Archive for alchemy

24/30 Arose

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Que Interesante with tags , , , , , , , , , on 05/02/2015 by spikedaeley

When courage summoning feels like bled dry
and even evening’s cool kiss stings parasitic

when the static ominous of countdown
heartbeats lingers behind closed eyes

when hope is a dead language spoken
only by library ghosts and scratched vinyl

I multiply the space between broken teeth
by my empty, dive into my own natural disasters

and tape my glasses back together. No matter
how many times they swallow me whole I will

still know my own reflection in darkness. Still
smile through the gaps. Arose by any other name

is still ascended. Already lifted myself out of THEIR
nightmare. It’s ME they should be worried about.



17/30 Come Here. (For my La Cachette)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Que Interesante with tags , , , , , , , , , , on 04/22/2015 by spikedaeley

I love you from your stretch marks
to your tears. From the sunlight curls
left on pillow to your ocean irises.
From the clogged shower drain

to your home from work sighs.
Sometimes, when you enter a room,
I can feel the air shift to make space
for your heartsleeve. Especially

when you are Moody Blues and hate my
calling you that, I am all crows feet and
lip stretch. Smile too wide to hide it.
I know you can see the green tea stains

my teeth wear like merit badges. I am
full of the best kind of don’t care. The
kind that says, “Come here, insecure
and confident. Here, fit throwing and

don’t want to talk about it. Here, hesitant
midnight hand requesting permission
to board my jackhammer chest, pounding
tympani roll slowly subsiding as your palm

cups frustration like a 5 year old catching
a firefly. Clumsy, trying desperately not
to crush a living nightlight. Put it in a jar,
with poked hole lid and fresh mown grass,

let it climb sticks and fall down. Let it go
before it dies so it can fly one last time. When
I say, “I can never stay mad at you” I mean,
“Come here. Let your hand be a place warmer

for your head, let my arms wrap around you
like a book cover. Read your pages to me until
we are aged and yellow torn, more dust than spine,
tossed into the ‘Free Box’ of yesterday’s library.”


13/30 Terminal Velocity (Lots of verses this year, can’t complain)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on 04/19/2015 by spikedaeley

Terminal velocity be the policy

Uncle ‘Cid and Molly, no apologies

If you follow me, you’re bound to get incepted.

Riddle with the Sphinx, wild out, leave him headless.

“See you at the crossroads”

where the lost souls go to talk shit and politic

holes full of holes and their bottomless.

Gas bottle rag match solace kit,

one day less till apocalypse,

better hope your god doesn’t not exist

Can the dark and light mix?

Can our avatars put this sabotage behind us?

Can we kill the violence with some science and some kindness ?

Can you spare some canned goods with cash in a vice grip?

I don’t really think so.

I don’t think these people really seeing other people.

50 years ago they wanted segregated gene pools

some still do, unbelievable

“I don’t think it means what you think…” inconceivable

as Mankind’s planetary raping spree. Now we full tilt

cup overflowing still, built to spill, wool quilt

over windows to the soul and it’s

such a great joke to the folks that’s controlling shit

I wish they wood like Groot, 5D time loop, split infinity

post traumatic symphony of imagery

trade the ecstasy for the agony and misery

I’m sure your social media is far more interesting.


12/12 Apprentice (12 bars for number 12)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , on 04/15/2015 by spikedaeley


Apprentice bent his spoon out the depths of his cocoon
Set his awestruck expression on a stolen breath moon
Read the message in the view, stood bemused for a few then
Wept like it swept up his brilliant red balloon
He said I hope you never scope the vertigo I know
Wide-eyed stare from highs faux unreachable
You think you hit the pinnacle, you think you’re so ill
You’re just a 15 minute man-made mountain molehill
I can see you know it well spelled in crumbling of citadel
The penny toss that lost itself before it hit the wishing well
The minstrel selling blood and tissue calling it her calling
The eerie calm they felt just seconds before the missiles fell

11/30 Magnificent Flaws (Really like this one. Not sure about the ending though)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 04/12/2015 by spikedaeley


Starlight naked, ready to hang glide my spirit
over canyons of panther’s teeth howling freefall.
Refusing to be swallowed in the unmarked grave
of a corporate smile, it’s time to bet life
on risk versus uncertainty.

Time to dive face first into my sixth sense anatomy.
To manuscript an alive language of “Succeed”
build rapture from mistakes, delight in awkward
and always save room for ice cream.

If “heal” is a wounded word and “present” means
deepbreathingsayyes I want to releasebreathe
until my heart expands into an ocean of here/now
kick myself off pedestals and sever earthly ties.

Grow upside down roots from my fingers into multi-verse possibles
Make dark matter love and fill the deep space with play in slow motion
I can do all of these things plus cartwheels with the right secret handshake

I’ve lost my keys on purpose
And am climbing in windows

Foregoing views from the afterglow with snifters of wince.
No longer wandering lost in a Mockery’s discarded library
So over withering to a vaporous scream.
Baptized in the sins of the father,
I’ve escaped scathed and scathed again.

My full moon armor is sometimes more chink
than impervious yet thusly cloaked
I’m the most confident stockholder
in my range of poor investments.

I am the consummate
Not Exactly What You’d Expected
The Breaker of Down in Inopportune Times
The accomplished Sleeper of Late
Expert Awkward Smile Deliverer
Midnight Eater of the Calorie Laden Smackerel

The Emperor of Accidental Offenses
The Unintentional Intimacy Killer
Armed with these magnificent flaws
I can only laugh

and laugh


and laugh.


Strike Gold (1/30: Unfinished and needs to be fleshed out a bit)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , on 04/03/2014 by spikedaeley








Mistakes were made.

Fool’s goldrushed in
for some “seek your fortune” prospecting
but planted myself at the wrong river
and panned only shiny disappointment.

Anxiety rose and tension erupted
where veins of love had been discovered.

Camp grew dangerously crowded.
It seemed like our hands were
only coming up empty.

Strengthened our resolve and endured.
Knew that we had struck gold,
just had to dig deeper. So we did.

I set up my tent in the land of artificial starlight.
Spent workdays repeating myself at rich people’s children
for a Victoria Beckham doppelganger who turned kids
into dollar signs.

Heard exactly what my voice sounds like echoing off deaf ears.

Befriended colleagues.
Somehow learned to teach
in a school without chairs.

Spent weekends digging deeper with you.
Found paydirt in the sparkle of mid-week date nights
and your first cherry blossom picnic.

In cooking clam pasta and shabu shabu in a too small kitchen
and nerding out at art museums.

In 107 days we will have mastered alchemy
and this river will change its course.

We will dive in headfirst.
Our mine will be a deep city of underground sunlight
and we will be laughing all the way to the bank.

Alchemy (work in progress)

Posted in Hip hop, Poetry with tags , , , , on 05/22/2012 by spikedaeley

Swap a paycheck for a temporary buzz

Planetary beings turn to cemetery dust

Hennesy and skunk, all Ben & Jerry krunk

Ice cream rule everything around me cuz

Tryin to carpe this diem till it screams, “Enough!”

Exchange brain cells for age and youth for hypocrisy

Relationships for the bright eyes of a nice man

Love for penetration, wages on the nightstand

Bullets made from butterfly wings

Audioslaves from the remains of raged against machines

Cocaine for the rave drugs, ex , syrup and xannies

For the high, generations trade their lives gladly

One night with a stranger and a random body cavity

Two years, cost of the hospital bills staggering

A habit for a malady, cash stacks for casualties

Blood pacts for the last laugh and well practiced apathy

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