You shouldn’t be free to mock me

With one foot stuck in your cage

At that very moment The Blind Man stepped out from a shadow

Its not with eyes you see your soul

Nor is it with ears you hear your song

If you think those moments are yours alone

My son you’ve got it wrong

You came to ask some questions

On life and what comes next

But that not why you’ve really come here

With you brain all pumped and flexed

So tell me then why you have come

I took a toke and pondered before I replied

Why do I stand here all alone

In a world of ashes and dust

That grows nothing but rain

Leaving everything in rust

Then I let myself speak free of silly verse

Why do I sometimes I feel sad

Yet cant remember why

Tears well in my eyes without reason

I wonder why do I cry

Remembering moments that don’t belong to me

Is it past me’s who make me sigh

Or have I simply forgotten

Are the me’s who live inside before

The ones who had to die

So I could be who I am

Are they the reason I cry

In way of firm reply the Blind Man laughed

Are you high?!

What you feel is normal

That’s your compassion through time

You really have no clue why you came

The mystery you seek is what is time

The greatest mystery of forever

Time is a complex set of gears all turning at the same time

Those moments you claim are just a small part

And everyone’s times overlap and intersect

Increments of distress or patches of pleasure

Your choice

But whatever you do don’t let time pass you by

While you stare and wonder why

Accept and live

Remember

Make the best of all you have

You won’t get it back because time cannot be given back

Nor can it be owned

It doesn’t belong to any of you

 

 

 

 

My thoughts began to course through me

Leaving understanding in my wake

Somt things we should never know

Just appreciate

Because all we will leave behind

Is moments for the ones we love

And we should make those moments real

 

The Blind man called to the Buzzard it’s time to go

The Buzzard winked at me before he left

Be careful of the truths you seek

Some truths come straight from Hell

Both of us can stab you with your very moments

Life is wheel which never stops

Then he laughed and sang me a verse

“The wheel is turning and it won’t slow down

You can’t let go and you can’t hold on

You can’t go back and you can’t stand still

If the buzzard don’t get you then the blind man will”**

The Blind man laughed as the Buzzard flew away and motioned me to look in his eyes. “ You don’t need these to see truths you need only yourself. You say you are searching for your moments but no one owns their moments they are meant to come and go. Every moment is shared and becomes the past mere seconds after they happen. What you seek is the purpose of your moments and your answer to past lives. Reincarnation is a punishment my son. Forced to repeat over and over isn’t some grand gesture on the Karmic Wheel, its what some theologians would call limbo. Your moments are meant to be enjoyed so if you missed the enjoyment you are doomed to repeat it until you learn to appreciate the moment. When that happens, you will shed your eyes as the will no longer be necessary. All I’m saying my son is….Stop searching for what’s not there because while your searching those moments are passing you by.”

Disclaimer… The trippyness of this text is a combination of a philosophical self search combined with some misheard lyrics.** Robert Hinter tune The Wheel performed by Jerry Garcia** Upon hearing this song under the influence of mind altering enhancements my peyote challenged ears misheard “If the buzzard don’t get you then the blind man will” Instead of thunder and lighting. At the time I never questioned the validity of such Dr Seuss like lyrics but accepted that they made sense in some Pablo Picasso sort of way. Once hearing the song under less foggy circumstances my first thought was well shit, that would make a good line anyway. It took me over 30 years to work in to a story. Peace