Reading a book alone in the Redwood Forrest On the observational scale, I do sit here in the redwoods in lotus pose, with a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance on a stack of logs next to me. What is the catch? Is that but the paranoid disillusionment of the redneck hippiesContinue reading “Reading A Book Alone In The Redwood Forrest, a poem”
What Place Do The Artists Have in Revolution? PRODUCE! Must produce content! For fame, For a following, Quite literally and painfully so, thanks to the stench of both words. To produce is to manufacture, To manufacture is to produce. The workers are the ones who produce, So the artists, the writers, the creators, we areContinue reading “What Place Do The Artists Have in Revolution? A Poem”
Dull, now babbles some wanna-be Socrates. A Plato of the non- existent preverbal page. An awkward stammer and pause gone about with forced emotion. So forced that it has no force, no power, gone and now at rest, deserving non of its fake praise. Lofty lust, and more incoherent babbles and rambles in the nameContinue reading “Wanna Be Socrates, a poem”
So many tears, So many years, So many fears, So many beers. So many jokes, So many tokes. So many drugs, So many hugs. So much pain, So much gain. These are the things to live for, So many things, And so many more.
A wise man once said “It’s wrong when it stops being fun.” Well, I have to ask myself, has it? Has pining over the right word and cadence lost its spark? What, except the dark cloud that seeps its invisible cloak on my psyche, Keeps me from putting all for the gods and earthly kindContinue reading “It’s Wrong When It Stops Being Fun, A Poem”
Habit, my old friend, Or are you my enemy? You say habit I hear “monotony.” Someone else says it, And I hear “addiction.” Habit, you could make me a great man Or you could cause me to self destruct. Habit, you are helpful, But you can also be cruel. Habit, you be what I tellContinue reading “Habit, a poem”
People Can Be Products Who are we but products? Products of our time and place? Dare what questions are such to be asked? Asked and then asked again! Trivial though it be, meaning is always the goal, the objective, the end. Are we just products? Products of anger, reaction, of hate, Or are we somethingContinue reading “People Can Be Products, A Socialist Poem”
Power is a Predator Escape is never possible, For a mind that never shuts off. Constant and endless flow, Ideas upon ideas, Questions arising ever second. Existence is not a question, It never was. Existence simply is, And survival is the question. How do you survive, When the powers are your predator? So many neverContinue reading “Power is a Predator (a socialist poem about living in the colonialist, racist patriarchy)”
All so pleased be me Of muse and pleased be faith that bore no fruit. And yet you cannot trust my words, you cannot do so for under the tenses this rebellion is what shall be true to fight for honest right and honest rank. Truth in honest and faith fought for the good work.Continue reading “All Be So Pleased In Rebel Faith”
What an era to be alive. Yet how can one call living with no dignity living? Crawling on knees to get to a safe place to release your bowels, Begging from mercy from an overweight class traitor with shit aim Only to get 6 bullets in the back. For a cell phone. Can it beContinue reading “What good is a broken man?”
President Trump Got a big bump on his wittle head. =( And so his combover Is bound to blow over, oh fuck this I wish he was dead.
Shadows form at night. Even when the moon is full? And dawn, always came.
What’s the point of life? What what what what what what what? Oh god damn it what!?