He keeps time
in the front of his hat,
a clock that ticks sideways
and only when it wants to.
The books beneath him
lean like secrets,
each spine a doorway
he’s already wandered through
and rearranged.
He laughs softly,
as if the world
is a riddle he solved
years ago
and misplaced the answer
on purpose.
His silk hat glows
with borrowed moonlight.
His shadow stretches
longer than logic.
And his smile~
that crooked invitation~
suggests that madness
is simply wonder
without its manners.
If there’s a message,
it’s hidden in the ticking:
time isn’t the master
of Wonderland.
It’s just another guest
at the Hatter’s table,
pouring tea
into the wrong cup
and pretending
it meant to.
Apologies...
Remember that ifs, buts, and maybes
mean nothing to mad dogs with rabies.
For, in either case,
they'll rip off your face,
and then will proceed to your baby's.
When industry is repurposed savage,
colors explode in a rebirth of sorts.
A stairway leads to all that is unseen,
spiral up to the spirit of the unknown.
Colors explode in a rebirth of sorts,
ligneous beauty remains unrivaled.
Spiral up to the spirit of the unknown
follow what is in your nature to do.
Ligneous beauty remains unrivaled,
unfiltered will ultimately transfix you.
Follow what is in your nature to do,
bright colors flourish with fertilization.
Unfiltered will ultimately transfix you,
pastel lights and fancy flights take off.
Bright colors flourish with fertilization,
mad genius leaks all over the mundane.
Pastel lights and fancy flights take off,
a stairway leads to all that is unseen.
Mad genius leaks all over the mundane,
when industry is repurposed savage.
her sulked head hangs
pupils turn to serpent shape
she's a mad catter
many readers think they are in the know
hearing about the mad hatter of eons ago
but I know the real mad hatter, I am a neighbor to him
His hair is red and scraggly, his name is Jim
We call him uncle, but he is related to no one
He has no sense of humor, but thinks he is fun
Crazy as the looniest Australian shepherd you’ll ever meet
we stay away from him; he dances to an insane inner beat
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Desire is the cause of suffering.
– Maha Buddha
Desire is also the cause of joy.
So, desire.
Accept both suffering and joy together.
– Mega Madman (Me)
Phlegm slithers down the sink
its slow descent towards the stink
Hands of mucus and hair reach
out like Hell's hellions to ensnare
the whimpering shade, pathetic
adorned with bloodied fists, raised
beating their faces in rhythms anthemic
A mirror is their sole spectator
A reflection is an unreliable narrator
that sees a God that punishes fear,
the pen that writes infinite narratives
Pain, the transformative element
is the absence of language
Its primeval elegance
Pens... pens... pens.
I simply cannot have enough!
I sometimes pinch one off my dad
To write my first drafts rough.
Without stationary,
Where would we poets be?
A creators bliss is to settle down
With pen, paper and tea.
Rain fell, dripping hard, then soft, making me feel ever so soft.
Soft like a cloud floating, fluffy and full, soft and cuddly making me feel loves true mood.
Rain came down so hard, it hit the ground and made me look, it was like a brick hitting the earth.
Rain has a personality, it gives us a tone, it sets its pace and makes itself be known.
Rain comes to feed the earth, to nourish its children and let it know its thoughts.
Thoughts of love, of unhappiness, of times it strikes and kills and floods the earth.
Rain has feelings that flow through the earth, it seeps all around and sends its thoughts.
Thanking rain for all its nourishment, for all the corrections and paths that the rain has made throughout the earth.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Asked a guy where he wanted to go
he said baby you should know
I want to feel sunshine and lie on the beach
but you can help me it's out of reach
I told that guy that my future's not bad
and he said baby it's driving me mad
working with doughnuts is all very well
but I know just how to ring your bell
I told that guy he can blow me away
and he said harken babe I got nothing to say
I've got no plane and it's wrecking my day
but I've found a pilot and that's OK
baby you can fly my plane yes I'm going to sunny Spain
baby you can fly my plane and maybe you'll love me
vroom vroom 'mm-vroom vroom yeah
(With apologies to Lennon & McCartney)
Won't lovers revolt now
I'm mad, I am somehow
Mad? Am I madam
I really must have him
For I'm madly in love with thou
Poor Dan is in a droop... it wouldn't stand up.
Took a few colored photographs closeup.
Mad? Am I madam.
No, I'm Don Adam.
Holding up with Viagra, it erupts.
Was it a car or a cat I saw
that jumped the curb in contempt of law?
Mad? Am I madam!
Bare is macadam-
No signs of auto tire or cat paw!
angry mummy was so irritated his eyes turned blue
They were usually black, so this was surprising too
Someone had provoked him, made him totally mad
He turned from a good guy into kind of a cad.
We stayed out of his way that weird Halloween night.
He was scary and nasty, a quintessentially horrible fright
what happened? We wondered, but no one dared to ask.
He was terrifying us all, and he did not wear a mask.
You're a charred sweet bramble
a mosaic of cloud and blood
a pantry of wound and balm.
You fester, heal, then repeat...
at times the flesh must protect the peel.
Straddle the moon-nobody to harm you there.
To judge your jagged necessities...
just you and the lint of time entwined.
You'll come back down, that's for certain.
Strong as a mountain at twilight
or a blue bird song in black bird refrain...
Retrieve your soul from the mossy stone.
As the parched blue eye bleeds out red rain.
With that spicy dab of mad moon woman revenge.
For now, lay low-while on the mend.
Debride from the mockingbird's glass song.
The murder will eventually hang itself.
Upon chords of your mad moon woman wisdom.
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