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The Bubblegum Tree
Contributed by
Jackman
on
Thursday, 10th June 2004 @ 09:41:03 AM in AEST
Topic:
mythology
|
the tide surrounds me
i am floating in the ether
my mind is released
my body is an empty vessel
i drift from consciousness
to a land of pink and green
and of lovers and of haters.
the psychedelic whore coaxes me
to her underground lair
to perform a sickening ritual
that acts only to reinforce
the hate of the technicoloured
people of this technicoloured land.
a lonely crucifix hangs from her
emaciated neck, a dilapidated soul
filled with outmoded ideas.
her god is dead, a victim of technologies new,
devoid of faith and power dwindling.
emotional rape and repression is ceasing
but there are still those who long for Him,
holding on to the core of elder days
oh fools! why must they be so blind?
they refuse to see what lies before them
a future of expression and individuality,
the cessation of conformity and pigeonholing.
the malignant malevolence molests new generations,
but the stranglehold is lessening, we are growing strong
our minds expand, our horizons broaden, our acceptance grows.
they speak of a designer, but of such a being
there is no proof, evidence circumstantial,
convictions held, criticisms ignored, hatred remains.
the whore completes the ritual, returning to the streets,
to her regal underworld, the queen of sleaze.
she holds no tolerance with her customers
who lust for more and more and more
like rabid hyena with a dirty joke.
as the curtain is drawn back the sunlight is revealed,
the psychedelic mistress is resigned to the shadows
allowing the normal to come forth into the light of the day.
the normal are all around us, yet are creations of our
deranged minds. they come and go and 9 till 5 and do lunch
and repulse me. i have no time for such cretins, conforming blindly
like the old men of the cloth.
there is no respite from the cycles of living, the day and the night,
the love and the hate, the riches and the rags. we long for an escape,
but where are we to seek it? the institution of the mind
has been bastardised by the words of the bourgeois, the mode of their speech
and the dictates they betrove to us.
i long for a respite, desire it with a passion immeasurable,
but fail to find it. i look with three eyes,
the external two fail miserably, but the third gains a glimmer of hope
from the universal majesty of the inner self.
we are not to seek a greater source to solve our problems,
we should have enough intrinsic worth to be above such aimless
degradation of the freedom of the mind.
the almighty font of wisdom is a vile myth, one dispelled innumerable times,
yet still it remains, the yellow stains on the smoker's knuckles,
the purgatory of expression, the jealousy of the ones
unable to explore the gifts given us by chance.
to not exploit such a perverse but priceless gift
is true sacrilege, a blasphemy beyond reckoning.
i wander through this technicolour tapestry, the reds of passion
offsetting the blues of control perfectly. the orange flame and the
velvet sky are as one, remote yet unified, like the body and the soul.
the blackness that lingers can only exist with the whiteness that shines
like the gold at the end of your rainbow and the gleam within
your eyes.
i meet you by the bubblegum tree, chewing the fruit
like a cow does with the cud.
may i take your hand my damsel, and whisk you far away from here
on a raft of dreams, on a tide of loveliness.
the turquoise leaves will be our bed, soft as the mother's caress,
firm as the father's hand. the brother and the lover as one,
the source of joy, the sister and the friend combine
and give a glance of longing deft and subtle.
after we sail, i see you drift from me. your eyes wander,
your passion fades, your hatred grows.
did i not warn you of the wicked aged men? did i not
speak to you of the repercussions of their facetious rantings?
alas! i was too late, they have corrupted you with
thoughts of averageness and conformity, never dynamic
always static, never fun always cruel.
as i lose you to the waves of another life, i hide in this cage
hidden in the strata. the plates will move and fire will erupt,
but the blue of the sea will stop it's ebb.
oh mortal coil, must you retract so soon? it had only just begun.
the embers are still aglow, the phoenix is ready to rise.
must you douse her wondrous wings with death and decimation?
you give me love then take it away; you give me life then take it away.
what is to become of me now? is this vessel bound to crash,
stuck six feet under, with it's lowly passenger unable to escape?
or will my spirit take flight upon the astral plane
and soar to nirvana, to heaven, to immortality, to peace?
oh mortal coil, why must you curse me so! is life but a
terminal disease, or is such violent nihilism destructive of the body
as well as the soul? why must we wander these paths, convoluted
and warped, each of us alone, lucky if we glance at the footprints
of those who have preceded us? do these markings in the sands of time
remain forever, or does a wicked wind conceal the way through,
making each of us solitary wanderers without a map, nay, even a compass
for guidance? if this is indeed the case oh master, then why does
the whore waste time with the act of hate, why do we squander life with love
to have it taken away, why do we live at all....?
Copyright ©
Jackman
... [
2004-06-10 09:41:03]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: The Bubblegum Tree
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Thursday, 10th June 2004 @ 09:55:13 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| I liked this - I think it is more a poet's tale than a poem - it started out tight, but kind of expanded into a short story, albeit extremely creative and unique. I like your use of language, and you reveal well. Try to challenge yourself by staying true to your form. |
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Re: The Bubblegum Tree
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Wednesday, 4th August 2004 @ 03:24:24 AM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
|
I agree with mj - you could have written the same thing out in half as much words. Some parts get cliche'd (mortal coil being beseeched twice in a row) in my opinion, but its certainly colourful and dynamic.
I was sort of looking for answers to questions posed by your next submission, but alas, i found zilch - except to say that
"alas! i was too late, they have corrupted you with
thoughts of averageness and conformity, never dynamic
always static, never fun always cruel."
This was enlightening of sorts.
Thanks for the effort, however - I don't usually run through works as long as this (they have to be written by an exceptional mind, or rhyme beautifully) and its always nice to see a new member's sense of reality, even if it is chewing fruit in dreamlike bovinity . . .
Keep writing. |
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