Pages From John

Category: Poetry

  • That Sexy and Capricious Bitch

    God, that sexy and capricious bitch…

    She gave me a smack! She did!

    And then me, a proud and terrible devil…

    I was too good for Her treatment.

    So what did I do? What do you expect?

    The cold shoulder She got from me!

    I pretended She just wasn’t there.

    I forgot about Her even!

    But memory of deranged love lingers.

    When I saw Her wild eyes again, I shuttered.

    And then I understood Her purpose.

    I thanked Her for Her harsh hand.

    For it was what made it all happen.

    Now, I long for the Dominatrix in the sky.

    I accept the endless whip of lessons.

    She puts me, Her devil, in his place.

  • The Written Word and the Poet

    The written word is the path,

    The path that leads away from wrath.

    The poet is hunted but also the hunter.

    The written word is liberation,

    Liberation is the call of the nation.

    The poet is lost but also the map.

    The written word is escape,

    Escape like fermented grape.

    The poet is sick but also the doctor.

    The written word is truly joy,

    Joy mixed with grief, an emotional alloy.

    The poet is the sword but also the shield.

  • The End of the World

    It was the end of the world
    The end of all I knew
    The end of all I thought I knew

    Palaces of perception crashed around me
    The fabrications and fallacies broke and burned
    The reality in which I walked was swallowed up
    Everything was abandoned and the fire climbed up my vision

    It was death, death, death!

    And then I saw it
    The worst terror and the greatest beauty
    And a new kingdom came
    One which was always there but couldn’t be seen
    Not seen but only experienced

    And there are many, many thrones
    All are kings and queens within this realm

    A kingdom we abandoned and returned to
    We grew and then ungrew
    We learned and then unlearned
    We dethroned ourselves and then took it again
    We separated and then rejoined

    It was the end of the world
    Or was it a new beginning?
    Was my great failure really my great victory?

    It was the end of the world

  • A Strange Journey

    It’s hard not to love everything in life,

    Even if I have been stabbed with a knife.

    To love the night is to love the sunshine,

    Understanding means to have seen the sign.

    That you are the only character here,

    That all your hate came from a place of fear.

    What a strange journey it is to the grave,

    For much time believing that we must behave.

    But we do not die when we leave this place,

    We have always been here with another face.

    If you know you know, but no need to rush,

    Sooner or later, the goodness will gush.