Forever More

Stretch me out beneath the starry ocean sky of night time musings and dissolvings in the paintbrush strokes of our vision’s yearnings,

Beneath the infinite expanse of our discarded learnings,

Where I can gaze into the saltshaker of reality’s moviemaker lawn,

And graze on shooting stars that cry into the dawn their crazes of forgotten lusts, and leave effigies of dust behind,

In this great yawning chasm of emptiness we call the skull castle of our mind, Where broken eyelids drape their countries of illusions on the wallpaper of our train-ride,

That remind us all of eventual endings that began before the beginning,

When angel fish were swimming through the gleaming nectar of our conscience

That poured its quicksilver through corridors of selfless rivers,

Before me, or you, or notions of forever, had put their clown clothes on,

And paraded through the desert of a useless purpose.

The oasis of our faceless freedom is here, as it was then, and is always now; Mirage of ageless nothingness imagined as our consciousness.

Always awaking and disintegrating, as a wheel that keeps spinning, like lizard eyelids dissolving in the faded patchwork of the quilt king, seeing inwards to an illusion of all matter, like a love explosion scattered drops of rainbow water through the aqueducts of our fathers,

Through temples of forgotten winged mothers,

Through ornamented pyramids of sphinx like angel mines,

The hieroglyphic prolific creation shrine.

Through any image of the great design.

 

That promises to take you there, where the space between our atoms touches, Where love flies far, upon an armchair in the stars,

And reality unclutches, and unhinges into a dreamscape space of essential energetic particles vibrating in a grand ensemble of interconnected insignificance, the hallelujah of our Krishna’s farting tricks,

Until it blows into the basement of a whitewashed room, into the womb of where our nothingness has been left to assume…nothing but itself.

Now strip me bare, for as long as I dare, to die into the patterned palm work of the sky, like veins of prehistoric tree roots that fly into the fullness of their own voluptuous fruits of sweetness; to blossom in the heart of nothingness; and lap forever more, on empty shores of our eyelids.

And death will die with our I,

And love flies on into the dawn,

Even though we say goodbye.  

The Dreamers

We have gathered here together

As the dreamers of forever

As the cruisers of our weather

With a vision to remember.

In a cavern with the moonlight dim,

Awakened eyelids gaze within,

From star ship masts and oaken tables;

To sense how long the passion lasts;

And which of us is able, to rage the voodoo to its limit,

And wreck the room, until we’re in it.

See the chandelier of frosted golden cones,

And the embroidered frozen tones

Of elementary empty souls, that sail into the great unknown,

With the backing of the scribes, residing on the wall,

Where everyone can have their say, and together we say all,

With opened voice and hollow eyes,

We’ll slip into the stars, and shed our old disguise.

A whole new way is paved in paintings on the wood,

In diagrams and epigrams of where our vision could,

Be flooding through inspired blood,

By candle-lights, and ritual rites of our cosmic night display,

Where kaleidoscopic images, like Indian mirages, bring our light into the day.

We are dreamers, and would like to enchant your ear,

Until you sink into our sphere, and let the sunken space

Retrace your face into the realm of really being here.

We are dreamers, and would like to steal your eyes away,

Until you melt into the molten clay of our creative display.

The Pied Piper

Hear the calling of the man, who always knew to make his stand,

Who always knew the notes that flew, from never never never land.

Who could never compromise, a gaze so wide,

For instructions and the lies, in which our world resides.

Hear the chorus of his dream, that knew life wasn’t what it seems,

Who always knew to find, the diamond of his mind,

And with a vision to redeem, the chains to which we’re tied.

Hear the calling of the piper, who pied and spied into the viper

Of our poisonous and ugly nature, and make us that much riper.

Who heard with visionary stature, of a place beyond our capture,

Who sought with music to enrapture, in a river so much brighter.

Hear the chanting of the man, who always led the caravan,

Who always led the way, for our dreams to taste the day;

Hear the singing of the sun, that always knew it was the one

To bring its brightness to the trees, And bring its stardom to the leaves,

To melodise the seven seas;

And swim into our great release,

With lips that call the stars to dance 

The muse of music, in its endless romance,

Whisps the sailor into endless space,

Until we are drenched in beauty, and he forgets his face.

Jazz - Man

Sages gather in the bar of no tomorrow,

To meet the sacred sound beyond our sorrow,

Of voodoo jazz and magic musk

That breathe bright light into the dusk

With molten pearls of music notes;

The sorcery of galaxies, where empty faces float,

And the man of jazz lets all he has,

Radiate into the liquid air,

In melodic currents, and shamanic stare,   

To spread a sacred aura through the room;

In sounds that sow their own cocoon;

Enchanting sailors from such distant lands,

That they may leave themselves behind, and understand,

Just what they had arrived here for;

And that identities are left right at the door.

Dimly lit booths, with fragrances of ruby red,

As sailors sift into the cabins, where they’re led

Into royal armchairs of savannah plush;

Here our hearts are hypnotised into a rush

As the jazz man king takes to the ring,

And sees what vibrancy, our life may bring

Upon this ship of never land,

Conjured In an image of the master band

That rides the river of its timeless notes;

And pours into the doors of where our conscience wrote

That the jazzman king does always sing,

And we have never really been elsewhere,

The illusions of our dreamscape care,

Are swept into the sounds that everywhere

Resound and confound the boundaries

We wound, spinning round our little selves;

But now they hear another sound

And only he knows where they’re bound,

Because he’ll never ever ever let it go,

He’ll mesmerise the mic,

And let the river flow.