Do not regard me
In any manner.

I am the motion
Not the flesh
Nor the explosive spray.
I remain saner
Than the illusion you eye.

But I
See them
And that is my insanity…
Mine alone.
I see
The cut.
I see the spray.
I see the inevitable
Turning away….

I am never a part
But apart fucking
Disassociation…
And praying
For Immaculate Conception
Amongst the betraying.

Look!
WHAT MORE CAN THEY DO?
There is nothing more than death
They can give to you!
But you take their first born…
You do…
And you sacrifice them
At the first turn of the full moon
With their wrists raised
In offering…

And I work.
I do.

Do not regard me
In any manner.

I am the motion
Not the flesh
Nor the explosive spray.
I remain saner
Than the illusion you eye.

I merely lie
In bed at night
And cry…
For my pitiful self
For I will never
Accept their decisions
Of censorship,
Commercialization,
Worship
Of power… recognition
Within this hour

I hate you
In a way that they won’t.
They want your money.
I don’t.

©Jen2010 7–26

And Clint died

The clock nods
And says
“Just to remind ya dude“
Another year lays parcels
Into my pack

Oh the weight

But what of Love?
Cheap and tawdry
A bar stool whore
Eying advantage
Plundering
A Viking raping with guttural screams
The Poet can sing of it
I had my fill of it

And Clint died

Memories set the table of dreams
Preparing a feast
Begging for party favors
Dressed in Sunday finery
Hiding the thread worn elbows
And the yellowing white
Of faded innocence

No one will show
I never do
And memory will shed tears
And slowly fade
Dissolve
Dispersed into the wind tunnel of time’s inexorable march
Towards…
Something…
Some place…
Its last words always

“But what of Love?”

I smile
Let the Poet sing its glory
I had my fill of it

Besides

Clint is dead

Pushed past the threshold
Of boredom
And the stimulation of whoredom
In a modern biblification
Of swordom…
Words are hammered into existence.
This is the frontline
Of your war.
I sacrificed
And I swore to lay down my life
For the only king that I held dear,
Worthy of my insanity
Worthy of facing each
And every one
Of
My
Fears…

I slept
For you
I slept
As you slept…
Wide awake…
Seeking the pure fabric
Of our lives
But
On the thread of lies,
Mutual deception will neutralize.

©Jen2010 7–20

I want to live in their world
Of natural order.

To feel touch upon the flesh
Of words unspoken
When lying broken
On warm summer nights
Just a touch
A token
Of genuine comfort…

Is all I want from the world
Of natural order.

But the sun bows to the moon
On cue
Bringing the slanted shadow of lies
And deception
Too soon
Much too soon
Lies I long to believe
But I know now
As I knew
Then…

I no longer live in the world
Of natural order.

Oh how I’ve fallen from all I held sacred
Let the poison of dread
Invade my bloodstream
Coursing red
With the violent
Acrid
Stench
Of the undead
Wafting from each word written
To each word you left
Unsaid…

I only wanted to embrace the world
Of natural order…

Simple
Loving world
Of natural order.

Just let me bleed
As I have bled
Across the borders
Of nations
Walking the night
Forever
Singing the songs
Of the dead
Capturing the sight
Of all
That was never said.

The willows
Will not sway for me
Ever
Again.

©Jen2010 7–19

Don’t worry…
The bones don’t protrude
Through the skin…
Just their mal-form
Shows from beneath.

Don’t twitch!
Don’t twitch…
Hold a steady gaze…
What stares back
Might astonish you.

Fertilized with agony
Grown stronger
With arcane knowledge–
Erase
All misconception
Before the fleeting moment
Finds a hook in reality
To pull you
Back
Into improbability.

All thoughts
Hold a marker
On the line of time.

That thought resides
Fifty four miles
Down the line
Caressing the birth canal
With greedy
Impatient fingers.

Stay back!
Their instinct
Is to kill
To maim
Past notions…
Embarrass their
Prestige.

Wild ideas lurk
Within the bushes
Of this unvisited territory

They are everywhere
Seeking
Acceptance…
Howling at the moon
For their
untimely rejection.

There is genius here
Violating
The infrastructure
And yet
Minds revisiting the past
Continue
Down the most familiar lane
To avoid collision
With change.

Crawl
Upon broken elbows
And
Femurs snapped
Midway.

Be road kill…
Or kill the road.

©Jen2010 7–17

Hands instinctively
Grasp ears–
A swift cry of pain escapes
Trembling lips–
Eyes duck
Behind clenched lids…

But there’s nowhere to hide.
All those voices
Come from inside.

A body of will
Jumps onto the landmine
And is
Annihilated
On impact.

At top speed
The body disbands–
Questions burst into answers–
Defeat plumes into a mushroom cloud–
All sides split
Once again
To lie jagged
On the soul’s floor.

Will…
The voices ever lie silent?
Will…
The silence feed growth?

And who…
Will…?…
Commandeer this vessel
Home
Across violent terrain
And furious seas
To bring victory
Of war
To the motherland?

Who?

Will?

©Jen2010 7–17

I dip my fingers
Into the cool stream of consciousness
Your thoughts flow over mine
In a gentle rush.
When I raise my fingers
To my lips
Curious words roll
And drip
To soothe fevered flesh.
A subtle mystery is born
On ancient banks
Only the sinking sun
Can attest
To the renewal of beauty
As our thoughts mesh
Once again.
The eternal stream
Surges
With omnipotence…
The black disease of anger
Has dissolved
Within the majestic tow.

And can these words whispered
Across the skin of pens
Lift one out of the darkness?
Where is this magical stream?
In what wilderness
That these words dripping
And rolling from divine lips
Lead unto
And defend…
Upon which path
Beneath what setting sun,
Shall we now step?
For the heart of the ancient forest
Is darkened and diseased
By the black anger
Vengeance cries
And echoes of words
As sword blows
Sent
O’ ancient alluring dryad
Silent splendid lyrical enticing muse
Unto which tree
That roots into the elder streams
Do these words lure into?
Dare I offer my hand?
Unto celestial reverie
For you to lead me
Into these dreams?

Hold my gaze
The stream lies here
Hovering over the vast distance
Curling questions
Into answers
That need no definition
Only assurance
In their validity.
On mere thought
Sunlight invades
The darkest wells
To bleach resentment.
On sheer will
The chasm opens
Upon the brilliance of hope.
The wilderness
Lies here in my heart
Scarred
And trembling
From the nightmares
Of battles
Lost
But with strength
To frolic
And splash
Once more
In the stream
If only you will be here with me…
Take my hand
Let us dream
Again
To drown all doubt.

And how may I gaze into eyes,
So far away?

The sun holds my vision
Gaze upon its splendor…

The wilderness is vast
The chasm is deep
The sun knows me not
For it has burned ere eons
Never near…

And how may I feel a heart
Without one of my own
Bloody and fallen into
Its singular black-hole

Embrace mine
For it has always resided
In your hands
In your possession
In your fate
It whispers to you all of the questions
Which my words cannot sate

And how may I touch a hand
Leagues out of reach
I have no gold
To pay the toll…

This hand rests
Idle
To suffer the touch
Every day
Your hand caresses
With sentiment…
Invaluable.

Gold
Has only brought corruption
Greed
To the ancient forest’s
Stream…
Pay not
To find me

I have wandered o’er endless eons
Across the fields
Through the forests
Among the stars
Over and within these dreams
Listening, listening
And yet still not knowing
And ever finding the darkest of corners
Nightmare verses
Slaying arrows and vorpal tongues
While wishing to find her thigh
Instead of a millstone
To lay my head upon
Yet upon these quests
I have yet to find home…
The wilderness is vast
The chasm is deep
This wilderness is vast
The chasm deep
The sun knows me not
For it has burned ere eons
Never near….
Even if the sun remembers
Eons before the forest
Yet still younger than I
Bloody and fallen into
Its singular black-hole
Before the heart fell into
Its black-hole
And every gatekeeper
Demands its toll
And the dark-heart of the forest
Knows not how to pay anymore

Oh wanderer
Weary and bleak
You’ve paid
With your precious soul
Until it seems
That nothing remains…

Will the song
Of my soul
Never be beautiful enough
To play the melody
Of your existence?

Dear sweet dryad
Yours is a truly beautiful song
But there is another psalm
Which I hear ringing
Ever deep within
Her voice, her soul forever carried upon the kiss
Of the autumn winds
And forever this wanderer’s heart
Belongs to one…

As days grow long
And nights grow cold
Let this voice
Whisper as hope
Upon the journey’s path
To enlightenment.

Embrace
This final note…
We are all one
In
The End.

©Para & Kirk Morgan 2010 7–14

The nervous ones
Hover in fear
I feel their contained excitement
On the back of my neck
As they watch
And wait
For the key to fall
Into their vision…
History
Hammering out the foundation
For which they have always bowed
In worship.

The mission is precise
Free will has been enslaved
One false move
And it all disintegrates

They become the keepers
Of the We~
They always were~
They were always aligned
With the placement of the clock
Regarding the tide upon the shore.

When the sands of time fall into zero gravity
We have no time to lose…
Every minute counts
Backwards unto its death.

This vessel will justly spill
Upon the violet horizon
And the new world
Will awaken
In a starless night of rebirth…

All will be perceived as one.

©Jen2010 7–13

Heartache has been recalled
Much too often, my love
All those vapid lonely nights
With only you to think of

And those thoughts made me smile
More than you knew
For when you peered in the window
Tears were all that came through

Strength was developed
Patience incurred
Learned to walk on the sun
Without speaking a word

Evil strolls lightly
Through this dark masquerade
But the warmth of your touch
Makes the sinister fade

I still feel you, my love
I sense that you’re near
Can’t see past each masque
But I listen to hear

My love, my one
True delicate note
Time struggles onward
With clearness remote

My hand remains empty
My heart missing one
Soul searching for you
The twin star of my sun

The past melts from the heart
With each passing day
It seems that time does not erase
But numbs the sting away

©Jen2010 7–12

There are a few of you out there who sail uncharted waters but the overwhelming majority of you are stuck in the kid’s pool with you toes wiggling in the shallow depths saying, “I’m a Poet, whee.….” Fucking sad man. You’re not a Poet till you’ve spent time in a jail, nut house and a rehab and killed at least ten people. Which I call the crème de la crème of human experience, yes, I know I’m feathering my own nest, but remember, I suck too, I’m just more angry and I have larger balls than you.

Let’s talk about the Blog Talk whores, men and woman. Do you dumb fucks know that a mutant chimp with leprosy could get a show? No shit and probably better than yours. In fact what time does he come on? It’s cool, it’s casual but when, because you have a show with a hoard of say three listeners please don’t go pontificating, rating who is the best and worst of us. I fucking hate that. Do I what I do, you all suck, this way everyone gets their feeling hurt. Kinda of an all inclusive love fest sans love.

I can’t listen to the shows anymore, cause I get in trouble in the chat calling people Douche bags and shit like that. The only show I listen to is Reverse cause you can hear some cool shit there. The problem is there are still douche bags who call in trying to read there own shit, as if the world can’t wait to hear them. “Oh I must read now, I think I can change the world with this write” it’s times like that I wish i could shoot people over the phone. Anyone know how to do that?

Who haven’t I insulted? Okay let me get Racial, Black chicks, when a black chick reads there is a two thousand percent chance she will say shit like “she is a good woman, she is the best, she deserves bla…bla…bla…” or some such nonsense. Check it out for yourself, I’m a scientist would I lie? Man, black chicks must go through some shit. No lie there. And as far as Black dudes? I have no idea what the fuck they are talking about. It’s like “What the fuck is he saying?” Black dude poets give me a headache.

I save all my vim and vigor for what I call the Saintly Poets, the boring fucks who are constantly whining about the Beatrice of their dreams and desire. The Uberwoman. We all know who they are. The guys who never get laid. They would never dare use Fuck in a write. I so wanna tell them if you want to fuck Beatrice, grab her by her hair, rip her panties off, slam her against the wall and fuck her silly. How hard is that? She’ll love you forever studly.

Okay enough insults for one night. Hey, anyone of you Poets wanna get together for a game of Parcheesi?

Oddpoet