All Things Take Time
Intelligence
Takes Dilligence
To Uncover
Destinies
Take Time
To Discover
Wants and Needs
Have Histories
From Which Desire Springs
Beliefs and Creeds
Have Memories
Which Living Always Brings
Ability
Comes From Dedication
And Memorization
It Comes from Caring
And Daring
To Share
A Love
Know That Your Passions
Are Potentials For Action
Latch On
To All Those Who Share Them
Peace
A Poem: A Man Sits with his Beliefs
A man, at home, on his couch,
Head low, pen in hand, shoulders slouched.
Thoughts run round his head,
A pauper's playground filled with dread.
He dosen't know how the story goes,
He's been writting now for years,
He looks for the shows
And listens for tells
Writes words that flow
Gently rock him to and fro
His mind is on the ropes
His mind is in sedition
He had high hopes and vast ambitions
He felt his life was a sacred mission
His plan, though, defied fruition,
The bait's still out, his soul is fishing.
He thought he could change the world
With his words
Now he wants only to make ends meet
He prays for his voice to be heard
And wishes instead of bean curd
He had some meat to eat
Now he's desperately looking for answers
Apart from the banter
That fills the air, the press and all the rest
Of modern western culture.
It preys on doubt,
It feeds on fear,
It hovers like a vulture,
Ready to devour culture,
And turn everyone into cut-out boys and cut-out girls.
Every child should grow to be starstruck,
Dumbstruck by privilege and power
They should cower before the rich
They should feel too self-conscious
Their social awareness too unconscious
To give a speach or teach a stranger
About the dangers to the environment
About the conditions of child-workers
About the lies of their government
Or the wars that are fought all over the world
Or the people held in jail that never did no wrong
Mangled by the gears of the establishment
But he can't make money writting about this,
He has to write something that he believes is shit
Not to be forced into eating any.
And so he sits and grits his teeth,
Contemplating his beliefs,
And cursing all the corporate thiefs
Who stole his heart and soul.
Ode to Psychosis
I have been to the innermost recesses of my mind
And I have returned
I have played with the fire inside me
And I have been burned by my creativity
But in turn I have learned to deal
With what is unavoidable, hereditary.
My psychosis’ history began gradually,
First I questioned my sexuality,
Then I thought people were constantly watching me,
That I was a star on reality TV,
Then I believed that I was on radio,
That my thoughts were being broadcast out loud via stereo
And all the announcers sang odes about me
Communicated in rehearsed codes about me.
Shortly after each movement took on meaning,
Each word said something about my being,
A greater power was explaining all the things I was hearing and seeing
I had the feeling I was touched by divinity
And I thought that I was myself a deity
And yet I never really felt comfortable, stable,
Like it or not there was constantly company at the table
I was communicating with the dead as well as with the distant,
And the voices in my head were unavoidable, insistent,
It took four months, once on meds, for the thoughts to recede,
It took vigilance and care and no stress and no weed,
There are times that I miss the excitement of the sickness
Being the center of the world and the pseudo-mental quickness,
Then I remember how much I accomplished
And I chastise myself and I quickly admonish
I can do things now that I could never do then
I can write this poem with a story and an end.
