Kundalini One to Three
Yeah, it's real poetry time again
I got another TiF medallion! This one’s for the monthly TiF!
Here it is! Like Zuzu Petals!
Ok.
So the truth is, I was so totally happy!! with the response to when I posted those previous two poems. It was genuinely a sudden decision which happened because of one of my regular emotional flashbacks. I really didn’t plan it at all. I can’t control my flashbacks, by the way. The most I can do is attempt to focus them in a specific direction using my fantasy and imagination. Most of that stuff will, thankfully, never see the light of day because if it did I’d end up in another institution and that would be really, really bad.
But it does need to be said and got out of me, you know? So my Kundalini will be the way to do that.
Kundalini is the title of my first proper collection of poetry. I did it, and then the second collection, within a very short agitated burst some twenty years’ ago now (we’re talking 2003-4 or something like that - don’t ask me to remember). At that time, they put me on Prozac, which is a fucking weird drug if ever there was one. I simply can’t say if I’d recommend it or not, but for me, maybe because of my quirky strangeness and charm, it proved quite creative, at least for a while.
Spin up, spin down, spin this way round and around, you know. Whatever yer flavour, me sure they got somethin’ for you in them bags…
Yeah. Maybe not Prozac. Temazepam, however… aka Prince Valium… if you want sixteen uninterrupted hours of beautiful dreaming…
Miam miam!
Well, when I met my glorious other half, Ali, however, later in 2004 (it’s our anniversary on Hallowe’en!!!) I decided that I didn’t need that shit anymore so I stopped taking it immediately. And I mean immediately. Like, the same fucking day! How cool is that!
I was happy for once in my life, for sure.
But I didn’t really write any more poetry. That was 20 years ago.
I’ve written a few, now and again, here and there, but nothing that really touches what I did back then, when I was alone, and this far away from the end.
It’s been hidden all this time. Hidden away.
But I think it should see the light of day and starlight.
So I am going to say to hell with it, and post the entire Kundalini collection. In the original order.
There is a commentary at the end of the collection, which I shall also publish.
One thing I should add, in retro, is the alt.titles, which are the square brackets, like [ and ] thing. This was the menu list. I did it like a kind of DVD. Yeah, don’t ask.
Prozac, remember?
Then, before the commentary, there were some Fibonacci versions. I’ll explain that when the time comes.
The second collection, The New, which I did immediately after, will have to be paid-only. So I am hoping this might entice people. The New, if I say so myself, by the way, is really fucking beautiful in places. So there’s your siren thing. I may post the poem Kyushu at some point just to seriously entice you. That’s one of my favourites.
And if I get some paid subscribers, after all, then I won’t have to choose between eating and heating anymore. And that alone would be a luxury. And hell why not - anyone who goes paid, I will write them a poem from a title and theme of their choice. Just for you.
Anyhow, here we go. An insight into my complex mind. With caveats.
Maybe minds, plural, actually.
We’ll see.
It’s all quite raw, by the way, by way of disclaimer. Hardly any editing, if at all.
It just is.
I was alone when I did it. So very, very alone…
[Gustav]
Eyeful
The modern age is a tainted bastard, Not an artist or a pugilist, but A bird who hovers over motorways, An accident waiting to happen, Unnoticed under conscious pattern, Slides away from mating rituals, Along powerful things, skin and carvery, Scathing and powdery when the invasion comes, White sands, like allowing foreign hands to lust For longing times when one could be free Or damned, like a stampede toward painted lovers, Leftover patents from a golden age When Victory ruled and we all knew The way to move, science and gods as one, Electric monuments and statues to a scolded age, Twisted metal and you are a twittering woman momented and counted And fading, seconded for a different lifetime, As we all of us must wait a while in this nature And nurture this humorous tainted age Until it wants to bed us too. Like all we love to do.
[Deflowered]
Flowers in breaking at dawn, honey
I was seventeen, The thoughts She gave me dew Flowered in a grave way as Serious if caterpillar caught Before The right time and again Awkward For I have not changed. Cocooned If even now I am still To women, women who lie There still An imaginary number, faking odd sigh Strange, forgiven some times Roses or lilies, capillaries and gods might know but I, Found, out, it comes out, before words, I lack the confidence to be forward, I am as a gorgon, or A dog, bitch with three heads guarded, in sensitive torsions And letting it all go I did you once, in bed in rooms In lustworthy love as you watched, Unfavouring, a flower. And now That eye is nineteen The way I want To see things now and scream for being Different. It’s so simple, love. It’s so simple, sweet Just let it be, Some humble bird will come Some time and see, insert A snake, streamlined, seeming and unstrained And drink you in, fluttering As if inclined to love your stamen heart And all it promises. Honey Dew and you are seventeen, Wet in imaginary slumber.
[Hymen Poesy]
Virginity
I am not supposed to think When I do these things, It should all be natural And teeming with voices, Or scars or flowing visions All screaming in unison At me. My kindled spirit is a wasted demon, Time and I am not finished yet, My feeling mind is still Wet in conjunction with Venus, a lunatic heathen And stringing along a treasonous path The balancing edge of my own world, high Teeming with voices of broken men and marred, Marred red and scathing, I not like myself when I give in, To her, or the world, in all it’s sin And mercurial fever, it wins over me, When I give in to lost love.
End of 1-3. Next ones whenever, if you wish… There they are! Click the link!
Lovely poetry, Evelyn. I'm glad you're sharing it with the wider world.
these are really beautiful. they conjur up intense images and moments. in reading them again and again, as you must, each reading draws out a different emphasis or colour...feeling...meaning or question as to the mind and mood of the writer at the time. very much a stream of consciousness. i wonder how they make you feel now, many years after? Are the awakened memories the same as your memories were before the reading? had you forgotten them? the defrosting of a frozen moment.