Pages From John

Tag: poem

  • 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

  • To Be a Poem in a Reality of Poetry

    To know the outer you must know the inner.

    To act on nature using your own nature.

    To risk the mistake and act like a fool.

    To see that there is more than meets the eye.

    To unpeel the layers of the lessons.

    To unlock doors and hint at the keys.

    To kill the ruler and watch him revive anew.

    To feel your way through the waters of life.

    To hear a voice without the use of ears.

    To write a story without intending it.

    To be a poem in a reality of poetry.