Of a cause still not known,
if tomorrow my eyes have not shown,
you will hear this ballad at your table.
I have long since been tightening the cable,
wrapping it around my neck like a dog,
my hands raised to the heavens, begging god.
For I am but a slave to thought,
thinking of all the horror I've brought,
They claim its hallucination but I know what I see.
Inconvenience when they know where to be,
a stone in the flow of all's life,
a fool who could not fathom their strife.
To & Dear those who are reading,
my heart is in my throat, sweat beading
as I write what I know may be my last words
I apologise if it feels like Arthur had multiple swords.
My final draft in seconds, my mind apart,
I beg you to abandon my bleeding heart.
The Hallucination of the Unknown
Eyes closed, slumbering,
I fall into the depths of the night
Stars collide, the heart of the universe pounds
Flowers dance
And I, standing alone on the edge of a cliff
I can only dip my finger in the moon's glow
To write a poem
Silent plea, unheard, unheeded....
Tomorrow holds a promise, a vacuum,
Today carries its load
And yesterday, its regret
Altogether, the unknown is frightening
A cycle of torment
Burying me in this world, making of me
A hallucination within its own!
Eyes closed,
Heart dripping with blood
Colliding fates
Love spelled as a mirage
A song unwritten
A season forsaken
A dive into the unknown
Pages left blank
Diaries burned
The monsters gape
The unknown is cold and murky
Eyes closed,
Fully awake,
I hear the echo of what should have been
And can only cling on to its shadows!
on smooth hot rock I sat in reverie
after a hallucinogenic drink of
mushroom, poppies and truffle
imagination soared like bald eagle
throwing twin twigs with sigh
up I flew landing on a rainbow in
lucid dream ~
saw tinker bell fairies in pastel lace
with mauve daisy hats to face
sucking honeyed cream in wild glee
cherubs singing whimsy chorals
skipped to amethyst abode awaiting
dragonflies lighted a willow way
swans mated on water lily bay, say !
petal pond elves smiling away
secretly inside a Crystal Palace
of chanting High Priestesses pure
sat Lord-Lady of visualisations
with blue-green eyes, beard of silver
hay, not all could wander this way
he fed me mango manna ambrosia
gifted a garland of lotus snow white
a sapphire pen dripping indigo ink
to serpentine scribe enchanting
song on a rainbow in ruby
slink-slink !
I paint a whimsy in my mind,
A quiet place and pretty,
Where I can simply dream
Child-like without the nitty-gritty
Of the city's less then kind imagination.
In reverie, the gurus say, the mind
Will try visualization, the machinations
Of the Universe, or so it may seem,
But in truth it's just an aberration
Of Reality's unending hallucination!
Sitting in the sunshine
streaming through the window
my catnap's long overdue
it's way past time I drifted off
to the land of milk
(and honey) ah Shangri-La
a return to déjà vu
and my reverie
it's no hallucination
merely visualisation
of a fertile imagination
and when all is said and done
no I'm not the one
(but, 'Wish I were,' hear me purr)
the cat who ate the canary
or that got the cream
but until I do I'll catch some z's
lose myself in whimsy drift away and dream
"Sometimes the softest dreams unravel into ash."
My mind walks landscapes made of ash,
where stars collapse in whimsy’s flash.
I reach for light, but it turns to dust—
a mirror cracking from broken trust.
A hallucination holds my hand
and leads me through this haunted land.
Here, love once bloomed in endless spring,
now silence grows in everything.
The bones of joy lie at my feet,
while reverie weeps down the street.
I build my hope with shattered clay,
a dream that fades at break of day.
My imagination carves the sky—
with wings no real bird learns to fly.
Visualization paints a place
where I exist without a face.
Fantasy kissed me in the dark,
then vanished—
like the last cold spark.
The trash bag at my door—gone, someone took it.
In the shared hall, I see a ghost from years ago.
A glance, three short lines, one long breath—
We look at each other like catching, releasing ghosts.
Do we both think the other’s faking it?
The line between man and phantom is only light.
A few ghost-words, truth-words—thank you—
Thanks to her, crossing over to hand me a napkin.
And antibiotics? A hospital chief stopped them all.
The ICU patients with lung disease began to heal.
The rest of the doctors fell silent,
Stopped asking why. That’s ghost talk.
A gust of wind becomes cloud.
A small illness, a ghost beneath the skin.
Early afternoon trip all day
out on crystalline, mirror lake.
the delicate surface that shatters,
when I plunge off old dock
crafted in clay orange beach,
where I can see the shadow
of leaves kaleidoscope
in the white sunlight
below the water, diving to
abstruse gatherings
of perhaps wizards or
some society from long time ago,
or society that kills wizards
from long time ago.
I return for air,
the day has passed
the tangerine haze of
golden sun settles
on the canvas of the lake
music surrounds the scene
lovingly whispered,
lulling songs,
in themselves serene.
I’m sat in the bar with a beer on the table
I’m gazing in rapt contemplation
I need to make sense of it if I am able
I must find a good explanation
My mate’s in the loo, so what am I to do
For there’s nobody here to bear witness
The bartender’s too busy serving a queue
And everyone minds their own business
Did nobody here see my icy cold beer
Grow hands and feet and a big head
It has seven eyes and a devilish sneer
“I dare you to drink me,” it said
It glared up at me with its mad bloodshot eyes
And then did a demonic dance
This amber hued beast of diminutive size
Is what put me into this trance
My God, now there’s two of them, clinking together
They no longer dance… but conspire
Each of them steps a bit closer to me
“Don’t tell or they’ll call you a liar.”
At last my mates coming and soon he’ll be here
He’ll flip at this hullabaloo
But now that beer monster is just plain old beer
I can’t even prove it to you
So I must now seek out a good explanation
Some facts into which I shall delve
Such as why it should happen to just this one beer…
and not to the previous twelve
In an endless night,
time is my nemesis.
In the realms of sleepwalking nightmares,
where trumpets blow an eerie tune,
I can see the Grim Reaper,
perched upon my tomb.
I search for the sandman
in the domain of dreams.
Where hope is an alchemy of potions,
igniting stars to cremate calamity.
In the marketplace of hallucination,
I barter with misty, moody moonlight,
before reality returns to spoil an ephemeral fate,
wishing to remain where imagination illuminates.
Sprites and Sylphs guide to a secret passage,
a labyrinth where ancient secrets sleep.
Yet their black gates are like Hercules' Twelve Labors.
Constant knocking results in the death of spirit.
Defeated by delusions of utopia,
I surrender to a tangible conclusion.
(detail from "Methow Water", 2024, original encaustic)
Hallucination Engine
Whatever we touch
Morphs
Into a reflection
Of the toucher
And so it is
With all senses
Each reflecting
Our sense
Of self
No other but
An engine of creativity
In ever changing
Display
(2/4/24)
Sunlight tickles my eyes
Hypnagogic hallucinations steal the show
with surprise
A creature creeps
I gasp, in fascination’s glow
he leaps
He schemes
as toadstools blow
dreams
Sunlight tickles my eyes
I gasp, in fascination’s glow
dreams
“Rosalie, oh Rosalie!
A contrast of beauty, with a saturation of rufescent
What every heart intercepts when they have reminisces
which never transcends herself when she is mistakened of fluorescences
Rosalie, oh Rosalie!
She harmonizes one's life, with her humility of delight
Yet her dashing aspects are remarkable in light
For not once she palettes a stage of fright
Rosalie, oh Rosalie!
When she lifts the flushed rose to her blushed rubescent lips
The curtains of the heavens began to lift
for her chastity is for what relieves rift bids
Rosalie, oh, Rosalie!
She enriches one’s future,
She diminishes their past,
She lives her present; from beginning to last
Rosalie, oh Rosalie!
Her spikes are what prick one’s heart
So emancipating apart
Which devotion comparts
Rosalie, oh Rosalie!
Is she not just a hallucination of humanity's delusions?
Or is it just component of revolution;
So ruinous of this only luminescence of faith
Or might it be something to only recall my presence late?
Rosalie, oh Rosalie!”
Tick tock,
No time for her son,
‘On Tiktok bleeping her cleavages to strange men,
Social media hallucination,
living a lie,
Here, everything is perfect,
The sky is blue, it never rains,
Everyone is rich & poverty is slang on the lips of black men,
Here, love is beautiful;
Till breakfast is served in court,
We lie too much,
Like politicians, our tongues are twisted,
Curled, tangled, braided in self-deceit,
Sometimes God doubts he created us,
We lie too much.
Life is a small boat on the river bank,
The wave is constantly rolling in the floating river.
The wave is constantly rolling in the floating river.
The boat fluctuated on the illusion river water
The anchor of the floating boat fluctuated on the water.
It comes and goes back alone through the the door of delusion
The boat turn around only seven times.
It bears weal and woe in the field of delusion
It still flows on the banks of the river like a life.
Who sails whose boat? If there has no boatman
Whose boat is not his, just false excuses.
What will happen to the boat? If there is no wind in the sail;
The empty boat fell to the ground, if there is no existence of life.
As long as God wants, the boatman plays
The boatman (God) breaks down and makes of the new boat in a every moment.
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