New anthology

The closest I’ve been to success

Was seeing the sunset reflecting in my book

Not a great one but filled with mithology

Not a chance of being successful in here

This land is not even desertic but grass

could not be yellower - green never lasts

But last afternoon was something else

Far from all the others - too many for me

When sunset dyed the pages orange

I looked up for a sec - mithology was there

All alive, walking, dancing in my garden

This land is my land - a dinosaur roared

Stomping the Earth not again - I know

It was their time not mine and smoke

could be smelled in the air - fire on the mountain

Maybe cavemen next door but not Ringo

Then spirits arose from the ground and

performed their strange rituals and if I

was there looking they could not care less

Somehow all these magic numbers

gave me a sight I ran to my book to

scratch some untongued words in the corners

Five fall futuressly fighting for

foul faking fire from foot feeding

Félix Francisco Casanova

"Canarian Rimbaud", my balls

A giant wooden totem resembling an owl

Took place where the cabin was - or wasn’t?

Time played foul and I didn’t move

From hammock delighted to see the show

Then some Navajo redskins danced around

the owl totem and all around was wilderness

and I was naked with too many skin that could

serve to make leather for all their tribes

dwelling over the hills - big pillars of smoke you

could see maintaining the invisible

temple from above the clouds

And if there is a temple there is a Goddess

and that one I know who she is as I climb

onto her temple and I kneel before her to

kiss whatever needs to be kissed and

sometime after I choose some poetry to

read on her lap to recitate to whisper with

all my body and is a good thing no one can

comprehend even if there are so many

vulturing around her so many eyes on

so many Tarkovski’s 1979 masterpiece - ah

You can’t read poetry anymore it no longer

exists on this World - try others if you dare

Only good poetry will come from my lips

and onto her lips - all of them yes yes yes

Though here I will no longer live in time

Considering I was always living late

So if you want poetry I’ll throw a rhyme

I’ve always live full of hate

Demon witch of the Shining Peaks

Not that long ago in dream years

I inhabited a hotel during winter season

Built by the indians buried below

Or so I heard, thing is, listen

There was a room somewhere

Unsure about the floor but

When the elevator threw those

Giant currents of blood

Almost like open red curtains

Showing black&white a path

To a room is a room the room

Above the indians with no summer

And beneath the basement BAM BAM BAM

Heart of the Overlook Hotel howled

I maybe was the one to watch over it

Sometimes it was the other guy

And sometimes there was this sign

“beware the woodsman Cooper”

Strange mithologies walked among us

Thought I rarely saw living human beings

Never felt alone never was let alone

No friends allowed anyway

A room this room the room

Listen to me here ok

Everywhere I have lived

Had this same room

First at parents house in the city

Later in that small house in a village

Lost in the woods of a mound of a hill

When I flew across the ocean

And all the different places I dwelled

This room was always next to mine

Now my room is the Overlook

Overlooking a town between the peaks

First they were all mad then all dead

And now they have changed so much

They barely appear in time for the show

Not like the TV would work fine here

I only find fun in hitting it with my axe

It belonged to a watchman long ago

He liked to visit that room very much

There was this other guy with the same taste

For danger and girls and fire

He used to come from town in disguise

Then his hair turned grey

Then he became the mask

Or should I say he was always the mask

From pure air they descend as the shadows

Of night that spins the world

Black and white and blue

Covered and uncovered in red

As the curtains welcoming us

To their dance of time and space

If you follow me down some time

I’ll go down slow on you

And if you don’t feel like

You can always put me inside

A souvenir snowglobe

“Greetings from The Shining Peaks”

And take me with you anywhere

They’ll probably let you in the room

Always had this things for girls

As that strange case long ago

It all happened there

The man who solved it is still there

Despite recent facts

Is not really happening again

This spirit people from pure air

Will greet you they will

Put a demon in your witch

The one you have always wear inside

We spoke about witches last night

Remember?

When I knew you were the one

And we moved inside each other

Our fate was sealed it has always been

Since that black night watch

When I told you everything I know about them

The room next to mine danced of evil joy

The woodsmen gave the watchman the axe

They told him to fell a victim

And so the story goes on

No love will save us

But is nice to make it with you

In the waiting room

While the spirits get ready for us

To catch us in their bag of death

Seven worlds below us

The indians are coming

They paint our faces in a tomahawk

The dwellers in the treshold as they say

Your portrait so damn pretty

That could blow the Overlook away

And walk with fire

And dance with BOB and the little man

And all these masked people at the ballroom

A mob ready to lynch the king

Universe is just this

As it always was and always will be

For David, Mark, Steve, Stanley and C.

©.Jared Lyon