Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

even my words have made the rounds
circling through excursions of the neon nut house
following the jangling keys of the keeper creeper
the sweeper of the grounds of being

we are past seeing the lunatic fringe on the edge
of society, past the lantern holder of black sun
yet we can't fill the prescription for perfection
so they dose the meek who shall inherit the earth

the earth is not in need of being inherited
by the cheek turners or the turners of cheeks
what the world needs now is a revolution of flowers
the rose out of the depths of spiritual poverty
grown in the deepest merde of the mesmerizers

what the planet wants is the last mad poet to bloom
so the words written on the walls of Babylon bedlam
can resume their out of this world out of this mind
parade of phantoms through the memory of shadows
the sorrows and misery of the grain of insult to our
intelligence that has been wrapped in mystery insane

all the dreams and visions have been properly planted
and watered with the tears of our paradise lost
the infinite shroud of the centuries has been unwound
and I find myself on the outskirts of crazy town
a mummified curio in a traveling show magic act profound

well if this is autobiographical, then we are kindred spirits......I am so there !

beautifully handled.........great poem for open mic night

Well in a sense everything comes from personal experience.
Am I saying that I was in a mental institution? No not in this life.
But the long story of being forced to look crazy because you
always questioned things.I'm looking at the mad house of this
world we live in,it's a poet's job to stare it in its face.Bukowski
said something like "I have trouble with your face" I think he
was talking about anybody he looked at, because we all are
reflections of the society we are forced to live in by the state.
Slave drivers, the brain washers, the deliberate polluters of our
water, air, food, education. Also, as a street poet which
is how I think of my poet being born into this...my education
consisted of being around a lot of crazy street people.I use to
watch them for hours on end, because I thought this is what
a poet must do.Thanks.

listening to politicians speak is the same as being a fly on the wall in an institution....what they try to convince me as relative and important, sounds like the banter between delusional patients...corporations are destroying the earth, as they sell products that speed it along and instead of limiting greenhouse gases, they believe now they can climatically engineer the planet to accept more abuse....and the bulk of the citizens sit home and amuse themselves with electronic gadgets as they work themselves to death to try and pay for them.....so how can I take any of this seriously ?.....yet i am the crazy one, the one that cannot conform, fit in, toe the line ?.... we both see the madness in all of this, while remaining on the fringe....a poem or two here and there is our meager weaponry..........Yowser !....good poem

I tripped merrily to the rhythm of your words. This is incredible. And it spoke of me of the deepest need of humanity and where the key to the future lies.

John