The Poets Covenant

I asked--who am I?
How should I identify?
"Someone who will die."

I am Jack Kerouac
and you can be Emily Dickinson --

together we can blow this joint
and hit the only open road yet to be traveled.

Overcoming our dichotomous anxieties
we will flow as Yin and Yang

A poet's heart, a poet's soul: you and I
build paper cranes until its time to nap.

Off we go into space -- the new frontier
tiered of squaresville and mundane bedrooms.

Off we go:

I can be Jack Kerouac
aand you can be Emily Dickinson --

Subversively singing soft mad lullabies
to our infant dreams: the children of the world.

You are my morning
Cup of tea ; side of sugar
soak like peaceful rain.

We haven't had any new posts so I thought I would post something new. I decided to focus loosely on the recent lunar eclipse. I need to work on it, but I'll put up what I have because I have to get back to studying.




Lovely Luna who doth steal light from the sun,
grace us with your image sweetly, thou shall not be outdone.

Tis no wonder couples sit snuggly under your magnetic allure
and vice-versa to the broken-hearted whose pain you may cure.

Before light there was darkness as you clearly attend,
as such you inspire us and our souls perhaps mend.

You must think that there is another out there searching for you,
       This tale was once of evil incarnations that once embodied our home,
In fact, it’s the only thing that keeps you sane at night,
       The adversary crawled through the gnome and up our porch,
You sing to yourself, “I know that you’ll be here and… I’ll be waiting,”
       Scurrying and leaping to form once inside your room,
Your eyes awaken and are in formation with the adversary, yet you don’t see him, you see…
       He jumps in an attraction, smiling up and down at your tasty, blank stare, at        last it is his,
Her teeth to her smile to her lips to her eyes to her face, she has revealed herself to you,
       My and your adversary leaps at us, mouth full of drool, eyes of content, a        sacred soul.

The wind blows abrupt
the tragic tale of time.
Softly and sweetly.

Leaves fall like music
in tomorrow's sleepy haze.
Unaware, un-phased.

Caught in our own glance --
time holds us still in embrace.
Our hearts drift as one.

Avant-garde

The blood lusted machine of streaming tales,

Groans out a loud mind foaming sound,

Thoughtless and runs on pure non's and un's,

The blood thirsty machine of tangled treachery,

Will send us back to time of lutes on a founding leg,

Repeated and taunted from mankind's fuel.

Drip drop drip,

Trend's to give,

Drip drop drip,

Give to live,

Drip drop drip,

Live to end…

Follow the wandering storm of Egypt,

Take the last ferry to your arrival,

Thank you for being the last of your kind,

The kind to find…