Saturday, April 20, 2013

UNSPOKEN TYRANNY -




The taxi driver stopped the taxi

jumped out, slammed the door

raving and shouting to the empty street

complaining to the Goddess of the road

how he suspected this rat of a rider

of unspoken tyranny.

The morning of the same night

all the creatures that had extreme deformities

gathered in the marketplace

they were dignified, honorable

and very much into making a living.

They offered all kinds of freshly picked flesh

from their bodies.

This was during the depression years

when meat was scarce and flesh was hot.

Certain consumers were panic stricken at the sight

of such a generous offering

some attempted to dip their bread

at the unhealed spots.

The feast was brief, and the casualties low.

No children were present

apart from me and my sixteen brothers.


Friday, April 19, 2013

MORE THAN HUMAN




MORE THAN HUMAN

There is a reckoning arriving
from a place hidden in space
subtle signals reaching Earth
from a distance way up high
crop circles must be the sign
what is coming looks benign.

Either a butterfly or simply fry
transformation is the tendency
where there was pain now gain
let there be total transparency
every little detail is crystal clear
rejoice the lightness of this feel.

We must have some task to fulfill 
but first of all, we should be real
wake up and get ready to receive
this honored guest from heaven
with open arms and love to give
time to rejoice, no need to grieve.


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Thursday, April 18, 2013

DOODL'ART


We all doodle... some doodle while talking 
on the phone or sitting on a desk, 
or even listening to others.


We doodle on paper, newspaper, napkin, sand, soil, whatever happens to be there.


Most doodles come in the shape of 
repetitive circles or squares, 
triangles, faces, scribblings, 
while our mind is elsewhere occupied.


We seldom pay attention to our doodles, as a matter of fact we ignore them like most mindless things, they mean nothing to us, like leftovers, our debris.


 Inside most school books, notebooks, address books, phone directories, one would see a doodle if one was to pay attention, 
we do not even notice, it is not intentional, even less so than scratching one's nose, playing with hair, chewing on fingernails.



I have doodled for over half a century, habitually, automatically, thousands of doodles, totally unconscious, totally unpremeditated, left behind, 
like a used tissue paper.


They come usually as images of faces 
within faces with many eyes. 
Some people observing might think of me 
as weird, others politely have asked me 
if they could keep them which made me wonder if I should hold on to some myself.


Since I have always been drawn to the arts, always painted on canvas, board or paper, 
I started giving them a second thought, realizing that I was a natural automatist, that I should take them a step further 
and here I am sharing my doodles with you.



I have applied them to the digital medium, while remaining faithful to the first face of deliverance. I invite you to download them, print them even color and alter them, after all what goes around comes around.




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LORD'S PLAYER


LORD'S PLAYER


The poet is a word priest
'to play’ is this poets prayer
the choice to make
is to make a voice
let us pray, play and rejoice.

Let us play a prayer
in private or in public
may it be brief,
to its point
instant relief.

Let us play it in such a manner
as not to head the demons
which whisper in our ears
and feed upon our fears.

Oh Lord, oh lord all might be!
if you be the source of our creation
the means of our destruction
the breathe of life and death
observer of everything going on.

Oh Lord… Oh lord all might be
if you give us a hand or a push
we are in no rush to crush
there is no emergency
to hold your breath
to serve your mercy.

Deliver us all from here
so we may arise again
not so much in fear
not so much in pain
not so eager to complain.

Pray, rid us of defeat
and also of victory
let this be our treat
wars have no glory
we are truly sorry
end of story.





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Wednesday, April 17, 2013

BOGUS POKUS




BOGUS POKUS
The grotesque visions of a life's discarded reverie
alienated from the cultural roots, wanting to be free
holding on to the body, eyes wide open but can't see
the soul has taken to ether, yet the mind won't let it be
paradox in action, clinging to genetic memory tenaciously
psyche striving for change, as the ghost persists imminently
the spirit rising towards ether but unable to leave permanently
such a state of disturbance to be handled with kid gloves, gently.





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TRANSPARENCY


A PIECE OF MY MIND

Total transparency, open telepathic airwaves, everyone can read each others mind. 

No tongue necessary. Everything that takes place recorded permanently, no secrecy. 

Either we destroy each other or we learn to live together harmoniously. 

Those channels have to open up voluntarily and willingly though, 

can not be forced, planned or structured. 

A consciousness that everyone accepts as the new reality. 

Crop circles may be an indication, we can communicate openly with each other ultimately.

 Just a matter of time and endurance and evolution and we should get there naturally..





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Tuesday, April 16, 2013

PASSPORT TO MY HEART



      
In memory of Jerry Kelly




PASSPORT TO MY HEART


He was in a straight jacket

lying face down on a bench

as he saw me his eyes lit up,

his voice was but a whisper.

" One in ten have no death to die "

There was a poem he wanted to dictate,

I had a pen and found some paper to write on

I could hardly hear him,

I moved my ear to his lips...


The house is open

Yellow leaves blow through the door

The picture I paint is the one I can't

Passport to my heart.

The phone is off the hook

Tokyo, New York, Istanbul on the line

The word I say is the one I couldn't

Passport to my heart.

My instrument is on the table

Time like a pool at my feet

The move I make is the one I wouldn't

Passport to my heart.

My back is to the door

Whoever you wish to be I trust you

The name I call is the one I don't

Passport to my heart.




John Sobol - The same Gerry from back in the DV8 poetry days??? My god he wrote some extraordinary poems...
Vensan Kamberk - yes John, he passed away 10 years ago. I used to bail him out from the asylum in Vancouver, he dictated this poem in one of these occasions.
John Sobolhe- was a tortured soul but a deep dreamer - his poems hit notes that i have never heard played by anyone else
Vensan Kamberk- he was also a talented artist, in 1980's he initiated and founded 'Basic Inquiry' in Vancouver, some of the finest models for live drawing, but scheming opportunists stole the concept from him, he gradually went insane and did not recover.

The drawing was done by Jerry.




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