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Array ( [sid] => 135267 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => EleMentalz [time] => 2007-06-15 20:02:59 [hometext] => Warning! Funky Fresh! May cause a caesura! [bodytext] => Elementary Watson!
What son?
Only the son of a preacher can
teach mental elements to convert inkblots
into thinkblots,
into pupils of black dots,
which drop onto my paper and baptize my thoughts,
leaving my third eye chastised,
and seeing spots as I’m
watching the universe disperse into
watts and volts.
And I’m stashing a diverse collection of juggernauts and electric jolts.
I’ve grown attached to the fatal attraction of my
abstract reflection,
causing an improper infraction upon a
clause in my contract with the laws of inertia.
Matter of fact, they’re
depending on astronauts for protection,
with the intention to attack at the slightest detection of my revolt.
But I can never die,
cause I keep rewinding time,
by stopping my watch and
stopping my watch and
stopping my watch and trying to reverse the nuts and bolts.

I’m an espionaut
that spins the earth backwards on its axis,
to go back to the past, back towards its birth,
back when mother nature was having contractions,
to gain access to the secrets of the universe.

I’ve read the Book of the Dead
beneath the full moon,
and feasted on the bread I made from the pages,
a spoonful of yeast and a pinch of evil,
and fed it to the beasts and then released them from their cages
and painted the town red with the bloodshed of its people.
Then I made 8 Bloody Marys and took em’ straight to the head,
and used the rest as ink to write an even scarier sequel.

Poetry so deep,
even Neptune be drowning,
and Neptune’s moons are consumed
in the sound of the tune of the universe rounding
the 13th bactun.
But their lunar heart beats keep pounding ,
keeping the baseline of space-time
in line with the rhythms of the planets echoed through music.
And the river of consciousness flows into the ocean of the cosmos.
And it rains down illusions,
black magic and spells,
and Voo Doo.
And even in June it snows the deepest blues,
So deep,
I walk around barefoot
So I don’t rune my shoes.

Armageddon ensues my pen!
And the horsemen are headed here soon,
taking heads on their way,
and then weighing a pound of flesh for each debt.
Death is in bloom,
and all men will rue the day when it’s
inevitable, that they must pay their dues.
And the universal revolution
begins to spin the other way,
and the milky way becomes a filthy grey,
and spits yoo-hoo on hells hotel floors.
And Hitler comes back as Jesus and crucifies the Jews,
and Nazis will Germinate the spores of your idealistic religious views.
And men will be judged by the size of their swords,
and samurais will be forced to submit to
their foot binding wives and concubines.
And lords will bow down to peasants and slaves,
And Plato will emerge from the myth of the cave,
And kids will trade in their X-boxes for Sega,
And we will only be able to take what we gave,
And Alpha will become Omega,
No one will be saved,
As being becomes none,
As three, becomes
Two, becomes
One.
And then Omega will be undone,
and it will become just ohm,
and even that must go,
as one becomes 0.
But I am still one,
with my pen
as my hero,
coming forth to carry me home!
[comments] => 2 [counter] => 187 [topic] => 64 [informant] => Cannabiskilla [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )

EleMentalz

Contributed by Cannabiskilla on Friday, 15th June 2007 @ 08:02:59 PM in AEST
Topic: ambiguous

Elementary Watson!
What son?
Only the son of a preacher can
teach mental elements to convert inkblots
into thinkblots,
into pupils of black dots,
which drop onto my paper and baptize my thoughts,
leaving my third eye chastised,
and seeing spots as I’m
watching the universe disperse into
watts and volts.
And I’m stashing a diverse collection of juggernauts and electric jolts.
I’ve grown attached to the fatal attraction of my
abstract reflection,
causing an improper infraction upon a
clause in my contract with the laws of inertia.
Matter of fact, they’re
depending on astronauts for protection,
with the intention to attack at the slightest detection of my revolt.
But I can never die,
cause I keep rewinding time,
by stopping my watch and
stopping my watch and
stopping my watch and trying to reverse the nuts and bolts.

I’m an espionaut
that spins the earth backwards on its axis,
to go back to the past, back towards its birth,
back when mother nature was having contractions,
to gain access to the secrets of the universe.

I’ve read the Book of the Dead
beneath the full moon,
and feasted on the bread I made from the pages,
a spoonful of yeast and a pinch of evil,
and fed it to the beasts and then released them from their cages
and painted the town red with the bloodshed of its people.
Then I made 8 Bloody Marys and took em’ straight to the head,
and used the rest as ink to write an even scarier sequel.

Poetry so deep,
even Neptune be drowning,
and Neptune’s moons are consumed
in the sound of the tune of the universe rounding
the 13th bactun.
But their lunar heart beats keep pounding ,
keeping the baseline of space-time
in line with the rhythms of the planets echoed through music.
And the river of consciousness flows into the ocean of the cosmos.
And it rains down illusions,
black magic and spells,
and Voo Doo.
And even in June it snows the deepest blues,
So deep,
I walk around barefoot
So I don’t rune my shoes.

Armageddon ensues my pen!
And the horsemen are headed here soon,
taking heads on their way,
and then weighing a pound of flesh for each debt.
Death is in bloom,
and all men will rue the day when it’s
inevitable, that they must pay their dues.
And the universal revolution
begins to spin the other way,
and the milky way becomes a filthy grey,
and spits yoo-hoo on hells hotel floors.
And Hitler comes back as Jesus and crucifies the Jews,
and Nazis will Germinate the spores of your idealistic religious views.
And men will be judged by the size of their swords,
and samurais will be forced to submit to
their foot binding wives and concubines.
And lords will bow down to peasants and slaves,
And Plato will emerge from the myth of the cave,
And kids will trade in their X-boxes for Sega,
And we will only be able to take what we gave,
And Alpha will become Omega,
No one will be saved,
As being becomes none,
As three, becomes
Two, becomes
One.
And then Omega will be undone,
and it will become just ohm,
and even that must go,
as one becomes 0.
But I am still one,
with my pen
as my hero,
coming forth to carry me home!

Copyright Â© Cannabiskilla ... [ 2007-06-15 20:02:59]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: EleMentalz (User Rating: 1 )
by zenith66 on Tuesday, 19th June 2007 @ 10:50:03 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Very well done, lovely pace to your poetry and a bit of humour i think

Well done
#

and thank you so much for your comment earlier

zenith66

Re: EleMentalz (User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on Tuesday, 19th June 2007 @ 05:19:53 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Good lord! It must be the late hour but this is intense and the beat and I say beat within this verse pounds out intense and mind provoking images and detail. Brillance and masterful, crafted with diverse and talented thought..... Sorry I am off ramble ramble and probally not making a bit of sense ....

SUPERRRRRRR work

Michelle

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