Keyser Soze• Show poetry

“No man is more hopelessly enslaved, than he who falsely believes that he is FREE.”

 

 

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Poet -      an artist of words with the capability to make a full experiential

model of a lived experience - or one that is potentially livable.

 

I strive to be a poet, but don't call myself one. It is an honor only others can bestow.

 

My true name shall remain unrevealed, but friends call me Keyser; as such I hope you do. I am a criminal justice major, though I'll be going for a psych major soon, enroute to the FBI; though I'm not sure whether I want to be a behavioral analyst or a hostage negotiator. In the end, only the future knows.

 

My goal in participating in this site is learning to excel in the art of poetry through giving help and receiving it. May we all one day achieve the title...

 

 

 

 

Groups I'm in:

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My Works:

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Zen and the Art of Fishing by Gene Fowler

 

Li Po bumbled

his embrace

of the moon in the river

and tumbled in, his

breath stopped

by the heavy press

of water,

 

now we pull forth technologies older

than Li Po

and remove with careful ease

the moon from where it

rocks in waters

and cast it again

adrift

in gleaming skies.

 

 

On Being a Saint by Stephen Morse

 

A robin flies to the top

of the shingled well shade,

glances in through the window to our kitchen and

then on up to the roof

over my head

and gone...out of sight

to where robins go

when we can't see them.

 

Bushes, nests, eating

and singing.

Doing whatever it is they do

to stay alive.

 

Parasites in dead birds!

Causes me to wonder about

their life,

the quality of their lives and

really, have you seen a robin mate?

 

Their eggs have blue shells.

Blue-hoo, I have seen them broken

on the ground.

 

When is a robin not a robin?

When he's a saint.

When is that?

When he's not a robin...same as me.

 

I'm a human except when I'm a saint

and when I'm a saint

I'm not a human or

a robin.

 

I've never been a saint

or a robin.

I don't fly well enough

or high enough

to qualify.

And I don't lay eggs with blue shells.

 

I've been on the roof

but I had to use a ladder,

although I once climbed a tree

to get there.

 

I've never seen a saint.

I don't know what they do when they're around.

 

They might fly,

eat worms, sing and

lay eggs in a nest for all I know.

 

For all I know.

Not likely,

but you couldn't prove it by

me.

 

 

 

Children of the Night by Saul Williams

(from memory so don't shoot! )

 

and out of the sun's gates come little girls in dresses of fire

wearing pig-tails of braided smoke

which stem from their moon cratered scalps

 

the glowing seeds of a nightly garden

that would blossom regardless of the sun

 

they know the night and the seven names of the wind

through the tales of their wind-blown fathers

 

who will father these mother's of light?

and what will become of me?

children of the night

 

only some will star the sky

only believers in death will die

 

and fathers must feather the wings of women

for the unfeathered masses dangle ridiculous

carrying crosses to phalanx filled tombs

 

the future sails silent through blood rivered wombs

that ripple with riddles of cows and spoons

and births, moons, and Earth

sun centered at noon

 

and here I stand, court gesturing infinity

fetal fisted for revolution

but open hands birth humility, now

 

what is the density of an ego-less planet

must my spine be aligned to sprout wings

I'm slouched into slang steps

and kangoled with gang reps

but my orbit rainbows saturn's rings

 

mystical elliptical presto polaris

karmic flamed future when saturn's in Ares

 

and now I'm a fish called father

with gills type dizzy

blowing liquid lullabies through the spine of time

to tranquilize a nervous system's defeat

 

at the feet of forever the children are gathered

or rather buried in that mass grave site of the night

they are the seeds of light planted in the sky

but then nights and skies are meaningless

to their unearthly eyes

 

they are our children

playing chess on the sun-burned backs of one-eyed turtles

check-mating a lifetime slow crawl to enlightnement

 

cashing in their crown and glory

for magic and contradiction

the children of fiction

born of semen-filled crosses

thrust in calvary's mound

with memories of manana's millenium

 

the gravity of the pendulum

the inscription of the grail

the rumors of war and famine

diseases and storms of hail

all hail the new beginning

behold the winter's end

bring on the puppets and dragons

let their ceremonies begin

for they have come to shatter time

and bring back the dead new born

 

an army of me, baring change in the front lines

and shadows in the field mines

to wilderness, the lights of the city

 

I have seen them

a tumultuous army of

bastards and beggars

madmen and idiots

witches and harlots

dancers and lunatics

sinners and singers

losers and lovers

students and teachers

poets and priests

orbiting the realms of the ordinary

through the ordinances of those ordained by the beast

 

these are our children

love laiden life lanterns casting shadows that shepherd the flocks

crying wolf when the moon's full

as sirens of love's lull

the offspring of gibraltar's rocks

 

who will deny them when thrice crows the cock

will it be you Peter

decked in daymare's denial

masqueraded in matter over mind under trial

 

self is the servant to serpents with wings

three is the beginning of all things

try angles when wrecks tangle your wings

let visions blur not your deservings

pile stones and unearth ancient learnings

see self as the ghost of your servings

 

if you're serving the father there's no son without mother

parent bodies discover water bodies and drown

wade me in the water till Atlantis is found

on the sea floors of self I'm starfish and unbound

 

heard the name of that mound is stone mountain

underwater volcanoes erupt water fountains of youth

lest this carnal the equation cancel out wind and truth 

swirl me beyond sometimes drench me water proof

let eaves drop forever rain sunsets on my roof

as I sit on the front porch of my sanity

deciphering ham bones to van Gogh this vanity

 

Oiled egos canvased and framed!

to be reborn, unborn unbaried, undead

 

a reflection through a blood stained glass window

of souls gone yellow round the edges

carbonated dreams and blurred daily lives

but let family bring focus

out of swamps blossom lotus

 

the muddy water blue daughter's of infinity

grant you water bodied bhodisativas our serenty

as we rise with the tides toward infinity

 

and she will be raised by wolves

just below the masonry dixon line

where eagles noose the misuse of Osiris's

sacred papyrus'

in their claws clenched

so that the vultures of our memories

may feast upon the remedies

of ancient laws lynched

and flawk to the treetops of the forethoughts we have forgotten

 

yes silence will be begotten of the wind

the silver eyes of the darkness are her friends

they sometimes paint forever in their dens

on the mountain sides of sometimes now and then

in between the rise and set of you and I

mayblue visions know the depths of liquid skies

 

and some ask me if she cries through the night

when it's the substance of her tears that

drench the days with light.

 

shit, you better hope she do

because there are women with fur coats and painted faces

dancing on the peripheries of perfection

they eat chinese apples that stain their teeth red

and can cackle cosmos out of chaos at a moment's notice

 

and the children on the train

selling chocolates with their mothers in the background

fundraising their dreams from the dead

 

and the authors of autumn correspond with catharsis

and change the leaves of my needs orange-red

I eat fruits and vegetables

for only living things can feed the span of wings

and thus she was born to charter my flight

into the blues of night

 

I am the darkness that precedes the light

a pupil of the sea's reflective sight

 

notebook in hand

I footnote land and write

plot dot dot dot

and dot my eyes is right

and cast my lot amongst the

children and the night

 

 

 

 

 

 

Untimely Meditations by Saul Williams

(also from memory so don't shoot! )

 

the fiery sun of my passions

evaporates the love lakes of my soul

clouds my thoughts, and

rains you into existence

as I take flight on bolts of lightning

claiming chaos as my concubine

and you as my ME

I of the storm

you of the sea

we of the moon

land of the free

 

what have I done to deserve this

am I happy?

 

happiness is a mediocre standard

for a middle class existence

I see through smiles

and smell truth in the distance

 

beyond one dimmensional smiles and laughter

lies the hereafter

where tears echo laughter

you'd have to use math

to divide a smile by a tear times fear equals mere truth

that simply dwells in the air

 

but if that's the case all I have to do is breathe

and all else will follow

that's why drums are hollow

 

and I like drums

drums are good, but

I can't think straight

I lack the attention span to meditate

my attention spans galaxies

here and nows are immense

seconds are secular

moments are mine

self is illusion

music's divine

 

noosed by the strings of Jimi's guitar I swing

Purple Hazed pendulum

hypnotizing the part of I that never dies

 

look into my eyes are the windows of the soul

it's fried chicken collies and cornbread,

it's corn, milk, flour, sour cream, eggs and oil

it's the stolen blood of the earth

used to make cars run and kill the fish

 

who me

I play scales

the scales of dead fish

of oil slicked seas

my sister blows wind

through the hollows of fallen trees

and we are the

 

echoes of eternity

echoes of eternity

echoes of eternity

 

maybe you heard of us

we do rebirths, revolts and resurrections

we threw basement parties in pyramids

I left my tag on the wall

the beats would echo off the stone

and solidify into the forms of light bulbs

destined to light up the heads of future generations

who recently lit up

in the form of

OM

 

maybe you heard of us

if not then you must be trying to hear us

and in such cases we can't be heard

we remain in the darkness unseen

in the center of unpeeled bananas we exist

uncolored by perception

clothed to the naked eye

 

five senses cannot sense

the fact of our existence

and that's the only fact

in fact there are no facts

fax me a fact

and I'll telegram a hologram

or telephone the son of Man

and tell him he is done

leave a message on his answering machine

telling him there are none

 

God and I are One

times moon

times star

times sun

the factor is me

 

you remember me

I slung amethyst rocks

on Saturn blocks

'till I got caught up by earthling cops

they wanted me for their army or whatever...

 

picture me

I swirl like the wind

tempting tomorrow to be today

tiptoeing the fine line between everything

and everything else

 

I am simply Saturn swirling sevens through sooth

the soul living heir of air

and I breathe

and all else follows

reverberating the space inside of drum hollows

packaged in bottles

then shipped to tomorrow

and sold to the highest nigga

 

I swing from the tallest tree

lynched by the lowest branches of me

praying that my physical will set me free

because I'm afraid that all else

is vanity

mere language is

profanity

 

I'd rather hum

or have my soul tattooed to my tongue

and let the scriptures be sung

in gibberish

as words be

simple fish

in my soul-quarium

and intellect can't swim

 

so I stop combing my mind so my thoughts can lock

I'm tired of trying to understand

perceptions are mangled, matted, and knotted anyway

life is more than what meets the eye

and I

 

so elevate I to the third

but even that shit seems absurd

and your thoughts leave you

third isolated

no man is an island

but I often feel alone

 

so I find peace through

 

OM

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of the quotes I particularly like...

 

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight,

and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” - Oscar Wilde

 

“It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution”

 

“I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly.”

 

"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world,

and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend" 
-- Robert Lewis Stevenson  

 

"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled

was convincing the world he didn't exist..."

 

"If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly,

our whole life would change." ~ Buddha

 

"One day you will ask me: "Which is more important? My life or yours?"

I will say mine, and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life."
-- Khalil Gibran

 

"For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions

(one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences."
                           —Rainer Maria Rilke  

 

He said, "By the media. The media can convince everybody it's real.""