The Poet

1



Poetry holds the Day



& leans on Twilight



kissing softly whispers



at Midnight



“ ...listen to what I say...



shine softly Sirens



& Ghosts...”



To the Flowers & Trees:



“ What matters the most?



The gift of Fear



teaches us



to Live.



The Spirit of Death



urges us



To Forgive.



Man stands by Woman's Side



just as The Sun Is



The Earth's Bride. “

























2



Once Madness Stood Alone



Naked & Brazen



in a Dry Desert



Sand.



Exiled



Poisoned



By The Dark Wells



of Fear.



It Now



wonders



sleepwalking through Impossible



Dreams,



as One



of Us.









































3





Poetry is a Vehicle



For Images.



It is lost



In The Morass



of Prose.



Rhetoric is The Marriage



of Poetry and Prose.



It Is for Those Who Understand



The Alchemy



of Language.



The Poet should First and Foremost Be



The Alchemist



of Imagery



and Emotion.



Topic should Stand



as a Guide,



not Sentinel.



Poetry should Reflect



Reality



only as much



as Vision.



Poetry should Cause



The Vision



of The Audience



to change.



Poetry makes Time appear



To Be Real.



So Far Time Is



an Illusion.



Time



Stops



Within



A Poem.



And both



The Audience



And The Poet



Become



Trans-



-Formed.



Poetry is The Most Beautiful



evidence of exsitence



All Advanced Cultures Have



An Understanding



& a lust



for Beauty.



Poetry is The Music of Vision.



Imagery is The Instrument of The Mind.



When an Understanding of Beauty is achieved,



All Forms Are One



Art.



The Best Poetry Is



a translation



of The Spirit.



The Destruction of Art & Beauty was Born



with The Advent



of The Corporation & The Cubicle.



Destruction Swallows Consciousness



In The Silence



of A Vacum.



Poetry Is A Naked Body



& The Interpreter adorns It with Dress.



Within Poets Lies All



The Reincarnation of Primitive Forces



& Motives.



A Male Poet



could be Viewed



as a Threat,



enbodying both



The Male and The Female



Aspects of Feeling and Vision.



He ( The Poet ) is given to



Hysteria,



Fits of Rage--



& Epileptic-



-Behavior.



The Poet Is He Who Is



courageous



to the Extreme--



to The Point of Insanity.



A sensual Love of Life is intristic



to His Nature.



The Poet is given to



Profound Beautiful Sadness.



The Poets Sadness is a work of Art.



The Poet always descirbes Himself.



With most Poets Poems are



sexual in Nature.



Poets must consume and digest



The World.



Inspiration is akin to



defecation & ejaculation.



Completing a Poem



celebrates The Moment



of Death.



Poets are Spiritual Warriors.



The Tounge their Sword.



The Eyes their World.





The Heart their War.



In The Modern World,



Poetry lies Dead on The Streets,



Penniless,



Drunken--



& Dying.



Modern Language Is a Telegram



from Lost Illiterates



who govern



The Art of The Streets.



I'm One



of The Last



of A Dying



Breed.









































4



No Inspiration grows



In The Barren Forest



of The Modern World.



Wolves and Vultures line



Its Path,



perched



In The Recess of Trees.



The Serpent,



coiled



at The Base,



stretches



to The Top.



Rabbits, Rodents and Shadows



chase



The Moon.



The Wind knows that



Dawn



is coming



soon.























5



The Poet



MUST



enter & endure



both



Heaven & Hell.



The Poet



MUST



Understand



GOD, in All



Its Aspects.

























































6



The Media Is



Infected



with Heterosexual Schizophrenia.



Desires are dangled dangerously



before



The Eyes.



The Key to escaping this



Digital Prison



Begins with freeing your



Self.



Press The Right Button



and You destroy



The Pictures.



Only through Images



can We create



Them.



Memories Are



Images created



in The Mind.



Death



has found Us.













7



From The Souls of Others



The Poet finds



That which IS



locked within.



Life IS



a Metaphor.



WE ARE



The Color,



Feelings and Sounds.



TO BE



a Poet means risking



One-Self.



One



MUST.









































8



Creation IS Pain.



The Streets are



ALIVE



with Chaotic Copulation.



Each



Perception IS a Poem.



Every line,



Every word,



has already been...



completed.