In the one thousandth Subatomic cohesion You walked close to me Spoke softly Opened the other realms door Set the red dragonflies free Fluttering wings Brushing entities Orphic embrace Commixing like lace Weaving Siezeing The southbound breeze
They the three, when all were there, went out, out and on down, down to the ground, grounding rooting, rooted to, all that is, is embedded, into, as one with, the bedrock, rocks and soil below, sow, so the seed, germinated seeded, above as below.
you stood against your old battered car it’s summer in Northern CA you’re dressed in all black lipstick perfectly applied and black hat appropriately tied lost in a thick conspiracy did you know it was me you had your suitcase gloves on and pen ready a tape recorder for evidence each detail is prevalent you wrote down the license plate of my rental car to provide to your lawyer but never gave his name i feared you may punch me square in the face and wished you would have for your sake a trip to the psych ward was what i wanted for you just one 5150 my last hope for clarity
And once I was a poet Words poured out Just as waterfalls do Among the fauna and flora
And once I loved a man Tears poured out Just as scorned ones do Among the lie and injury
And once I was a scholar Dreams poured out Just as the progressive do Among the movers and shakers
And once I was a hussler Schemes poured out Just as survivors do Among the users and takers
And once I was a nomad Splendor poured out Just as free souls do Among the winds and gods
And once I was a poet
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
tangled are you tangled up in it in it you fell, lost your footing before you knew what was looming and that you bought a ticket straight to hell
tormented are you like it was yesterday in it you were, left standing didn't know there was no landing all alone on your own profoundly obscure
twisted are you twisted conflicted in it you are, still afflicted inter-wrought with captivity another victim of "The Bell Jar"
terrified are you terrified solidified in it you live, afraid to give mortified paralyzed as horizons materialize that shape-shift and betwixt shattered emotive
Can you tell me with no hesitation in your voice that my warped vision of a romance is any more or less than a thousand stand ins for this off the cuff production?
Or is it simply the fear in your eyes that speak in various timbres of time lost banking on a love that was nothing more than a third rate swindle; Neither have a fraction of the impact it takes to win my obligations.
where to begin when the task is so mountainous when all that can be seen is the unmovable when the need to wretch comes as result of thought when a heart may fail from silent screams turned inward the beginning must begin when there is no way out when there is nothing left to give when love seems an unrequited absurdity when one more day will surely enable the morgue or sanitarium the mountain is moved
There are those seasons Of the life That a happening unfolds When a poets table turns And The life in the living Is An extended group of Events Each one A profound poetic moment Shaped of divinity and vibration
Come walk with me Let the river wind The Shamans twine Interlock & unravel Infinite travel These are the Ancient ways Step into the haze Bridge keeper Go deeper Do not fear what The other worlds hold Need I be so bold In each life There is a price to pay You must give over To the Shaman way Entranced, enchanted? You wish to drink From this flask? Drop your ego Wear the mask? If this is Where you belong You have to want it & You must ask
You ease up unknowingly while unaware I would be offended by the careless behavior prompted by the urgency that has built up from the condition while pent up under the roof of a haughty, predominant, governess who wears a grey locket about the neck which contains a clean substance never to be touched by boyish hands.
I watch the wild in your eyes brought on by rigid over socialization ingrained by a poorly populated, secluded, pseudo coalition.
It was midday in late Spring I walked out onto the land with a soul child We met the others there and began the negotiations A total of 4 progressed to the West corner And stood as quarters on the forgotten soil Spirit direct center as an arrow to the skies The retrograde could not impede Then, all was spoken without hesitation
It was riding on the tail feathers of the violet ray just beyond a red dated warning label amidst a portion of the dark void and six of them sat upon the steps in white hooded robes two with galaxies painted into the irises of their eyes
A humanoid standing about 12 feet in height with dry winds moving as rifts through his waist long strategically tangled hair, reveals no more or less than any should know.
was on the evening of the harvest moon neurotic tensions whirling everything just stirring dreams as visions come without sleep and i fall deep into a cesspool of cerebration and the grisly truth that accompanies thankful that only the coyotes may hear the loud cries of a broken woman
It was dark like dusk And the old oak wept Wept white sap like milk Onto the ground Up into my gown She was there, yet invisible Her possessions on the table Dense with anger Someone thinks of my youth I wonder who it may be A departed child so very angry Lunges at my neck My lovely sister calls out To call her We ease the others pains She prays over us all Of the light, of the white We all go forth No answers tonight
days rundown implode inward i’ve uttered my confessions no absolution it’s some kind of dead society of 1 who is me if not you where do i go when i know i am not seeking i am being sought shall i stand firmly aside my chosen doctrine when days rundown implode inward
And it weaves, and breathes you can’t see it Capitulates and oscillates you can’t control it Floats as subdued whispers you can’t mute it Gently brushes, supple touches it’s not textile Fluctuating ever pulsating it won’t be stilled As a reticent billow it cannot wither Surging, swelling, never telling the Delphic poetic
i peer outward on down and around out into the street under spiders’ feet the spot on the fence where they touched brings my reflection back to me i listen closely to the sounds they make passers by talking **** and the hum of where i sit the molecular spaces between my back and wood slats songs they sing to dust in plaster cracks and you are gone rid from these places running around the divots and wide corridors of the farthest shores
I climb into your dream spaces and Produce Milky Way plays we Set sail in purring whisper ships while Venus plays old forgotten songs each Time I feel you waking the Intermission is delayed so Enchanted seeds with August murals of Obscure reminiscence can Tendril intertwined into Dark recesses of your mind
the contempt you must feel in your bones you weave in and out of my life like a quiet storm leaving all the wreckage in your wake you must have the cruelest of intentions to walk away, to take the net as i tumble to the ground out of the most obscure cloud in the farthest reaches of the heavens such a heathen you are twisted soul to premeditate the reticent confusion you need to get over, over and over to think me so boorish i would not notice the invective approach taken to make me your most unbreakable addiction
You are so intrinsically fascinated with romancing the idea of dancing with your deepest desires yet hover on the edges of realities where the immediate surroundings provide chronic cessation of passion; that you cannot fathom a minute idea of how to forge a plan.
Thus the interim loss of fleeting moments that pass like whispers giving hints, hues, and clues originating from the very actions taken corresponding to the growing organisms within that fueled the creation of rapture.
It's like chronic pain Get outta my brain Would you please refrain From injecting these tender Veins With perfectly outdated ways To sustain My imperfections mundane
baffled at ** hum yawn snore boredom what a conundrum this viral life infarction unnecessary creation boring old pity party hum drum cry me a river; don’t want none get off your *** *** enjoy the sun some be a person impaired some? take your **** meds ***! walk the woe is me to the dump slum debbie downer 24 sev 365 clusterfucktion sad lil’ emo infection overdone depression queen incursion misery loves company seduction
I can see you Standing down there Like some kind of Cryptic dream The evening sun Seems to arrive With an ****** haze As if the immediate Atmosphere Called quarters & circle casted I am but a mere Remote viewer Of an unseen assembly And it all simultaneously Collides The elements coincide In innumerable ways Simply impossible To perceive with the mind
ever stop to see how the day can be painted an estranged shade like obscure fractal divisions composed of lost pieces of Akashic data and somehow everything changes because nothing ever changes and how much astute piety can be retained when the entirety has been scrutinized will it put the demons to rest or guilt to the test as you pass through the veil appearing ever so frail in the eyes of the macrocosm
Was it the visions that told her so? Told her to see them, to hear them The main character in her own paranoid play That part where she leaves us – Leaves us Split and broken – Her mind Split and broken -
Running wild, bucolic at times Never stopping until her body stopped She had babes loving them little in life Yet teaching them life; after life She wrote it all down for us to read Each wild, eccentric, illusionary deed
She was fit for a King, so it’s told She kept his name, never letting go Even though she let go
Kept a bottle of whiskey under the sink For those special times, to help her think We rested her there in Whiskey Town
We thought it fit Fit for her, Fit for a King
Her final chapter unrefined A memorial with none but 4 We who cared, we who could Who rested her demons – lay them down Out there in Whiskey Town Let her be gone, the torment let loose Into the waters, the soil, the woods
The season has turned again but Are you warm at all Do your intentions shiver Could you run to far lands and Find your convictions so Comfortably swathed Can you find enough fuel to Sustain the fire of Past afflictions
There is a feeling in the air It’s dense but harmless Kind of like Betty Crocker frosting It just sits there in a thick lump Smell the sugar from 15 feet away It makes me want to walk up to it And put my bare hands to the bottom Fling the **** out of it Sticky clumps of pink All over every thaaanng
It’s that feeling It’s in the air
I breathe it in Exhale it everywhere I go Spread it to people Like a contagion Like a I don’t care if you don’t like it crazy sensation Oh wow - just try and get in the way Get drunk for days off this swirly freaky rampage
it operates like a revolving door there are no hinges but it extends from ceiling to floor it is fashioned out of multiple parts in various geometrical shapes each with an intricate pencil etched message that speak of the ways to reexamine the perplexity of what remains behind the walls of your bedchamber calls that became trapped in long recondite walkways and halls
All of those things That people said That planted rotten seeds in your mind… You know, the ones that grew Tall like a mutant **** The ones that Choked out all of your flowers There are many But it is a lovely day In an infant May You can go to your shed Get your shovel Go to where your garden grows Dig each one up by its roots
walk with me turn off your sorrow let your bones roll away don’t let your residue go astray you will see them when you get there to the place you left in despair it’s dark and dusty poorly lit a wide case of stairs are there do you remember it a man in a camel colored linen suit awaits he hands you a hand crafted wooden box you open the box it is velvet lined it is full of needles among the needles is a folded letter you wrote it the day you left you left in despair it contains your answers but you already know you ascend the burgundy stairs to the place above you stand suspended in nothingness stillness there is a corner of a window pane through it the skies are blue they call to you for if and when you ever decide you’re ready for the other side
When you have met the point of intersection where doubt doesn't exist in the mind
And you have left evil eye and imprints of the dead at the center point
At the moment that the high self is just slightly altered and the total manifestation begins to trickle down into the autonomic functions of the ego
It begins an infantile form of self forgiveness that is void of nested spaces that house an association to the systematic map of words and actions that held trial and judgement
Somewhere in the particular dimension Hecate facilitated the depths of soul to be worn about the outer rims of the aura while fastened securely to the glow of high heart chakra
And the soul can depict the source form energy peering into its center with white eyes
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
Whoever you are Sitting in the dark shadow Of the black widow That hovers atop your
Second sight
I'll find you in the Ego-less corners Of the 3rd dimension Department of duality
Limelight
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.
My poetry is a Dangerous place to be I’m so in love with Your story I forget all the fragments of me So I read, and reread The caverns of the mind How the vile side winds Captivating fixations Tangle and bind Ferment and remind of The here and now As the north winds howl Futile hush muzzled Omens from the Incubus vagrant brow That follows me On down to The mountain edge The city street hedge Clock tower ledge My poetry is a Dangerous place to be
This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.