Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Hail, the point is everwhere lost
the mirror has been spent
now only the ghosthole remains
the shadows are all making for the
furthest dream slit

nothing can hold on forever
the seasons have all been drained of ink
black letters are making subsets down
the smoking liquid pipes that run all along
the edges of the spinning perspectives

hail, the word is done all meanings are null
we have arrived at a dead end in the first fall
all bets are on and off like neon signs over
the desolation that is america all drunk on gas
we have felt the feather of prophecy and it has
found us wanting the distortions have blinded
us of the real purpose of life on this planet we
have wandered in the vast frontiers of rusty
memories that have faded in the burnt flag sun

Hail, all distortions are not false only the ones
that are oblivious to their birth in chaos and so
have betrayed the roots that spoke to their source
all images have a connection to the soul that gave
them passage through the tube that points like a
albino finger toward the spark of life that exists at
its furthest extent running through all the initiations
that weave in and around the living language of
the oldest imaginings...

this is so, so it is
the serpent was knowing its change was upon it
it was conceived in the simplest configuration of
cosmic symbolic numbers for the freedom of words
had been not released yet only the vision of its
awakening out of the fiery ocean of nothings
where the alchemy of blood colors was as if a
hand of a mad artist exploded from a newspaper
sky

When I think of the sell out of this place, the empty creaking cracked orange formica bad commercial jingle warehouse chemically-induced poetry of it all, I just roll over in bed. Or maybe write a song about it or something. It's not fit for good manners anymore, only suitable for rangy verse. Rangy... is that a word?

bravo!!!

home of the brave
not home on the range
devils are devilish
but angels are not angely

we have met ourselves
in the postmodern gully
and we are stranger
then strange
stranger then Molly

where the deer and the antelope
play no more
where frequently heard a mangy
word, and the skies are covered
with jet trails all day
home home on the poem
where the devilish words
play for keeps
and all the treaties are broken
like toy soldiers every day long
and the geeks run the sideshow

so light up a poem in the middle
of nowhere, and surround it with
huge flashing time square signs
and call it the star spangled manor

my mansion has many rooms
and they all are empty
only the coyote and the desert rat
roam, through the rubble of civilization
on the edge of the holy ghost town

the distortions have blinded
us of the real purpose of life on this planet

And what would that be?

whatever. or we would not be writing about it.

i love your stuff! I've been reading your posts in GO too... man you've got some great lines! brings back memories... i used to be a writer, too, and sometimes wrote stuff back and forth with you... i *think* it was you.... i sent you a private message to ask if it was you but you never answered... sigh

are you you?

i know my"yes?" was an reply to your"craig?"
yes yes, he is me, i am he, and you and i use
to dance under the moon light on that other
site, long ago far way, not so long ago...

this poem, is one i wrote a few years ago, it was
a take on Yeats,The Second Coming....
on another site, i was downloading my work
off that site, because, it as erased on the other one.
and i just put it on here, for the heck of it.

i usually always write new stuff.But as i am in the
process of self publishing a poetic novel, i am also
thinking of publishing some poetry.I don't send my
stuff to poetry sites, because, i don't have the proper
credentials, and all that jazz.or maybe because i put
so much stuff on those other ones, and it's too much
work to submit myself and play the game, i tried that
with the novel.Anyway, the life of one writer/poet.

glad you are still here...sigh...i think i am me, anyway

I didn't get the yes,
but now i see my guess
was right! we used to jam
all through the night!
you be da qat man,
that jazz man dodadooo
and damn i loved jammin'
with you and so now yer
writin' a novel, brotha?
with a poetic voice, like no
other? damn that's great!
you make me elated just
to hear about it, i wanna
shout it out to the sky!
when you get it in print,
gonna buy a copy, i sure am!
gotta have a book by dat
jazzrabbit qatman!


great to see you, craig!

Hungry Hester eats your poems.
Your book will be a feast I'm sure.
H