Normal. The idea
pushes you forward,
stains your tongue
red. Normal proceeds to
get stuck in hyperspeed
and see its way
Human beings are a race of poets — some of us develop this trait fully while others of us are content to walk through life without a thought to the world that surrounds us. We have the capacity to see nature and the world around us as something more than meets the eye. Some see this human trait as biological, simply a series of synapses firing or connecting when we view a scene in nature or think abstractly, but some see it as a spiritual endeavor outside of biology that we develop in order to transcend everyday existence. Either way, it is a quality unique to humans.
Matsuo Kinsaku, or Basho, as he is more commonly known, born 1644 in Japan, considered to be the master of Haiku poetry, would today perhaps take a liking to the camera, especially the iphone and smaller mirrorless cameras. They could easily have been transported in his backpack on a trip into the north country of Japan — but would it have changed his poetry?
You may know him as Mr. Mojo Risin, the psychedelic rock god of The Doors or you may know him as just a disturbing and strange artist who joined the famed 27 Club with his death on July 3, 1971. Both accounts would be true. Love him or hate him, James Douglas Morrison created a counter culture movement of rage that filled the 60s in stark opposition to the positive message of love from contemporaries John Lennon. Instead, Morrison tapped into the collective conscious of a generation enraged and disturbed by its wars and conspiracies and failures. Its betrayals.
When it comes to writing, words usually come pretty easy. As true as this statement may be everyone gets hit with cinder blocks that may prevent them from creating a masterpiece.
how does one describe
the way the wind
across a sand dune.
imaginative and free,
by the name of Nkechi,
When your eyes look into mine, I don't know how to feel
It's the way that you make me smile that causes my heart to race
How would it feel to float
In a golden sea of infinite light
While recognizing that this ocean of love
Is inseparable from the nature of your existence?
Readers discretion please be advised - This poem's nature and language might cause upset or trigger.
It was me
You hurt the most