Author: nomisyar

I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus.

New Vision

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The clarity of youth
blinded us from the mud that drowns us.
Naive
Confident
Strong –
fodder for the mud dealers.

 

For a moment
suppose
that They don’t care about you.

 

Just briefly,
consider that They are using you.

 

Imagine that coincidence and justice
are one of many tools to drug you into obedience.

 

Maybe you are not as free as you think you are.
Maybe we have been slaves since the beginning.

 

 

ALL OF US.

 

 

Consider this,
and ask yourself:

What should I do?

What would a Free Being do?

 

And,
I ask you,
How can it hurt, to question your freedom?

What is more precious
than life?

 

Its time to wake the fuck up.

 

Revival

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New beginnings usher in
the return
of brand new doubt.

discarded lance
finds itself once again
in trembling hand.

Battle has come.
but this soul warrior
is not prepared.

I do not seek the struggle
nor am I so craven for peace,
that the shadow of lie
and fear cloak my shoulders.

Only oblivion
will set me free.

A Star
shining hot
and
burning bright
in the expanse

still shines alone.

No title

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Steps of life
Take us into the dark.
Further
and
Deeper
into truth.
If lucky,
our
truth.

Toes stub in the night,
and falls threaten.
Because.
The way is wrought….
wrought with pain,
and with beauty.

But we only sense the confusion
and fear
unless we walk with Love.
Unless we walk
Together.

Brother,
Forsake me not.
Mother,
Hold me a little longer.
Lover,
Forgive me.
Child,
See me.

We are all,
together
as we stand alone.

Ether Ryder

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I cull the collective
for wisdom that
came long before me,
and shall be invented again
long after I leave you.
to be dusted off by others
Braver
Freer
and Stronger than I could be.

But for now,
the reins are Mine.
follow if you dare.

Relics

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Talismans of an ancient man:
against the snow
against the sun
against capricious
Universe.

But,

Universe is my
Woman.
My Goddess.
My Queen.
and she so fine.

She is my sweetheart.
and She burns.

She burns.

I seek talismans
to bring her closer.
to feel her wrath.
to bring her inside
of me
to summon
Union.

She nurtures
wisdom
in me
and
I see
that I am
the new
Talis-Man,
never to relic away.

I am the Fire.
We are the Flame.

Come my friends
come,
my little devils,
and burn with me.

Je ne suis pas Charlie, mais je suis Charlie

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We write because we know
that the written word
has more staying power
than the orator’s rhetoric.

We write because we know
in a slight turn of phrase
and sexed up wordplay,
We will steal our reader’s own palette
and with it, paint indelibly onto the soul’s canvass.

It’s why singers sing
And painters paint,
Why builders build
And rockers rock.

It is why lovers love.

So, although I don’t agree with the Gauls’ politics,
I defend,
not their right to free speech under the rule of law,
But their right,
and the right of every individual, to express ourselves freely.
Because we are all of us
Beautiful
Valued
Loved
and Loving
Humans.

And, to quote a very intelligent and insightful friend of mine:

“…fuck anyone who’s offended by a cartoon.”

Return

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Far too long I shunned
her shimmering silver luminosity
-her softness contaminated me,
and made me weak.
So I struck East, desirous of Its golden power and promise.
Plagued by illusions of strength and vigor
I plodded manfully through Summer.

Manfully,
and Empty.

Hungry,
I turned back to my pale and fickle maiden
Luckily I found her,
In fullest bloom
-not hiding
As so often she will.

Moon

And I followed,
I pleaded,
I offered everything I had
and she said nothing.
Yet, in that silence,
she offered me everything.
She offered me a return
to where I belonged:

dawn

Eastern Warrior, rise up once again,
rise up.

Focus, and Locus

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Today
I learned that I have forgotten
My center.

My purpose -mired in doubt,
and
My modus, twisted by fear.

The path is lost to me.

I must find another.

So,
Let the world burn-
as Cain and Christ sup
upon the souls of the angry
and weak.

and in the ashes,
me,
and my newfound
broom
shall etch out
a new beginning.

Do Angels Fart? (a critic’s retort)

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I stood and looked
at the Alchemist’s work.
She was paramount,
And surmount
amongst all
others.
But I could not help
to think,
that,
much like the Emperor,
Her words were naked:
profane, simple,
hackneyed,
And ugly.

A sometimes crafter of jeweled verse
that flowed like melodies upon golden lyre,
had lied.

She had crafted a Fart
And wreathed it in flowers golden.

Hmph,
more deserving
of a golden shower.