Best Psychedelic Poems
Written: January 06, 2023
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Nighttime hypnotic dreams flow
a starry heart swirls
heavenly sequins sparkle,
gold moonlight reflects off crystal seas
an evening full of wonder
an exquisite tapestry, a secret story,
pure opal-colored mist
as you moonwalk, be astounded.
A whispered melody carries
the allure of a summer night
pearly moonlight falls on trees,
a gleaming breeze-kissed track
lucid, synchronized star trails
floating akin to a precious gem
origami nebulae with avid care,
sparks seldom appear quiet
dwarf firefly with jewel-like lights
fliers soar through the night,
exuberant filigree wings
their gentle glow soothes Void.
Amidst the mayhem, we have visions
a global canvas upholds hope
vivid acrylics fit well with warm ochres,
creativity abounds as the sun sets
the glow of a fantasy is stellar
a soft glow leads the way
glitter and dance are in sync,
Incredible for everybody
night gradually awakens
this grand adventure fuels dreams,
fireflies are lighting up our path
woods and meadows hide secrets
light reveals verdant grass.
altering the location.
I want love
Not the normal kind
Multi colored hues
Nothing subdued
I’ve got a wildness in my spirit
And I don’t want to be tamed
Is there a man that is mature enough
To be done with the games
Can a man appreciate my freedom
And let me have a voice
Respect my decisions
And respect my choice
I want a man with a strength
And a passion inside
Not afraid of commitment
Doesn’t feel the need to chide
Where is that man that
Can love without restraint
To give his heart absolutely
He doesn’t have to be a saint
I know you’re out there
I know we will meet
Until that time baby
Just know I’m complete
I’m patiently waiting
Most of the time
But sometimes without warning
I break out in rhyme
Get here soon so we have time to play
I’m in the autumn of life
And I can’t waste a day
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
She would spend all day mixing
and kneading,
singing her old lady songs to herself.
I would get to lick the bowl.
This was my prize.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
My sister and I would play outside
almost every sunny day.
Magic kingdoms made of mud and bricks.
Toy soldier citizens of mock empires.
Barbie doll victims of terrible wars.
Bubblegum music from the top forty
traced the pattern of our lives.
Our country had a new flag and boys
in school still had short hair.
Little girls wore skirts and dresses and
pony tails were still the normal fashion.
Black and white television set turned to
the latest American sitcoms. We would
laugh at Granny and marvel at Endora.
Mr. Sullivan would present the latest rage,
the latest quartet or singer from England.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
We wore peace buttons on our coats,
and drew "smiley's" on our books.
We talked about what we were going
to do to make a difference in the world.
We admired the Fab Four and worshipped
at the altar of glorious possibilities.
We knew it was going to be beautiful,
because that is what we were being told.
Every morning at school we would sing
"God Save the Queen" and "O Canada",
say The Lord's Prayer and
hear the announcements.
Teachers talked about the future
as if it was a land of possibilities.
We did not know the black and white visions
would be transformed into colour horrors.
We had no idea that the dreams of peace and love
were going to be forgotten. Who could predict
the grey soul of adulthood? Where have
all the beautiful people gone?
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
THE PSYCHEDELIC STEW
We loved to drive out through the hills
Where landscapes are so green,
And always sought the smell of hay
That seemed so fresh and clean.
We'd rent a cosy cottage there
Around that time each year,
The days and nights were magical
And life was full of cheer.
That night we planned a simple tea
A good old country stew,
With fresh grown mushrooms we had picked
As 'round the place they grew.
Those mushrooms seemed much larger then
The ones we'd norm'lly find,
But in they went with all the rest,
We really did not mind.
Our stew was just the best we'd had
On that we did agree,
Then sitting back and quite content
Enjoyed a cup of tea.
When suddenly, in front of us,
Our kitchen came to life
With antics never seen before;
Sure terrified my wife.
She sat and watched with fear filled eyes
For both her knife and fork,
Were standing up and quite erect
And both of them could walk.
The kitchen curtains did a jig
And plates flew 'round the room,
Our mop then left its corner spot
To line dance with the broom.
Old teapot sang and clapped its hands,
The tea cups joined in too.
My mind it boggled at the sight
and wondered what to do.
I grabbed the phone and dialled for help
That soon was on its way;
Though not before the pots and pans
Had all began to play.
Poor doctor tried to calm us down
Enquiring of our plight.
We mentioned what had taken place,
The horrors of that night.
He summed up what had taken place,
The answer he now knew,
We'd eaten mushrooms which produced,
A psychedelic stew.
In transit through the time-zones, trails her colours everywhere,
Her spectrographic spectrums lance ethereal through the air,
Fragmenting rainbow spears and curves of bending light,
Arcing jet-streams counterpoint with sunspots blinding bright.
And in the dreams I have of her beneath blown skies of tangerine,
Angelic, incandescent, paints the sweetest forms I’ve ever seen.
Elated on the desert winds she flickers some prismatic ghost,
Tripping ruined beauty from each pillar to each mystic post,
Deep emerald light refracted as cracked ice in shining eyes,
A telepathic temptress breathing winter sleep and summer sighs.
And in the morning sun that kisses glacial seas of bathtub blue,
She walks the dunes of memory, on golden beaches combing through.
When words like seeds remain uncultivated,
in somber silence the poet within me dies.
In the misery of my perishing poetic oasis,
petal like poems refuse to infuse idealistic pigments.
But without words, a midnight beast lurks in thoughts
hidden behind metaphors written in psychedelic ink.
My beloved is a black rose who's thorns are like blades.
Her pecan lips lustfully devour my heart's purple blood,
because she loves to see me bleed in musing rivers,
flowing upon shores of her poetic fibres.
On dark murky days her tears plunge like acid rain,
melting through my shiny white knight armour.
For, she is the ebony queen in my chessboard of life,
in position for 'checkmate' against an ivory king.
In my troubled mind,
the sun is like a timid yellow umbrella,
hiding behind grey ashen clouds, which in clementine hues,
appear like orange smoke polluting my toxic swollen lungs.
And I can't breathe without her sugar lips
bringing me back to life with her special scarlet kiss.
Yet, I am her willing prisoner,
even in absence and distance,
we remain eternally chained,
as spiritual word weaving lovers,
prowling and howling like wolves
wandering under the blue moon.
Number 4
Lets get lost in our imagination
Let's take a vacation
Let language get lost in translation
Let your feelings take you to your destination
We are learning about the art of creation
Trippy visions and unexplainable vibrations deep inside
Only to be comforted while on an uncontrollable and unpredictable interplanetary ride
Come take a trip on the wild side
Come feel the energy surging out of our pores
You have no fears and no enemies when it comes to the psychedelic spores
They just want to share knowledge about what and who we are at the core
DMT and Ayahuasca want to show you other worldly doors and possibly what the afterlife has in store
Words can't express every chill and hallucination that flows through our being
What is a "true" definition of an entity or a being
Can you actually tell me this is just an illusion?
Or can you understand my language of confusion
So many are fortunate to experience mother nature's chemical fusions
Share art, share love, but most importantly share knowledge
Psychedelics are nature's version of educating us, similar to college
Just one experimentation and then the truth in my words will be easy to acknowledge
Love the Universe until it Love's you back ?
12 disciples,
circle uncycled,
positionary...
uncirculated,
recycled:
We are the chosen ones
around the mountain of steel
and diamond, collecting bones
and ore. Can you feel us?
Inkblots of distress wane as psychedelic stars burst into fireworks
1/19/2019
Bring Color Back Into My World
Contest of Kim Rodrigues
There are colors that please the eyes:
Rainbows, sunsets, and a sunrise
On psychedelic, I can't gaze
Without recalling careless days.
Ponytails, psychedelic shirts
Flower girls in long, faded skirts
Hippies searching in mushroom clouds
Anti-war protests drawing crowds
Talk of love is everywhere
Psychic wisdom floats in the air
Peace and love in every song
Thinking all the world can be one
While in the flower fields afar
Youths die fighting another war.
POTW!
Quote: “To fathom hell, or soar angelic, just take a pinch of psychedelic” -- H. Osmond
In the realm of metaphors, where words take flight,
A kaleidoscope of colors, a psychedelic delight.
Like whispers of dreams, they dance and sway,
Unveiling the depths of emotions in their own unique way.
In groovy swirls, the hippie spirit flies,
Beneath the neon moon and starlit skies.
With tie-dyed shirts and flowers in our hair,
We journey through a world beyond compare.
Our culture pulses with a rhythm rare,
A tapestry of love, beyond compare.
Each stroke of brush, a message to impart,
A fusion of the soul and of the heart.
Metaphors, like magic, paint pictures in the mind,
Creating illusions, where truths and fantasies entwined.
They bridge the gap between the known and unknown,
Inviting us to explore a world uniquely our own.
A metaphor is a key that unlocks hidden doors,
Revealing truths that lie beneath the surface, forevermore.
It's a mirror that reflects the soul's deepest desires,
Igniting passions and setting hearts on fire.
Like a gentle breeze that caresses our skin,
Metaphors embrace us, inviting us to dive in.
They whisper secrets, only the heart can understand,
Guiding us through the maze of life, hand in hand.
The colors of the flowers are vibrantly swaying
The wind caresses them it seems with kisses,
whispering sweet nothings inside cheery cores
Daisy’s white pearly petals are speaking
Yellow sepals smiling, too yellow! Spiky discs
spinning peeking at me as I subtly study them
Dance little flower dance so alive,
I just want to hug and squeeze you
until you feel all this love as well
colors so vibrant
turned on, tuned in, so alive ~
I feel so much love
His psychedelic dream,
Her open canvas.
Passion exploding in colour.
Striving for beauty,
Throwing colour into empty air.
Each stroke on pale unsullied skin,
A masterpiece.
Vivid colours, bleeding souls
No romance, not making love but
Making art.
Pure raw emotion,
Giving each other everything.
Exposing their flaws.
For it is colour that is dangerous,
Provocative,
Creating a mural which can
Never be forgotten.
Midnight skies light up in a neon swirl of colors
with rainbow reams of light, shooting transient pathways
that blaze momentary lines of prism hues
like a brilliant comet leaving a sizzling trail
a color wheel of reds, yellows, blues, purples and greens
swirl of colors, going round and round, in my mind.
Written on 6/4/2016
“Couple in the next room
Bound to win a prize
They’ve been going at it all night long”
While I’m sitting here alone
To no one’s surprise
That’s a common theme in my life’s song
“Well I’m running down the road trying to loosen my load
I’ve got seven women on my mind”
It’s hard to stop and think
With my libido on the blink
Peace and quiet is so hard for me to find
In my psychedelic world
Where variety gives me all my thrills
The words of my first grade teacher
Sound so obscene:
“Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Then the way they always have been seen”
“And I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
goin’ home”
But my women troubles stay
In the next room the loud couple still play
And the words of the psychedelic flower hater
Won’t leave me alone
Paul Simon – “Lincoln Duncan”
Jackson Browne – “Take It Easy” (also performed by The Eagles)
Harry Chapin – “Flowers Are Red”
Simon and Garfunkel – “The Boxer”