it was one of the prettiest sugar skulls I had ever seen
I thought tearing it up to eat would be incredibly mean
Hid it in a locked box hope chest of my cousin old Dean
It was given to me by an artist, the Day of the Dead Queen
Through the ages
monkish chapels have erected alters
built from human skulls.
Mystics have understood
that such morbid displays
can lead to a fervor
of jaw-dropping moments.
The human skull reminds us
that death leaves its own gravestones.
Besides,
such boneyard objects de ’art
simply beg to be made into candle holders
or useful paperweights
additionally,
a dislocated mandible
serves as a most adequate rest
for a lit cigar.
The lower jaw self-unhinges
as the skull gnaws
a recollection of a bygone face,
now it must use the roaming poems
of restless winds
as its surrogate voice.
You kiss that sad cranial dome,
where a forehead once pondered
upon the meaning of everything.
Your eyes are now the very wellspring’s
of a hidden depth, which will always be that
unsolved mystery of you.
Now here in your cupped hands,
you cradle the foolishly grinning remains
wondering if this was God’s first word
or last.
I'm lost in there
battered between form and function
existing in the guesswork
institutionalised by containment
figured out on the block
measured by what takes up space
every layer perfectly in place
to provide freedom to conform
I merge and merge again
despite being part of no plan
unstoppable in my inexplicable existence
tip out my untapped potential
lay me on the table
busy yourself with dissection
broken up into components
I can do no more
cannot be put back together
an empty head
with no view of itself
an offered up cadaver
any day of the week
"Whoa - dude, that's really cool!"
Indeed, son, it's something to mull -
fascinating, never dull,
so vast it is incredible,
yet, smaller than a basketball -
the universe inside your skull.
Walking toward the fallen tree
Open skies give me sight
Blood red stones inside my shadow
Twisted bones of sand stone
Walls of snow break my heart
In the mountain I saw my god
Under dark stars I found rivers of gold
Saints of felled birds plant seeds of a true vine
Father of all wait beside the fig tree
They mourned You in future times
We drank from life giving water before and we will still do so
Save the ducks, dig the well
Ravens fly before I land
Blades of marrow cut into my side
Spears of bone and woolen cloak
Scars of light expand my deepest resurrection
I saw you but you hid your face from me
My friend, father, brother and light
Walk with me forever I pray you say you know me
Día De Los Muertos
unlike Halloween
respect to loved ones who died * * * *
La Catrina lives
Skull man stares at me from the mirror
Instantly, I recognize my mistake
This was a new life
A chance to get things right
This is why we are recycled and reborn right?
Yet here I am, in the same rut as my last lifetime
Making the same erratic, weird, strange choices
Choices that keep me down
Put me down
Squashing me into mud, muck and mire
Skull man makes no sound
Yet I hear his voice
Feel his disappointment
Same again?
Really?
For skull man is me
The first thing to unhinge is its lower jaw,
the skull now (sometime in your future),
gnaws the recollection of its bygone face.
It must use the roaming poems of restless winds
as its surrogate voice.
When you are no longer its hands, pick it up,
kiss that sad dome, where its forehead
once pondered upon the meaning of meaning.
Your own eyes are now the very wellsprings
of a hidden depth, which was always the
unsolved mystery of you.
Now here in your illumined hands,
you cradle the foolishly grinning remains
of what you once called God,
yet you were not wrong
for even God moves on.
When you get a FISA Warrant/
For electronic surveillance/
From psychic spies with/
Mind Control with psionic/
And radionic technology/
They first attack you with/
Voice to skull technology/
Which is voices in your head/
Their first objective is to make you/
Appear as a schizophrenic/
Medications will only amplify/
The effects of that technology/
You know you're not schizophrenic/
You know you're a victim/
Of that program because/
You somehow got a FISA Warrant/
For this electronic surveillance/
Nobody will ever believe you/
The voices can drive you mad/
There's nothing you can do/
Because those spies/
Are that sadistic/
Your destruction is their objective/
Nothing you can do about it/
Just stand your ground/
Strength and Patience/
Will get you through it/
It infinge on your rights/
Against the torture prevention act/
This may be the/
Land of the free/
But this stuff exists/
And it's beyond sadistic/
Should I die and be cremated, please preserve my little skull,
For like a nut when the meat is gone, all's left is but the hull..
My skull is house that traps my thoughts, wherein does reason dwell.
Where words upon this paper, spring to life from brain's compel
Do not crush and blend my skull, as though it's a power shake.
Yet my body's bones after death, I care not if they break.
Find a pretty box, where my skull can rest in final close,
Where dreams can live forever in eternal skull's repose.
If I were to take a sledgehammer
Grip it tender but tight
So its iron skull may send
A scathing speech to your sternum
Would bricks take flight,
Or are you truly that dense?
it was a day
not unlike this one
when an archaeologist
… sore knees
… paint brush
… Friday fingernails
held my earthen skull
in his hands
and spared me a thought
his dirt-stained eyes
filling my empty sockets
and
for a speck
of epochal dirt
neither of us
heard the sun
all around Detroit we heard a vrrrooom vrrrooom
It’s a skull on a hog! It spells instant doom!
This was said by a naysayer who is always full of gloom.
I stood by the road to wave at the vrrrooom vrrrooom
It was a skull on a hog with orange streaming hair behind him
He asked if I wanted a ride and I climbed on in.
The grim reaper and Count Dracula were both terrified of him.
I had the best ride of my life, said my cousin Grim.
Skulls were sliding down the rapids having so much fun.
Their screams were well seen but eerily silent of course.
They frolic so prettily! Their bodies said, lying in the beach sun.
Suddenly an elongated skull joined them, the skull of a horse.
The equestrian’s mouth opened, showing loads of long teeth.
It’s amazing said the turtles, who were hiding below in the reef.
Skull fever is alive and well in the Seven seas today!
The sea creatures nodded, liking them in every way.
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