Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

We survived the end of the world, how absurd!
Instead, we bring a stream of consciousness united!
This is the poetOCalypse ignited
through the holiday season!

Our words are the reason, and so we jam!
Bring them here, let them spill, until
the year is new!

You, with your true spirit –
let us hear it!

Seasons cycle,
daylight wanes then brightens,
all life renewed by light & rhythm,
the insistence of an incessant star dance,
our earth on a tilted axis drawing a circle
around the sun, and the whirl of life revolves.

Though we cannot solve a winter
mystery, we can discover our journey
connected to each other, lovers of
words and art in an infinitely creative universe.
Because together we can light the world!

rough winds shake'm up
rumours fly and break em up
mid-sky banter, doubtful ranters

waiting around
in mass meditation
skype to skype energy
a cosmic conversation

do you see what i see
do i see what they see
crazy days mind plays redundancy waylays

human psychosis
far past neurosis
ask our friends the aliens
they laugh at our hypnosis

I've been waiting for the awakening of aliens.
their tendrils reaching from various orifices
or muscles or membranes or ligaments
to explore more or less
of the world
than we have been
able. Perhaps they
are more capable.

This could be an osteoblast,
a bone-building meditation,
the creation of newly discovered
research. The aliens, you know,
have quirks about them.
There are possibly inert
gases seeping from their
exploratory limbs.

Tonight, I treasure the dim
light from a candle. Its vanilla scent
lent to me by gods I used to believe in.

The planet isn't well.
It may require psychotherapy
and alien intrusion for healing
purposes.

I sit and think.
I drink a glass of water.
I treasure the very aura
of aroma. I can never get
my fill of vanilla.

Hello, welcome to the stars
Have a lay back on that swirling cosmic couch over there
And tell me how it all began

I've postgraduate'ed (not to boast Sun-lauded bits)
From outside this orbital stint
In neurotic and hypnotic interstellar intelligence.
A shrink from space,
I put the loon in lunar.
Does your pandimensional insurance cover this?
Let's get started.

And let me tell you how it all ends
Have a lay back on that swirling cosmic couch over there
Hello, welcome to the stars

There is no Earth, there is no you, there's only all of it.
There is no me, there is no we, it's all just free.
So send out your carvers, you'll need new calendars.
Start new songs of seeds in the ground,
Pay heed to that devil says it's all a hope's gamble,
Stop tiring of seeing new days.
So send out your hope, never bet on Death against pot odds, and
Thank
Time

Every once in a while, a wile is one's very loss.
Craft demons against the wind and find Hell in your face.
Etch a sketch of love and it ignites the gods.

Burn it all either way, just don't take two of these.

And hey, call me in the morning.

That's totally ridiculous.
Aliens can't save us.
But there you are, aren't you?

Then again, we're all alien,
are we not? Alien to each other.
Alien to our sisters, brothers,
those who try to connect
to our perspective.

Alienation is ubiquitous.
Maybe it can save us
after all.

But here we are, aren't we?
Take two aspirins and call me
at dawn.

Maybe then,
the universe's
migraine
will be gone.

Who are you out there?
Where did you come from?

Many are numb
and unaware.

Please send us new calendars
for those who survive.
We've been tired of
counting days until
the end.

Let us begin again!
Yes. Begin, once more
again. Then, the choir
will have sang.

Perhaps another
big bang.

I edited myself three times
but the edits didn't appear.
Oh dear.

matter cannot be created or destroyed
just morphed into forms previously unreborn
edits exist along with the edited
today's mistakes tomorrow's relatives

those mayans!
when will they learn
leave your predictions and
your heathen prognostications
to the professionals,
grow maize instead
carve a big stone head
and leave tomorrow to us

Still breathing
Still seeing
Still searching
For an absolute
End
Of it all

When will they learn?
To simply
Turn the
Lights off...

word jam?
not without peanut butter
& real butter & bread
it's crazy bingo!
with bones for markers
and the heads of all those
who have made the passage
sleeping in our cupboards -

wagoo for the foo fighters!
wagoo!
while the wind lifts the hemlock branches
whispering through the needles & saying -
"Someday it will be time to go,
but not yet."

What did the Mayan's know?
Every decade or so
people claim the world will end.

But imagining our demise is a good way to spend
our time, perhaps. It's introspective.
Puts our mortality in perspective.

While we're here, we might as well create.
Let's make a new calendar that's eternal.
Might as well. I can't wait
for when hell on earth's much less infernal.

roll away the stone
we start the Mayan New Age

what it's in store?
for then next cycle of five thousand years
Que Sera Sera
it is hard to make predictions especially about the future

My bets are on tomorrow
and the day after
when the last cell phone tower goes out
and the children burn the town down.

The signs of the times
read them and weep
No More Twinkies
St Peter don't you call me
I owe my soul to Master Charge

and the children
shall descend upon
the hard streets of river city
and barter away their parents
for some jelly donuts

the children will ascend
the calendar
to roll away the rock
of their parents hell
old scores are settled
hammer hammer