LUCID DREAMER

Dare I ask

a sleeping self

who and what

to dream about?.

Dare I dream

wondering

all along

why whoever

is in there

won't stop

touching me

rubbing

against me

vigorously

persistently

pushing me

to suit them

submit to them

to serve them.

Why whoever

is in there

won't let me

be.

I have

sacrificed

my earthly

possessions

just to witness

the gift

of the sight

of their charred

aftermath.

Layers and layers

of memory traces

endless faces

washing down

running out

teardrops

in the shower

falling in vain

the pain

dissolving

with the rain.

My visions

are squandered

washed against

remote corners

of the mind

where

the faintest ideas

gather and season

longing

to be set free

from the grasp

of reason.

Dare I ask

this lucid dreamer

If he can spare

the will to change?

Take a dive

from the lucid

into the deep

and keep going

until you surface

from your sleep

here, in this space

there is no place

to duck and hide

not even a trace.

.

ONE FOR ALL

ONE FOR ALL

Intelligence is an open wound, it needs wisdom to heal
cunning will form a crust, will steal away human trust
of what is truly from the heart, the capacity to feel
instead it is going to juggle some motive to kill
the weakly meek, to create space for the elite.

For the ones in power, intelligence is a vicious tool
they must rule with an iron fist to maintain control
to be governed by authority is not meant for all
being in charge of other souls is a sinister call
independence if we may should humanity fail.

Nobody is a fool, not the K.G.B, nor the C.I.A
obviously, the likes of them are in charge today
they are lacking wisdom, all they want is control
'you are either with us or against us' is not for all
what we need is love and peace, not score a goal.

What will come out of this is anyones guess
I do not know the outcome, I should confess
by the looks of it there are reasons to depress
you can read counter-information in the press
after all, we belong to one another, more or less.

.

TENDER RENDER

UNSPOKEN TYRANNY -

http://cloudsouth.co.nz/vensan/poem.php?name=poem02.mov

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.

.http://cloudsouth.co.nz/vensan/poem.php?name=poem02.mov



.

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.

..

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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..

.

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.

.