I'm between the devil and the deep sea.
From the grabs of stress, I wish to be free.
Flaws, like storms, uproot me from existence.
Moments move like streams with no resistance.
With sloth and pride, my specks of soul are foiled.
I wash my linens. They seem to get soiled.
I thirst for care, concern, and compassion.
Why do jars of hemlock provoke passion?
I cry like a child that's dropped in a pit.
My life has been like garbs that are ill-knit.
Alone I sail on deep seas in cracked boats.
My mind, like an ant on a dried leaf, floats.
marooned mind
my capricious creation
designs psychic lattice
morphs into innate Narcissus
nestled in introvert isolation
where I am me, aberrant recluse
You Know...
AUTHENTICITY
Is Key When:
Performing or
Observing or
Relating or
...
ANY
GENUINE
Love & Re-Spect.
I Wish People
Would
Say Just A
Little More
Sometimes...
To Confirm.
Like I Would
Need That
Excuse
To
KNOW.
-Gray Squirrel
07-01-2025
Psychic storm ruins sanguine soul.
In the ravaged vale flows
the stream of sorrow.
Memory flakes flush
dregs of dream on dry tear trail,
etched on closed eyes, encasing hope.
Veil of midnight, shroud of ache,
A hollow heart begins to wake,
Unfed, unwhole, in shadow curled,
Craving life within this world.
A wraith unseen yet bound to thirst,
The agony—a wicked curse,
Flesh untouched but essence bled,
Hungering for what is shed.
Through trembling dark and frigid moan,
I grasp at souls, yet stand alone,
Each stolen breath a fleeting glow,
Still starving deep in depths below.
Ravishing grimness, wretched plight,
A suffering that breeds delight,
To drink, to drain, to taste the soul,
To feel—then lose—control.
In tortured pangs, my hollow cries,
A thirst that burns, that never dies,
No blood will sate, no flesh repair,
Only whispers in the air.
The void consumes, yet I remain,
Bound by hunger, wracked with pain,
A phantom lost, unseen, yet near,
Feeding off your trembling fear.
And when the night betrays the dawn,
Another voice—another gone,
A feast of echoes, dimly bright,
Devoured whole before the light.
Across space and time
All I can feel is your touch
Psychic connection we have
Never known your love
The memories ease the pain
Blue is my mood, think of you
The voice to skull, a ceaseless chant/
Echoes rise, but I shan't recant/
Technology presses, it tries to control/
Yet my psychic mind remains whole/
They yield body possession, twisting form/
Emotion manipulation, their raging storm/
But through astral wars, where shadows creep/
Unyielding, undefeated, my soul does leap/
Assassins strike, yet I defy/
Surviving wounds beneath the sky/
They call me the Antichrist/
A beast rising strong/
Commanding the world/
In battles endless, they call me/
The Beast that rose from the West/
My psychic mind, a fortress vast/
A war eternal, the dice is cast/
We had a prophet in our trailer court
His sign said “the Amazing, Seer, Mort”
He told fortunes all day long
Some predictions were decidedly strong
A few naysayers tried to chase him away
But the rest of us mobbed up and insisted he stay
I will be a queen in my next reincarnated life
The woebegone neighbor will soon be rid of her strife
The block’s meandering husband will soon come back
Mort the magician’s predictions have nothing to lack
We are all uplifted, when he reads our palm and face.
His prophecies are marvelous, full of lightness and grace.
With eyes that pierce the darkest night/
He weilds the most powerful psychic mind/
A black hole inside his chest/
Devouring any and all energy/
Every past life, a memory combined/
In a single soul, entwined, refined/
The King of Kings, feared by the Devil's lair/
A crown of crowns, in shadows rare/
Most beautiful, yet terrifying to behold/
A tale of power, dark and bold/
In silence he moves, unseen and swift/
His presence alone, the ultimate rift/
Through realms unknown, his spirit roams/
In search of energy, the hunger ravishing/
A Vampire of the mind, a force unseen/
The most fearsome, in the spectral scene/
I became a victim of the/
Government Psychic/
Operations Program/
With radionic and psionic technology/
The voice to skull is torture/
But, they can't break me/
They tell me to confess/
I refuse, I never done that/
They body possess me/
I will not give in/
They squeeze my liver/
They squeeze my organs/
Telling me to confess/
To things I never done/
I refuse to let them/
Silence and suppress me/
They lower my heart beat/
They lower my blood pressure/
They bring me to the brink of death/
I still refuse to give in/
They resort to voice to mouth/
I still refuse to admit/
To things I never done/
They body possess me/
So? I can do the same thing/
The feeling and emotions possession/
Are easy to fight/
The thought to skull/
Is easy to fight/
I thought we were the/
Land of the free.../
The psychic walked into a bar
She said “I don’t like this!”
A superstitious bartender screamed and ran off.
He left his wallet.
“You don’t like what?” her camera man asked.
The TV audience was wondering too.
I was holding my breath, awaiting her answer.
“I don’t like that mirror behind the bar,” she told him.
“It makes me look fat.”
Looking around with my mind/
With remote viewing/
I see a lady/
She turn on/
Her computer screen/
She beams and smiles/
At the red barn/
On her computer screen/
I smile with her/
Because, I understand life/
Imagine if you would,
a comedic TV show.
Funny most evenings
and has a nice flow.
The guy who works
for Police homicide
the one who dose
the chalk outline.
A psychic friend of mine,
who's always on time,
He's a real psychic
He actually tells people
when not to show up for work,
or when they should
or shouldn't drive.
He's trying to save lives.
Working alone and
telling people over the phone,
when they should stay home.
He's been reported
to the police.
And chewed out
by the police chief.
He tells people to double lock
their doors so
they don't get robbed.
He knocks on your door
and says if you don't mind,
I don't want you
to become a chalk outline.
tomorrow don't answer
your door after 4:00
And ya know kids
like being told,
to be cool and
stay home from school...
Because their boyfriend
or girlfriend Ain't quite right.
Like a song that's sung,
they like to showoff
playing with a Gun.
The parents can't complain,
until then neighbors kid got shot.
They thought he was insane.
The disordered sands of entropy,
churned by the wheel of chaotic time,
settle on the stratified shelf of the disorganized life.
In moments moving with perturbed dispersed dust,
the truth of trust oscillates in tumult
on the ruffling ripples of mayhem.
In the bewildered efflux of errant disarray,
everything rumpled changes in nonplussed instants,
except for the notion of change.
The mystifying alchemy of metamorphosis
reveals the real façade fragile
of the perplexing psychic transformation.
In the baffling squall of divesting dismay,
my mind disheveled in befuddled moments
into a dishabille state of confusion,
splinters the leitmotif of the embedded emotions.
The confounded cascade of consternation
carries them away to the abyss of oblivion.
Yet, when my castle of sand on the shore of yearning
tumbles down in a clutter of dispersed debris,
in its disorientation I discover discombobulated
the emotive flute of dormant feelings,
play the tune of unfazed ecstasy,
making the lucid music of mystique memory.
Related Poems