Equinox Moon

The Equinox moon
heralds a change in our time
gives light and darkness

Plaster-of-paris angel

She's beauty in a frame
where the cement takes
a foothold of her wings,
erecting beauty and strength,
the laces floating in mid-air
taking us to the sky,
feeding us the poetry
of imagination.

She's a blessing, hovering 
above passer-by in the 
rat race and the mounting pulse
of the city. It is heresy
to her ears if she ever did
take in glitter and dust.

Plaster-of-Paris Angel,
hope and despair.
Wonder if she knows
we've tomorrow, 
wonder if she'll be there 
even when God isn't...

God of Cannabis

Curling like leaves
shreds of aroma
twirl within
ventilation for
a gasp of fresh
air tunneling
through parched
throat to
the bracket
of your lungs

How much of him
can you take?

What elegy
will you say
on the podium
at his funeral
where Narcotics
Agents stand
beside with
heavy brows
on your lil'
poetry?

How much of him
will you hold?

Do not deny his
sacred rites of
Eden becoming
when the chain
is formed from
the passing
of his spirit
kindling a flint
of unbridled
blood fire

Are you willing
to LIVE for him?

love and hate

I'm part of this twined leaves
rooting foundation on dry barks
propelling my survival in duality
both light and dark
both them and I
How I wish I never came crawling.

It is a culture I will live in
it is a culture I will die in
with ornaments adorning Gods.

It was a feeble light at first
then the hole erode and grew
flakes surrounding bled and fell
both joy and sorrow
both beauty and shit
How I wish I'm still a cocoon.

It is a farce I will live in
it is a farce I will die in
with bones crushing mortality.

Now it is time to wash off two
snakes climbing up my vine-pole
tearing off the divisive veils
both glory and fart
both love and hate
How I wish to begin all over again.

dive

I've walked sands
soles imprinting pattern
of my existence
in little significance

But from shorelines
The lapping waves beckon
my return to
primordial power

Am I to thrust myself
into an ocean of oblivion?
and see if I sink or
float by its current?

I take the conch
and blow mightily
I now dive against
strange passages
undressing illusions
for deeper questions.

Fate is the cradle that rocks the infant spirit

Lips without prayer
tasting across sunset
among lost horizon of fading sealine
my feet almost left earth

But the Golden rest
is far from reaching
trudging along advancing waves
I hear music walking

Whirlings in pirate songs
a table laden with spirits
my garment festooned with lamps
somewhere I'm drunk

Tomorrow's wake cried
the ache attacked spine
I must be lost again in the reeds
a map I cannot find

Yet the wind blowed
carrying memories ago
lamenting in such woeful tunes
of my unfound truth

The Rushes then sang
Fate is the cradle
that rocks the infant spirit
rest ye in her arms

By sun and moon
when wake comes
will She hold you in embrace
and consummate love

You are but a child
asleep in dark waters
she that loves you moves you
and leads you home

I realized my feet
no longer steadfast
but floating on a gray ferry
to the Golden rest

sunday afternoon

It's a hot Sunday afternoon; nobody is alive
all the plants droop their heads
and wait listlessly for the wind

In this motionless picture; I come to see
a temporary peace in the stillness
wearing a mantle in the dreary heat

The verdelet cloak suffocates; killing me now
his bright covering takes in giving
all I want is my sacrifice for you

In love there's this dowry; I am buying time
it is always the Sunday afternoon
where you pay for last night's kiss

the fall

There I remain, lusting light
adorning shells with jewels glitter
and earth myself so contently
with a smile lasting apocalypse

How enthralling while this picture
rolls her history like a seed
carrying a reconciling pride
on a canvas with a hall of applause

What would I give to just take leaves
and sew my ocrhe-green dress
for a moment to exude the exotic
and taste that little wide grin?

I believe for one moment in living
and touching the patterns of love.
Knowing belladonna roots reach deep
drinking the akashic like memories.

That one special moon-lit magarita
for sorrows mingling in joyous cries
Which Buddha will not give up his
enlightenment for just this magic?

Stairways

I'm ascending
to know
God

I'm descending
to dare
Devil

I'm trascending
to will
Truth

I'm encompassing
to silent
Fate

Hollowed Chest

The heaving and breathing
to survive one ordeal
passing through seven gates
of white/black perceptions
emptying all mortal details

The hollowed chest will now
begin to fill all the bright
colours pouring from the
world, both beautiful and
ugly, to forge a knife -

which you can use it to
1) kill yourself
2) cull everyone else
3) shred the veil

Graveyard poetry

i read poetry to the tomb
waiting for the oracle
a shade that walks with no feet
to give an assurance

but will the ornate carvings
tuck me in my satin bed
write me one more vision before
i sleep long again?

why do I bother visiting
structures that tore
away the pictures of my youth
once smiled forever?

i'm waiting for the lilies
to wither by his grave
so another gate can open for us
to finally walk again

The Axis

I step not into the wasteland
the eager conspiracy of death
selling by the tomes of logic
slaughtering every lit-hope 
to adumbrate a nuptial union
between the spirit and dream

I step not on the festered earth
an end of phantastical dread
each drunken desire unleashed
for the culling of all reason
enmeshed in the mire of sleep
banished by drones of laughter

Where else shall I go if both
weary feet will not tread the
vulnerably perplexed extremes?
Is there no soil to accommodate
the will to strike forth a
quintessential understanding?

written by simon soon © 2002

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