Marta Wiley PoetryThey Call Me The Little Wolf White Magic Man, dusty like heaven's rapist. They cling to the divine like some kind of well seasoned therapist. Clinging, clinging, clinking, stumbling until they finally say- Yes, I have lost my mind. Drinking, and stinking of hell-bent rules and the fools running laughing down clown lane. It's too late. But Wait! They sip on lattes as hell freezes over and the average clinical lunatic, like a fumbling fool. Stumbling over divinity's rules. Divinity has rules? Oh, he said. What are they? Just to get a climpse of that magic dust, and dusting the link to the spirit. Amazing. The spirit doesn't go insane. But did you know the lunatics squabble for scraps and the in-laws scream for justice. For common wealth among the dregs of Nepotism and everyone screaming Mine, Mine, Mine! They drink the poison Wine of Rivalry. Injustice comes to those innocent and everything they have is now up for the fucking taking. The Rapist Therapist, quivers on the edge of a knife. They are helpless too. And they thought the Artist was up for grabs until she ripped their hands and arms off- Bleeding.. "Don't touch" she said with a smile. Rapacious and Divine, they glean a shiny thing. What is that? In the night, incriminating the wrong persons. So many innocent people in prison. And she say's to herself. Ah, we all have a choice to make. You know that wolf-y thing. The one you feed is the one that grows and I think perhaps I am a little wolf. Yea, Ok. Made me out to be the bad guy today. Ok. I'll play the Notorious Infamous, it will be fun! See what you think is what you become and Ghandi warned us all. And still we can't help ourselves. We have to eat the flesh of whores and the cannibals victims look up at us roasted on pikes. Divinity has a way of making us all half right. Until we all fall away. I imagine we all stink in the face of god... He's like hey, the smell is heinous. He, She and Me. Wow! Fierce little thing. She want's him. And the fierce-iest thing of all is that it's a Free For All. Divine Spark and All. Clinging to the "What's It All For." After they gorge themselves on flesh of cows, hungry ghosts. Isn't that what buddha said? Don't feed on the flesh of the dead. Isn't that what buddha said? Don't feed on the flesh of the dead. The things she say's God. Why doesn't she have a husband? Maybe she ate him. The cowards cling to critics and slimy things. Dregs of nightmares and they can't believe it. Just wait till it happens to you, she said. Moon faced and withered, hag. They all want you to pay, like yesterday. The smell of the house, get out! Get out! He trusted you, you trusted him, she trusted no one. Yea. No one. Not the nifty fifty, not the worried worker, not the conspiracy coming Not the night, not the day. They'll stab you in the back and say "You manifested it!" No one takes responsibility for the madness. The sadness. The dirty romance. Sadistic, Narcissistic, The Machiavellian man. She's like. No. No More. If you want me you'll have to be nice. Deception, the manipulation will not suffice. Breathing down the dragons neck. Bills to pay, bills to pay. Until the dragon drips it's blood divine and the fantasy turns the color of envy. And the dragon brings heaven's secret down envi-romental It's not what you think. "It's more like Hydrogen than envy" she said. He's playing your game. He wants you too, like a God wants a Demi-God. Like a Billionaire wants an enlightened homeless person. Like the world wants the universe. Drippy, drippy dry- you just get fried. Zion's music a dusty road, and the foe's mounting. Fighting for a loaf of white bread, stealing the dead from the morgues. Feeding of the flesh of the dead, like zombies trying, dying, dusty, dead. I noticed the light, the fright of death. The fear of the manifest. They all die. One by one, mediocre madness. I wanted to count! I wanted to be special! I figured it out! Puzzled man. Made them addicted until they can only see you. Like a Narc. Addicted to you. Till they give you their money. Misogynist crying, laughing all the way to the bank. Until they have lost their will to live. But she doesn't give you that power and your driven mad again. She get's revenge. Fuck, I didn't know. She will get revenge on you. Blocking to control, blocking to show you, how small an insignificant you are, A star. You cannot block the divine or the one who drinks from the vine. It's not what you get, but what you get rid of. Like rocks on a balloon, lifting, lifting until you rise. Throwing away the things that hold you down. Damn. Like I said before. The one you feed is the one that grows. We are all hungry for the light, one leads to day the other to night. We are all hungry for the light, hoarders and zombies all. Until they weaken your resolve. "It's more like hydrogen" she said. Because the envious always end up dead. "It's more like Hydrogen" she said. Divinely connected and qualities he likes. The jealous always ending up on spikes. "It's more like the ocean" she said to a wall of thieves. Connected and addicted to one force. The one thing you cannot divorce. The one thing that money cannot buy. That is the one thing that feeds your light.
A DANGEROUS POEM A Dangerous Poem by Marta G. Wiley 2014’ The body submits to death like a flower that cry’s after it has been plucked. Savages confront the savior of love that reflects on the sad dream. My heart does not break it seems. I know they long for midnight stares and in the end who cares. The dread long tired seem of life's ebb and flow, Like reeds on a basin river to and fro' to and fro' Like him I drive the hammer deep drumming, drumming on the nile. The water flows on weary woes and I cannot help but be inspired. In that one strike a weapon does draw, a noisy dagger does speak. A light that cannot be smote, a sound still that shines shrill. I know that dreary light that sparks its way up that lady ladder. The moist and spirit deep light that darkness cannot shatter. My heart is like a spine of a cat, it speeds and slows according to the dangers. My predator ears perk, like a spider senses vibration. I am no longer the human that goes carelessly into the field. I await that spanish spoken word that dips slimly into the water. I anticipate without movement and I am awakened by it. I think perhaps I am wild. So many try to tame and make me lame and in the end just give up. What a game, what a game, domesticated fame. That passion that fly’s of the handle, when shit hits the fan. When mouths speak with slander, what reality shapes into dream. When the fake false minded fool speaks only of himself. The waxy light shines forth silent like a metallic shield, While the shedding of the snakes skin sounds loudly in the field. ~Marta Gottfried Wiley Poems by Marta Wiley THE CRIMSON’ The Crimson A Collection Of Poems by Marta Wiley/ 2014' I know from which you came that dreary, dreary name. That fame killed starlet that drove all men insane. That fairy call, that siren stall, the male disposition. But I am of another friend and foes are made of my decision. The place does not call the other "that place of blame". We know there is no other, we shutter'. So why do we bother to point these fingers These mangled and tangled fingers? WE think it is so we do not feel alone, so we can grind the blade of blame to the bone. And then as to say you did this to me, instead of taking responsibility. It happens to us all and I have seen it's tallons, it breaks the flesh of reason and we soar above our prey. We are the inhumane. These crimson tides are not to be spoken lightly, the dreamer dreads the truth. That we ourselves are calling god a liar, god a liar. We want to be special and by all means, we want that attention that bleeds at the seems. We want recognition that much we all share but we forget to find ourselves already there. That source of unhappy lot, that bite that does not heal, We wield our will so well that we forget to feel. I know, I know you say this is not me. These things you speak are not what I see. But in these hollow eyes, these pickled lips, these tongue tied words are a slip of the whip. They harness a feeling we all to often know. That place where we bind and blame our foes. And this by far is the placiest-place of shame, to think you are blaming the blame. To know you are the enemy and this by far is the strangest frienenmy. You my merry, merry girl, you are the one who has to unfurl. No one can hurt you if you do not let them so, why the hell wouldn't you go. Why the hell wouldn't you go? So what are you saying to me? That I am creating this all? That I am to blame for the stalliest-stall? That there is no enemy unless they are in us all? That friendliest-friend isn't an enemy at all? What we are saying my girly, girl-friend is that there is no deadly foe in the end, than that which we owe. That we owe this other is really ours to own, and that is why we caution hatred at all' That hatred that penetrates that crimson crawl, that wall of flesh we call. That river of vein that feeds our foes is the bloodiest-blood that we need for ourselves. You don't understand and this is your lot. Never a stupidist-stupid there stood and fought. Poems by Marta Wiley What we are saying my furly-furl is that you are the friend of an enemy girl. THE CRIMSON’ FULL DESCRIPTION: The Crimson A Collection Of Poems by Marta Wiley/ 2014' I know from which you came that dreary, dreary name. That fame killed starlet that drove all men insane. That fairy call, that siren stall, the male disposition. But I am of another friend and foes are made of my decision. The place does not call the other "that place of blame". We know there is no other, we shutter'. So why do we bother to point these fingers These mangled and tangled fingers? WE think it is so we do not feel alone, so we can grind the blade of blame to the bone. And then as to say you did this to me, instead of taking responsibility. It happens to us all and I have seen it's tallons, it breaks the flesh of reason and we soar above our prey. We are the inhumane. These crimson tides are not to be spoken lightly, the dreamer dreads the truth. That we ourselves are calling god a liar, god a liar. We want to be special and by all means, we want that attention that bleeds at the seems. We want recognition that much we all share but we forget to find ourselves already there. That source of unhappy lot, that bite that does not heal, We wield our will so well that we forget to feel. I know, I know you say this is not me. These things you speak are not what I see. But in these hollow eyes, these pickled lips, these tongue tied words are a slip of the whip. They harness a feeling we all to often know. That place where we bind and blame our foes. And this by far is the placiest-place of shame, to think you are blaming the blame. To know you are the enemy and this by far is the strangest frienenmy. You my merry, merry girl, you are the one who has to unfurl. No one can hurt you if you do not let them so, why the hell wouldn't you go. Why the hell wouldn't you go? So what are you saying to me? That I am creating this all? That I am to blame for the stalliest-stall? That there is no enemy unless they are in us all? That friendliest-friend isn't an enemy at all? What we are saying my girly, girl-friend is that there is no deadly foe in the end, than that which we owe. That we owe this other is really ours to own, and that is why we caution hatred at all' That hatred that penetrates that crimson crawl, that wall of flesh we call. That river of vein that feeds our foes is the bloodiest-blood that we need for ourselves. You don't understand and this is your lot. Never a stupidist-stupid there stood and fought. What we are saying my furly-furl is that you are the friend of an enemy girl. GHOST GIRL FULL DESCRIPTION: Ghost Girl- Poem by Marta G. Wiley 2014 The proud face of nothing. Turning tides so that we cannot for see the bottom. What prevades the truth? How can you phycoanalyze a ghost? They twitter and thumble through the ship's galley and find there is no feeling called fright' actually there is no fight, to steal a night and the coming of ones fateful sight' No one is right' I think they punish you for being you, unless you can twist the temper to null. That skull that has no temper at all.. No temper at all. No temperature is cool, as the sun goes burning through the wild night of the universe. No one throws the sun a curse. They weep for you thinking you are lost, and in the end they are the ones who cost you everything. It's best to let them weep and slip away from their host of lies the theive’s who steal your brilliant disquise. Can we dress up in our identity? Can we call apon the ordinary to save us? Steal what you must but in the end, you cannot steal a ghostly friend. We are the holy host of life. Like photographs we etch our life's end As we pretend, as we pretend. What is a ghost girl you say? Everywhere and nowhere as I pray. Everywhere and nowhere as I say, Everywhere and nowhere. THE LAW OF TIME FULL DESCRIPTION: Poem by Marta G. Wiley: The Law Of Time-2014' The deep and dark corruption that tiles the soul with fractured dreams. The sense of senselessness in this American Dream. I am Mexican, it seems. It don't trade my family for money, or my happiness for crime. I don't value love over your dime. I make things from love and from love I dine, a dinner so rare you would think I was in that nimble shire. You say I admire, You. But you don't hear the slander and that riddle; fuck you, You whore. You don't hear those words with such spittle, that your hatred will soar. I get called crazy, insane, stupid and vain. I get called dangerous and evil for fame of a name. I get called names all the time it doesn't stop. I think I have been the brunt of everyone's plot. But I continue to paint, to write, to sing; On occasion I've been called retarded, in my head it rings. They say be careful who your influences are. Even your parents parent can make such a scar. They want me to hate and I can forswear A hatred so rare as to make your soul fear. I can also love so much that you'll disappear. What name will you call me today? What crazy insane name will you name me for expressing my self? Is expression of self so insulting to you? What mental fame will do to your game. What name will you throw my way? Will you call me a bitch or a phycho today? I've had my share of betrayal too. Friends who share your demise behind your back. Stabbing, stabbing as the your enemies thought, You did not know? That is insulting enough, my foe. To think they thought you weren't paying attention. Twas the reason they were dying, so diligently trying, but I was just buying time. So that one day I would have acres and I would be on the other side. Singing conspiracy doesn't become you. And shocked they all disperse, thinking how cunning she is to dodge my curse' I get called names you see it's a treacherous game. All the energy can crystalize in a name. They try to imprison you in a slander or two. What will you do? I live my life in the spotlight I do. And there they will rip you a new one too. I have nothing to hide, you little prick' All you naysayers can suck my dick. Your insulted by everything I do. And by that you insult my intelligence too. What to do? I can only surmise that you say these things to suppress me to repress and oppress and in general possess me. You don't want me to sing or to write or to paint. Is it then that you want me dead? Or have I spoken to soon what should not be said. If you do want me dead to soon will it come. So I will rise to my enemies head. And chop off the balls of those who slander my name. One by one come to them with my fame. For you protect your name so well, That one day your own name protects you from hell. You want me to die from doing things so well. But I can be as cold as a witches tit' and I can survive your shit. You want me to stop being creative? Because it makes you question your priorities? Because I build my treasures in heaven, While you scurry to bury your bone. I am a heavenly thing come to torment man's soul Because I know God has my back Yo' And could it be you scour at me Because you see my divinity? And then decide you are scarred of me? You want to burn me at the stake? You want me to fear your inquisition? I will set a thousand angels against you. Yes you. The you that takes Art out of schools. The you that makes fun of the music we do. The you that ridicules this poem too. I will come for you, rest assured. I have many ally's too. We live in a time where a witch can shine? A white witch that sips on that vine? Be careful who you slander my dear friend of mine. For the only law left is the law of Time. TABOO IS THE ENEMY OF HISTORY AND TRUTH TABOO IS THE ENEMY OF HISTORY AND TRUTH Poem by Marta G. Wiley © 2014' My time is half light. We all pay for everything we do. Every second of the day has a price to pay. I pay it forward, My Name and in the end it's all the same. I pay with those who are my foes. Those who charge me rent to live. Those who feel so entitled as to say. What the hell did you do today? Everyone's price is different. So I weigh my own soul against the sails of time and think to myself. Fuck off- all of you. If dancing and painting and writing and singing and playing and swaying makes an enemy, then think what they will do to me when I don't stop. Not stoping the Joy is like punching god in the face. Anyways, god is a sadist. If I have free will I will make My Own Name. Even if I die just the same. They laugh and ridicule and I'm like really? I really don't think you want to bully me. Really? The last time someone bullied me was on the play ground when I was six. A little boy pulled my hair and I like a wild banshee climbed on his back pulled him to the ground and kicked his face in. The teachers couldn't get me off of him. Yea. I went to an all black school for years. Got kicked around till I lost my fears. When we got to the prinicple's office he shut the door and congratulated me. "That bully" he said. "No ones been able to beat him, till now. Thank you, you can leave, I can allow.” We all know what's right Yo. Violent? Sure. Today's standard for Sexy Allure. They attack my mind and I sometimes grieve for years. I grieve because I know one day I will snap like a whip. They won't see me coming, like a ghost or like a deathly hollow. I make them pay. I don't believe in Karma or the afterlife. Why wait till your next life, if you can get revenge today. But my revenge is swift. It's like the angels have my back, they whisper the right time, when they think they have the upper hand. When they think they maimed the Artist black and blue. The Artist, has a daggers too. Ah, how powerful it is to be underestimated. Is that taboo? Oh, the fuck well. You don't have to send me anywhere I already live in hell. And because I am conscious I can say this now. My wrath is deeper than any revenge, in the end I always win. But you can always count on their arrogance. That is how you know your dealing with a half wit. Now if the half wit's come in numbers, hoards. The mob speaks. Fortunately, the mob of the world who supports Art, Music, Creative Writing, Acting, Movies... They are bigger than the Mob of your fucked up family. Bigger than the Mob of your Local family. The Mobster Planet loves Expression. So who are you fighting when you try to stop an Artist? Are you so miserable with yourself that you want to rip to shreds the sensitive one? Show an ounce of weakness and they smell the fear, then death comes near. I know death so well I danced the tip of heaven's tounge in hell. I danced with devil in the pale moon light too. I danced all night and I liked it. Taboo is the enemy of history and truth. I sing about Taboo's sure. They all go shrieking in fear, singing your screwed! Doomed, doomed they scream! And I'm sitting high sipping on my dreams. No, when you think about the power of self expression you know. Your in the seat of the creator. God is nice and all, but he get's borred. That's why God's got my back, YO. He be like, girl you GO! Let all them bitches KNOW! Your just scratching the surface of your fame. Goddess is in your name. #Occupy Marta Wiley Call it Narrcisisit, call it Ego, call it delusional, call it crazy, call it Mad. I'm coming for you, it's so sad. How I can load the dice against you. You want to bully me? Believe me I take names and track slander. Oceans of will power is my scandal. I am the craziest mother fucker round. That' the point. That's what I've been trying to tell you... ALL. LOL. Call me Leviathon. I get a kick out of the mutiny. your inquisition, is joke. My martyr complex died long time ago. Einstein's family tried to stop him did you know? Thank god the idots were too slow. MAIMERS The flight of ravens singing Flee! Flee! Flee! A dark sight seen only by me, The furious fast and kind memory, flashes and dances. There is no psychology for me, I am whispering in the thin air Like fire crackers dangling from broken dreams. The ice that settles on all their schemes. Liars! Liars! Liars! and thieves, I think perhaps I am the cinyc now. But can it be I am twisted so dark and knarly? their pissed that I am pissing on them. The natural disposision, they want me to throw a temper tantrum. They wait, and I don't give them what they want. Sadomasocistic me, ever watching, ever mindful. Don't hurt me. You can't hurt me. I WON'T LET YOU. Sure you can try to tame me and for a while you can try. I can't believe you tried to MAIM me, it takes everything in me not to pay back. Believe me I could, just as you would. So let me just turn the other cheeck. Let me forget you ever lived. Let me take the high road. I can you know, and I hope the memory of me burns your third eye. I hope the memory of me makes you scream in agony for an eternity. You hurt me? That is your price to pay, to loose someone like me. Beleive me I know who I am. I don't need to speak it, and write maybe in a line or two. That's all you get, bitch. Tha't all you get. Now to heal, now to heal. Now to rest and never regret. Now to see, what you did to me. Now to see. Now to listen. Now to admit. They wanted to hurt. They wanted to maim. The wanted to tear at the flesh, they wanted me to bleed. Now to know, now to to say NO. No, you cannot get in. No, you cannot win. No, you cannot sin against me. I WON'T LET YOU. Your dishonor will stain you. Your sins against me will slay you. THE SHOCKIEST, SHOCK OF ALL The wisest still cannot see I am the one that bides by the sea and formless shelter that dies on it's vine why I open the mouths of psychiatrist's- "Marta" they say "feed me". "All the answers are inside" I say-a belatrix of belated heat. I know the Wiley ways, and well I have to say I know it very well. My mighty pen is not as valid as my tongue, the whip of a hip can leave a man wounded for life. I am lethal- yes. But I behave, I can. Like a kitten I can lap up the dam. That waterfall of ancient theives that beckons "what the hell is going on"? I don't know. But we do. We all know and that is the shockiest, shock of all. I don't behave. Never have, I don't mean to say I never will. I'm not a pill, I won't spoil the show. But if you want to reduce me, well- you know. I call the shots as I see them. If you are true then I will be too. If your in hell I can dig down deep and pull you out. I'm good like that. But if you try to reduce me- I tell you now. You'll be sittin' with the rest saying how did she outsmart us all? I mean it's a not a trick of the trade or a twist of the hip. It's not revenge or strange attraction. I'ts just I have that certain something. Everyone knows I have it- my psychologist has been driven mad. It's a depth of light, a seeping sight, a death of a woe, a heated light. A word of anger towards the spine of a whale. It's a dose of gnosis' and all children look to the light. That spiritual fright- I've been in and out of the dark night. That deep knowing- it's more than regret. It's a back stabber in the night that say's "oh shit, why did I do that?" I turn all murderers into believer's. I'm good like that. I'm moral in ways that will make your head spin. Even the gods are in love with my sins. I teach him the ways, those Wiley ways. Those day's when you realize- "oh shit, I did not know she was like that." See there is always something we don't know. Delusional so and so... But in the end- it's a stick in the mud. A secret stash- that's how the neighbor's look at us. I've been passed by before. Then I look back and I have a mass of followers. The individual can't take the heat or can she? I'm like whatever. Three things always come out. One- the truth. Two- the honey. Three- the stupidity. And that's the shockiest- shock of all. The boom that we all face and say "Damn why didn't I know that?" The young kids they know. They move their hands up and blow a puffy bomb over their head. EPIPHANY! True epiphany is not cheap. It waits in the corner like a mad lover. It doesn't turn it's back on the true of heart. There is a spark and that's what I'm trying to talk about. And that's why my love- they all fall. And that is the shockiest- shock of all. HE DANCE ON THE DEVILS TONGUE/ POETRY/ MARTA WILEY The dance on the devils tongue it's the slip of a word, haven't you heard? I know the slayer and the slayed and I know how to get laid, but it's a ravaging world out there... I know how to keep the golden girl safe. The seed that dips inside the tree of light that serpent's delight, That bad deed that digs and digs until the soil spoils and the night toils and everything is black. Pitch like a bitch that doesn't give up the goods. You fool.... It's like, I don't do it for you. I do it for me because it helps turn the soil. I don't need your fame, or your game. I don't need to be your saturated attraction on a glimering gladiators show, that T.V. glow. That glossy "Uhh, I don't know." Fuck that. I'll travel in and out of Pluto and then come back and do it again. Space Cadet Girl, got the world. She don't care about the "Oh Beware." It's like who the fuck are you? I do dare. I do. Don't sing, don't write, don't delight. What would they say. Yo she CRAZEAH! I say, you don't even know how crazy I can get. It's like I see the light, I see the path. I can visualize that edge and stay and stay and shred the gnar. Going, going gone. Oops I jacked it up again. Then they say "Oh, it's so courageous." Because they follow in fear, like little sheep jumping over the fence into the slaughter house of "I can't, I don't dare". Beware, beware" they say. But I dare. I do dare. What will they think? What will they do? They might eat you or beat you or maybe you'll sink. Sharks in the water Eh? Livid Life Liquidating Everything. Heed the warning. I do, I'm not an idiot. But I do drive the mind like the stallions that rage. Whipping their asses like- get me there! Shallow and deep, I live on Seahorse Steet. I can go all the way to Pluto and back, I said. and I mean I'm still not dead. Still not. Still. So which one is it. Black or white, good or bad and I say both. We cannot know light without dark. That dark night of the soul that becon's all light to be shattered. The shards of a soul I have been. And in that glittering darkness of "Beware" I stare at that holy host and I know that soulstar is there. When the dust and dirt of the battle has settled. Yea, I'm not afraid to get dirty. I've got the scars of battle. And in the glimmering hope of "Nope" I take the light and bring it back to my purpose. And shatter the delusions of naysayers demands and drive the hammer deep, deep into the night. The thundering plains on the african fields, the sultry heat of the day, where a lion feeds on it prey. That fright night. I play and bend the rules. You fool. I don't do it for you. I do it to bridge my soul with my subconscious foe. Myself. I am that bad seed, I am that bright star. Together my sins, together are twins. I bridge the body and I bridge the mind. I toil the seed and become the maiden fair. And together we dodge the cannibals. "Beware, beware" and I'm like. Whatever where's my soy latte? LOL. I'm already in hell. BLACK DIAMOND NIGHT Black Diamond Night- Thank you for sharing your imersible pressure. Thank you for defining and redefinging my friendships. The asnwers lying deep with the heart, the universal edge that weighs like a ton of bricks. The pressures of allingment and deciet. the edge of living on the edge, in order to keep the edge. So I don't Veg. That quick temper I have that sharp wit is a knife in the dark I cut the bullshit with. I need the sweentness and I need the truth. I know the night is cold only to preserve the juice. Like a fridgerator, I mean. The cold dark night freezes with affection I know that what is evil is darker still, and I know it's in me that devil. I also know it's in you, you deciever, you backstabber, you liar. It's ok to believe, if you have your eyes open. I'm fiercly loyal but also a foe to be feared. I didn't know beloveds could slander and like a wide open paniced panther, They didn't know I could kill a sidewinder. Cobra knowledge and sliperry elm the twisted sister's realm. I know it well and I know how to deal with that vixens and sucubuses. To be betrayed by your own sex is hard than the opposite sex because at least the men can be gentlemen. Women, scorned women. Witches and young women so hungry as to steal every crumb from your thumb, thump. Waiting like scavengers and theives and warlocks and parasites and vipers. Who am I? Black Diomond in the night, I thank you for the pressures. Those universal pressures of truth. The allignment of Oh Shit I knew that and I still went for the delusion. The illusion. The Substitue. The addictions of the modern world. To be a Monk you need to have your witz about you. Everywhere they want you dirty, and if they can't find the dirt they make some dirt up about you. Black Diamond Girl- Thank you for the Unviversal pressure. The solar sun and honey dripping moon, Frozen on the lily of my tougue. Thank you for fucking me over. Thank you for showing me what I don't want. I'll keep my grind and pace and my human grace. Moon face. The stars held in place by the pressure of essence. Essence of the rite of passage. Dark Night of the soul, where every mother fucker has it out for you. Black Diamond Night- pretty sure I'll survive what you throw my way. Now, that I have the eye to see through your lies. Now that my eyes are open to your two faces. I understand now. Thank you. THE HONEY BLADE- POEM BY MARTA G. WILEY Sometimes the darkness is not that dark, sometime it's stark-er. Can you finish what you start? I don't know. And I do. It's twisted tales of seduction and the children scream for liberation. I do hate, but I have learned to turn my anger at the correct person, place & thing. Marcus Arilius and I have this fling. He say's "that way when they think they win- then they turn their smile into a shagrin." They get a steal blade of truth- we all loose our youth. His mind is like a cucumber peeler. What? I like being peeled. It is supreme. I like a finer mind than mine. Call it humble, what ever. Never mind. I like to push the boundries of my own comfort zones. I hone in the beehive of my sanity. The dark drones that push like killer bees that drink the honey of me. Yes me. I know who I am. Geez- It's so controversial. Get over it already. I'm still in love with those smarter than me. I don't hate them- I crave their blade. It ain't about the money honey~she just got it made. But I know when they cower and accuse it's not enough to sit back. If you are silent then you are quilty, if you are mad you prove them right. Better to move in silent stealth towards the silent goal of health with humor & glee. He said "war is dangerous." I must admit I have been incorrigible. But you know I do have a terrible WIT. That Giant Manaray moving through the dark, that stark. That makes the phoenix glow, they know. Every dagger they throw- I take the poison in, transform it and shed my skin. Surrender they scream or will make you the dark queen and I'm like- Okay-eee? Ah that's alittle extreme. Their so afraid of anything that is slightly out of the ordinary. BEHAVE! BEHAVE! BEHAVE! I'm like- huh? With a brush of my hair, I silently say "beware." BE VERY AWARE. I'm like the tortoise & the hair. I live my life AS I DARE & then they do get scared... They know she's got it made? Ah, they say. But she DOES have the honey blade! “Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.” ― June Jordan THE NECTAR Sweet is the scent of knowleldge The sad sacred that no one knows. Animals sense it and they joyously venture... The sap of the tree of life that feeds the night, and then I see the snow is not a frozen dark. But preserves the seed and season and is gentle to preserve. Frozen in time to safe gaurd the night. Some are afraid of the night- but the night suffers no lack of self awareness. And happiness & joy are mine! To follow your bliss is sublime. Trust in the sense of time. The need is something deeper than the truth. It's deeper still in the minds of the youth. We sense and we feel the light- and that light can be as sweet as the gem or it can bring fright' The innocent timing of all or nothing. I dream of time, The early morning stings. The mind betray's the feeling, the feeling is a trick. The infinite calm survives the ALL- she is the real deal. That can befuddle the mind- A complicated wowfactor & the timing is genuine. & the stressors of life decline. A Beautiful Mind. How to build it? The sublime. We know the truth of the holy wine & it breaks the sweat of any fever... sweeter, sweeter, sweeter... The essense of starlight, starvation nation. I can't help it- I dream imagination. The tree of light so snapy~Ahh She was born happy. The Nectar dines on the those divine. And brings a silky currency She's mine… DELIGHT IN THE DARKEST NIGHT/ POEM/ 2006 Delight in the darkest night/ Poem/ 2006 We are manifesters, like dark worms in the night sheding silk and dreary dreams, We find meaning in the seems and the weary way rolls down the cobble stone steet. Meaning escapes us, it does, we think we know what it is, that skin of life that beats the drums of heart. We think we are smart. But the dance and the dream has nothing to do with us, I mean common, survival of the fittest unravels it's unconsious plan. And I'm like ok. time to fight. I am a fighter, I am. And god's and goddess's in all their plans, I believe they have their time to shine. But granted if I Am then I Am and I say it's mine. If were fighting for scraps then I can get scappy. It makes me happy. The gulf, the European trash, the clean mind and their dumb as a dime. I am swept aside, but I can get what I want. I have a keen mind and if I was left behind it's because I had a plan. Another more reasonable man. See I can see what you want from me. I can see to the bottom of the sea.. And what a gift it is, a dreamy dream of what if's... I can close the doors too. Would you rather stay humble or stay true? I know who I am. The light pierces deep the dark and brings order to chaos stark, And we start all over again. You think you have a friend, in the end...A book is a true friend. Go ahead just ask, most poets are dead from the fuse. An explosion of glass that penetrates the smile, I used to know you. It's true. All the while they laugh to the bank. The poet says you cannot take your riches with you, you can only take your knowledge and your culture. Plato knew. And all through the ages men burried their riches and bitches with them. Thinking they could take it to the next world and then. They get hit with the Universal agenda, and the gods and goddess's dance. A death dance round the head of a dime. They say it's time. And the man sits and thinks, have I lived my life well? Heaven or hell? and the little dreaming demon- Drinks deep from the well. We cannot know, but we have an inkling. She dance's to a different drum. A music you cannot hear. The visions she see's would have you dancing on the devils tongue. She is still young. I can count my blessings on one hand and the rest I can sell. I know myself, yes. I know myself very well. And I can see, delight in darkest night. I delight, in the fright of chaos. There is no safe place. Except in the light of truth and truth always comes out. Buddah and I are brother and sister Enlightenment is the mission Mister. I can stab the night clean for knowledge desimates ignorance. Sad and smart is the way of the heart, I find plenty of hungry children and I feed them all. And I can choose to starve you too. That's my fucking choice. A well that is unfathomable can drain too, unless the training is in you. Unless you drink deep from your own well. Seriously, you can go to hell. THE NEURO-ME The Dark side of white is not dark but void in silence- clear. We fear... So many things the drunkard dreams & shapes we cannot understand. We underestimated you- now we understand. We stand Under. The thunder drones through the coward clones "There is no-one here." No on cares. That lingering desolate, lonely ear. Did you say something? I thought I heard you say something. Nothing there. Damn. I cling to the knowing of one dream, the thing that unity and duality deal with. The blows. You know those... A punch here in the nose. "I told you so" he said. The violent disposisiton, the transition, the US mission- A Dopamine Addict. The social media hackers- brain trackers. What you looking for Bitch? A random notice, an enlightened word, a deed, a final friend? There are no friends here. Just internet ghosts- just wired, weird and weary hosts. Damn. We all know. She's got that Genius after all glow. But what does it mean? That bright ball of light. Like a kitten all night, playing with the yarn of theives. Playing with the sea, between her fingers. Player she deem's. The midnight hackers busy with the sugar high, and the Gorilla wars wage on. There's one in my living room now- static, static, static... No T.v. for me. Really? Yea, I have not watched T.v. for 20 years. No, really. She's so weird. I love her. Is it the law of the jungle? Survival of the fittest or survival of the hippest. I forgot. Seems my Edu-macation' was not gud. You know fucking savages "type A" education. Oh, well. Now, I have to jack shit up. Get real with History and try to entertain you all as well. We got issues people, it's not just me~ Entertainment Industry. It's not education man. Truth is stranger than fiction who said that? Were they right? Oh yea Mark Twain. Came like renagade train. Right now really, I'm dreaming "The reality of spirituality." That's the new science... The NEURO-Placticity of wonder me, Damn. I knew I was supernatural. Now, think- think- think your way through. It's a Natural Wonder. Where thought goes, energy flows. Tracking my improvement? Are you stalking my thighs? Cuz, I have news for you baby. I'm a butterfly. Who's watching who. Big brother beware- big sister gonna come and sit on you. Lol~ See the mind-tracker is "I" I get to decide what I eat, feel & see. No sugar addiction 4 me. There is no conspiracy. See I can turn off the suger high and say good-by to T.v. world. Imagine a STATIC FREE WORLD. I can skip down the street, if I so please. The NEURO- in me knows. New Neruons are growing as I go. Change, change, change. Oops- I found a new story. I triped over "ME"- Neuro-placticity. There is no Umbrella of lasting change in the brain. My primal, mamal, animal shocking the Monkey Me. I'm changeable, that's good. I am Plastic even into adulthood. The Dinner
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The Merry, Merry Ring
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