Embryonic Stages of a Truly Phenomenological Experience
Am I asleep
or awake in a dream
are things normal
so it would seem
.
Ideas transmuted
subservient to life
mirthless attitude
intellectual strife
.
Nightly rituals
oasis in my mind
resuscitate reality
troubling bind
.
Destroyed by sarcasm
love is a gift
emotional breezes
provide uplift
.
Wild compromise
sensuous delight
posed cynicism
optimistic tonight
.
Subtle variations
fragmentary thoughts
ambitious psychology
carefully overwrought
.
Am I still dreaming
within a nightmare
categorical sufferance
I’m painfully aware
.
Awkward equilibrium
exquisite blackout
poetic bliss
asymmetrical route
.
Self discovery
perverse desire
lecherous ideations
personal quagmire
.
Tormenting questions
surge of exuberance
hostile psychosis
mental incumbrance
.
Paraphernalia of existence
causality of my being
limitless creativity
psychically freeing
.
Externalized dreams
quantum conversion
chaotic knowledge
metaphysical excursion
.
Syncopated heartbeat
shortness of breath
achieving autonomy
I no longer fear death
On The Road By Myself
I’ve walked
the desolate night
collecting lives
along the highway
•
Am I a lone prisoner
of my own limitations
destined for mediocrity?
I’m not positive
I even know myself.
•
The constant cries
to be merciful
on the off chance
I seek companionship
•
Am I a good listener
to nonsensical ideations
driven by probability?
I’m not reclusive
but enjoy time by myself.
•
Unable to trust
lying for entertainment
seeking vengeance
for my birth
•
I suffer terrible miasma
with a tragic moral pain
in this nightmare glaze
with unctuous friends.
Trusting only myself!
•
On this road of
darkness filled insanity
I leave bloody crumbs
to this mental puzzle
•
Speaking with a phantasma
my convoluted brain
partially in a daze
tries to make amends.
I begin to reassemble myself!
In the Presence of Humanity
The bleakness of my existence
was challenged aggressively when
a being of mortal perfection
turned and stared at me
her eyes consumed my soul
leaving me stunned
in the wake of
her remarkable sensuality
at that moment
everything was different
yet remained the same
her beauty was indomitable
against the nauseating ugliness
life regurgitated
as a matter of habit
while I vacillated
between illusion and disillusion
after realizing I conjured
this amazing being
into my unbalanced reality
attempting to temporarily offset
the pathetic loneliness
of my existence
forcing me to admit
“I need humankind.”
Wasted Nights of Intoxicated Days
The empty bottles clank
_under my chair
Spilt beer becomes
__sticky spots
___on the floor
Blurred vision
_as I lay next
__to that mess
___my vomit encrusted
____mouth agape
Wondering how
_this happened
__yet again
I TRY TO STOP IT!
However
_the elation
__reaching that level
___of self-defilement
____wins out
_____every time
The Long Lonely Dance with Bukowski’s Muse… Alcohol
Life becomes
more painful
with alcohol as
the poetic muse
~
So we drink
~
Loss of control
or perhaps it’s
a complete
lack of care
~
Yet we drink
~
Consuming blindly
to the point of
a derangement
of the senses
~
And we drink
~
In our youth
as mad children
we write
and are despised
~
So we drink
~
As we mature
continually writing
still looked
down upon
~
Yet we drink
~
Having grown old
we are judged as
being a waste of
a god given talent
~
And we drink
~
-Apparently-
-quite ironically-
-the talent we seem-
-to not waste-
-is a gift-
-which keeps on giving-
-an ability to-
-heavily-
-imbibe alcohol-
~
So we drink
The Hazards of Dogmatic Fear
Deep within your unconscious
exists an ancient prison
where a solitary vigilant denizen
called dogma
occupies the darkened recesses
silently seething
relentlessly preying
upon rational thought
emerging once you’ve consumed
all of the
fallacies & propaganda
victoriously it claims your psyche
now the only thing you see
on the inkblot in your mind
is fear & self loathing
leading you down the road to
total submission
Shamanistic Journeys of the Poet
Quantum reality
Poets suffer
Surrealistic
Thought shaped
Diamond bullets
.
Fervently chasing
Ephemeral desires
Riding upon
Opium clouds
Lost in secrets
.
Follow the muse
Into the cruel
Torture garden
Seeking answers
Thinking out loud
.
Pernicious ideas
Echo throughout
Unconsciousness
As the poet’s words
Enlighten the crowd
War Is Indeed A Racket
We find ourselves
Tossed about
On the howling wind
Of an unwanted war
Promulgated by politicians
For their banker friends
Missiles fly
Bombs explode
As the war machines of
The Industrial
*** Military
*** Complex
Violently
Plow through
Blood soaked
Fields of battle
Harvesting
The lives of men
Who would have
Preferred to
Be alive