I make my way inside, the tomb and rise again from feelings that flew too close to you,
torn from the womb, tethered hands sworn to illumine weathered lands
and i crash again back into seed
full thrust while blossoms bleed life into the few of the new breed
that makes its way thru density seizing sight, thru intensity of light that makes it all grow
up and away from the roots that know...
breaking tearing swearing making moods that fade too soon foods that make new moon
out of fragments that form too loose sometimes
to hold the rhyme inside, tucked beneath the rising tide of things we share and things we hide
waiting for the revelation to seep up from our pores into our mind tending the sores that stifle the times which await birth here in the name of earth in the name of the mother in the name of the bearing and the burdens of Other ways
to see here, to know here, to feel hear and peel clear of stagnant flesh
saturation
the sudden dawning e v o l u t i o n and i n v o l u t i o n
POISED
between worlds in balance minds of latency bending and twisting
and T U R N I N G back upon itself
remembering the white shroud which once it wore swore to remain unstained but the blackened charred robe of the stars of the wisdom of moments tore thru that fantasy to create a dream so real it s e e m s to feel its own thrust in the darkness of the blinding light beckoning sight into existence.
Resistance repeats cyclic defeats and victorys
mysterys mana urging us on toward the breathing pull of the sun as it rocks a n d cradles its child gently beneath the vestment of LIFE.
I am perched upon a precipice of power Am peering patiently into this passing hour The tocking time that tics up my spine Staff of sovereignty claiming Heart and mind Of the fluid and fluctuating seams I was born Hermes psychopomp between the worlds I straddle horizons between wake and dream Am flowing in glowing neural streams The initiation of Jestation in Times domain Quicksilver deliverer who delves into Pain Flow inTense Knowing inSense Saturation I humbly accept growing adept in Saturns Fixation Am making my Vow to die in Battle, reborn The oath of Thoth, from the womb Torn Messenger who travels thru Linguistic threads Of synaptic rapture as bliss of bodies embed Mind and Time and Space and Rhyme I spin the serpent staffs in waves of Sine Am oozing thru this glowing glue of fluid truth The ether twists of Knowing age and youth Trickster Playing games with pure perception Who pries open I~s asleep to deception Sews and grows the stitches and seams The flowing roads to the richest of dreams Patterns the passions and purpose and pain Into Mattered Moments moving thru Veins Faces and games and containers for rain And mysteries magic sacred and profane Names and numbers for all but the One I am the messenger who delivers the Sun Am the swift footed father of playful Pan The temptation of sensation of magic Man Initiate to mind as it moves thru Ether Who loosens the noose of Io~s tight tether Twists the fists with his serpent staves Matter in patterns of particle and wave Into lifetimes and light rhymes and bold Spaces for grace and beauty to unfold To honor the throne as Jester to the king Play is the way and light is the plaything The maze is a stage for unraveling dazed Neural pathways entwined in minds haze Codes imploding from outmoded games Awakening hearts shaken from shame Within this shared cocreative dance As the quake of the year breaks the trance Lunar reflection, the Mage in the mirror Nodes of infection engage the terror Square and circle , point and line The marriage of heaven and hell in time Spin the wheel and find the center Of Beings great Beauty, now Enter Plural passions are all just passing Roads of fashioned masks of Essence That make you forget your Eternal Flame Begin This Moment and ReMember your name And even the Time of unveiling will Be End and Beginning, infinitely Free In joyful prelude to a new swim in the See Twisting Tendrils of trickster Hermes Synods of souls Alive in the Flesh Again and again our minds enmeshed And I am the psychopomp of pain and play Again I Am, Jester Gestating the New Day.
Charleen Johnston 12-31-20
First word in each line makes a fractal of my rhyme
Tik tok tik tok Thick sick crowds in wicked shock The jabberwockys devious mockery Blocking the neural cacophony As the Stage is A Set For The Sacrificial Offering Loud crowds face down On the ground As the hell Hounds snarl and froth And drown out the sounds Of the Gathered And Lost
This Is The Cost Hollow
Of your subservience Tik tok tik tok take stock Of implanted deviance Roll up your sleeve Again For these devious ingredients That lead to expedience As the kith and kin Decay within
This. Decadent. Dream
Just a part of the Play The curtain Call The Mass offering softening The Skin As the Thin membrane Crawls With awful parasitic alms Embalming the deoxyRibo Engulfing the light codes And rewriting The script Reworking the machine And beckoning the crowds To join the mosh Pit
Trampled Crushed by the weight of the Black Mass The frequency Blasts tearing The masks right off The beast The Feast of souls Sold Out and Sunken In The Needle needlessly punctures Skin Penetration Perpetration The Silent Weapon On Violent Stage Enters with Rage In Concert With plagues of waged war Against the brethren
CLJ 11-8-21
One year later….. how we feeling now, tater tot? Still the blind rot peels from the cloudy Eye Of what is… and what is not….. aLive (11-8-22)
I will remember what it was like to be born, and all the beautiful things I used to point at before I could speak them. I’ll reinvent curiosity and memorize delight.
I will forgive, because no one survives. I’ll keep the bruises but get rid of the blue. I’ll kiss my Judas back. (I have my own crosses to carry).
I will believe in ghosts and fairy tales. And elves and science fiction. I won’t declare a world impossible until I’ve tried to build it with my hands and when my pulse shakes like a leaf, I’ll say sure, let’s, why not.
I will fight with the sword of my tongue, not my fists. I’ll also fight with my silence and lips. And turn all my blood into metaphor and blossom my way into fierce cherry trees.
I will love like it’s the end of the world and the house is on fire. And if it’s not, I’ll bring the matches. I’ll love even when I don’t, or when I lose, or when love’s fleeting like sunsets or thick like bone or long or heavy or boring like the book I’m never done reading and writing.
I will live every day like it never happened before or like a tune to a song still unwritten. And I’ll record every hour on my face, and in this short-lived human dilemma, I’ll try to be in all my pictures, heartbeats, adventures and wrinkles.
I will dream up my reality. I will not be reasonable or realistic. I’ll write sideways on lined paper and I’ll always put heart over matter and imagination over knowledge.
I will create a thousand planets from scratch and then I’ll add them to the Milky Way so I can help expand the universe. I’ll make up a new language out of dust and come up with a hundred different ways to say your name.
I will be honest rather than loyal. Because to get through the dark forests of life you need a lamp, not a shadow, and trust is not a blind soldier but the soul’s one and only chief of staff.
I will be wild and untamed. I will believe in wolves. I’ll be insane, uncivilized, emotional and personal. And I will take the ring to Mordor even if I don’t know where Mordor is. I’ll be the child I left behind. I’ll be the door and key to me.
And when I come to die, the only thing I will regret is leaving all my stories, unfinished, on your chest. But I should hope to live in such a way, that time would breathe me out and back into your lungs, until there’s no more me or you or words or why.
… so this is for us. This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know because the beauty is in the act of doing it. Not what it can lead to. This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing and no one is around and they will never know but I will forever remember and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have, and this is for you who write or play or read or sing by yourself with the light off and door closed when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned and maybe no one will ever hear it or read your words or know your thoughts but it doesn’t make it less glorious. It makes it ethereal. Mysterious. Infinite. For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in and only you can decide how much it meant and means and will forever mean and other people will experience it too through you. Through your spirit. Through the way you talk. Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care and I never meant to write this long but what I want to say is: Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story. Let your very identity be your book. Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.
So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain where no one will ever hear and your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar. Make your life be your art and you will never be forgotten.”
I’m twisted and tampered And feeling Pampered by Life This Night This tribute to Light is but a Face Of the race I run The case I’ve begun to sort thru And contort to And still the Sun shines thru Like icing on the cake That in my Womb I bake With creativity at stake For far too few Understand The clues And wake and take the break For Life is the Steak And potatoes Of the Days which grow Through my labors
I take the Smile and Fake senile And pretend to Forget That I Am still Wet Gleaming like sweat from the brow Of the Holy Cow Who Was Slaughtered in Fear Cooked for our Dear who is Slave To the Tears That have Flooded before… Knocked down their doors And Dripped right through The cracks in the Floor….
Peace Is Sweet And a Covert Operation At best Is less Than a fatal test Of the rest.
BlissNinja 