Uncategorized Poetry – The Poetry Of J.P.

Blood as Wine

The king still sits on golden throne
drinking our blood as wine;
he needn’t skippers to sail the ocean’s tides,
he needs our hearts and minds.

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Tibetan Sky Burial

I am foreign and do not understand.
I burn my dead
or lower them into the pit.
How is it that these people

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Apples

If I gaze at an apple
and smoke with a shaman
who plucks with bended knee
the apple red of famous mythology

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Smoke Signals

Time cares not what the clock will say
of the foul pit of yesterdays,
because a truth strikes its chord

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Relatively Big

They are very small things, the small plankton,
The atoms of oxygen, the words said

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The Word and the Blade

I have owned words,
owned them all,
owned them as a suit–
impenetrable.

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A Pharaoh’s Rise – Revise #1

Among the world’s most pressing ruins
artifacts come rising as phoenixes
parting their form from the fierce driven wind
and sand that whirls around in its dying
hour of enjambment with earth and sky.

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Consuming Us

All beauty has been taken.

The natural is no longer allowed
To be as it is without filter.

The body is no longer a temple;
It’s a canvas on which we paint.

The soul is relegated to metaphor
And no longer allowed to spread
to the hearts of others.

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We Break

We break
as the newspaper
and anchorman read
teleprompter like,

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Cactus Hides

There are people with cactus hides
that walk across the desert sand
where others would
if not for fear that they would die.

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I Need You

I need you
because I need you,
not because
I need you,

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Tom MacDonald The Musical Dragon

Let me tell you ’bout Tom, the musical dragon,the muse of angels and the fire of hella rapper who’s not here to sell you xanex,music that doesn’t conflict with the truth.Keep calm, stand tallthe gloves have come off and roof is on fireand we’re all still alive, just barely breathin’.Didn’t know what we needed wasContinue reading “Tom MacDonald The Musical Dragon”

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To smoke

In the hay fieldsthe horse hooves hammer home;he rides on haunted hills,on hell, on a black horse,on my last breath as handswrapped around a throatand the cancer, surelyto come if I continue.

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Found in Notes on phone

Beneath the waves a gyre turns it’s gaze.Awake, at last, that sleeping giant is loosedonce more upon the world. Anarchy is the rulethat sets the center askew; the antichrist is surely near.The shooter, his rifle, is surely at hand;surely there’s some terrorist plan,surely the boogeyman has come to bearthose Freddy claws and leave us turningContinue reading “Found in Notes on phone”

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The Serapeum at Saqqara

Precision and prowess is
clutched within the bowels
of the serapeum’s stone walls,
proud geometric boxes
of suspicious skill.

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The Ponzi and the Poor

I know that I usually post poetry, but as of yet I haven’t quite the words for the topic that I am about to tackle as least not in the form of a poem. Nevertheless, I do feel compelled to write. The year was 1776, the Declaration of Independence was signed, and a symbol ofContinue reading “The Ponzi and the Poor”