Our Ancient Spirits

Together our ancient spirits laugh and chortle

Cloaked in stately shrouds, lovingly they gather round

Their ages of memories now make cordial yarns

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Words Are

Words are magnificent things
Things are a physical reality
Reality is a reflection of the mind
The mind generates abstract descriptions
Descriptions are tools to expression
Expression is unrestricted energy
Energy is the result of movement
Movement is the song without music
Music is a mental masturbation of time
Time is a man-made limitation of life
Life is a compilation of words

Words are…

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

The Warlord Aims His Weapon and Fires

There, with RPG, from high on a mountain ridge
He follows the snaking movement of a convoy
Here, in the Hindu Kush, penned the “back and beyond”
By Kipling past, the roads, literally mean life

Carved through steep ravines and over raging rivers
They provide badly needed stores to villages
With no electricity or running water
They are ancient nineteenth century terraced farms

As the dust faded trucks move closer, he prepares
He will do what his tribe has done for centuries
From the Great Alexander to the British Raj
Defend tribal territory from invaders

The Warlord aims his weapon and fires

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness

Planting the Seeds of Our Wildest Dreams

 

I
Marvel
Now and then
‘Bout our essence
That immortal spirit
That possesses our bodies
Cultivating our sleeping minds
Planting the seeds of our wildest dreams
Stirring the premature fragrance
Of dormant flowers of thought
Mirrored within an
Image of itself
Inside our
Own mind’s
Eye

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Chinese Adventure

The year was nineteen eighty one, I had arrived in the city of, Taipei, Taiwan, two days earlier by cab ride from the harbor of Chi lung. I'd hooked up with a beautiful young Chinese girl by the name of, Sammy, or at least that was what she was going by at the time. An hour earlier, while sitting in a movie theater, we had both dropped a couple of tabs of acid I had scored in Thailand, the week before. We each had a bottle of wine in our long coats. It was winter, so one had to bundle up well to be street urchins in the city.

Speaking of the city of Taipei, at that time, the population was around twelve million. The place was enormous, but what was really interesting, were the tunnels. Beneath the city, there was a complex series of endless tunnels. They led in countless directions and were very confusing. If one were say, tripping on acid and cannonballing slugs of cheap wine, it was very easy to become confused and get lost.

Well, to make a long story into four paragraphs, Sammy and I was just in this particular situation.  To make matters worse, we had just watched the movie, American Werewolf in London. There was this part in the movie that took place in the subway tunnels beneath London. So, both of us were sure that around every corner was going to be a snarling werewolf. For what seemed like hours, we clung to each other like we were blind cripples, creeping through that unknown subterranean world with bizarre and frightening works of art plastered upon every vertical surface in site. Our entire purpose was to try and escape our self inflicted sentence to this freakish hell and return to our warm hotel room and hide under our bed.

Finally, like a light shinning down from heaven, we found what looked like a safe stairway upward, that a werewolf wouldn’t be waiting on the top step to make Chop Suey out of both of us. So, we chugged the rest of our wine, gave each other a rather lingering kiss, and made a dash for freedom. Upon reaching the surface, we found ourselves on an island in the middle of a giant downtown boulevard with six lanes of traffic on each side. We looked into each other’s eyes, smiled, and ran for the sidewalk.

As recalled by G. Jones 2006

Bearing Down

A resting hitchhiker, beneath a rusty sign

Watching screaming children, in unabashed decent

Beamer bobble heads, stoned in grinning decadence

Then a tunnel visioned, raging zombie trucker

On a concrete shimmered path, baring down on death


© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Stuck

Did you see the sun today lady?
I mean, I kind of missed it, myself
Trying to get out of this bottle
But, the moon, now she looks right pretty

Hey bartender, set us up a round
Just put it on my tab Joe, I’m good
One of these days I am going to go
Just haven’t thought of a proper plan

But, I have been working on it though
Trying to put a few things together

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Curiosity

There was a sound coming from back of the old house
Or, was it his imagination, in his head?
There it was again, a metallic clicking mouse
He’s the only one home, can’t be his mate, instead

Finally, his curiosity got the best
He rose from the dining room table and his book
Taking off his reading glasses, scratching his chest
In his socks, padding down the hall to take a look

He followed the noise to a dank darkened bedroom
As his vision adjusted to the lack of light
Crouched before him, large eyes looking up from the gloom
Arrival the new day, he was nowhere in sight

There’re sayings about curiosity and that
But, once and awhile, they are gotten by the cat

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The In to the Weird Series

Across the Muddy Waters South

Sun, on its hidden night journey
Down the lonely dirt roads of home

With the picked fields now cleaned and tilled
The damp and musky soil, still cool

He dreams of life across the border
With his wife and sleeping children

In a few hours, the sun will rise
The old farmer will call for him

Near the newly sun lit river
He'll stand before his path

Across the muddy waters south

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Midway Beer Bust

To Gooney Birds

Shifting palm trees in sandy beach sunshine
Guard an immortal violet-blue lagoon
Gooney birds beg and dance all in a line
When they land it’s like watching a cartoon

As the ship is being refueled at pier
Steaks and beer on the beach with these strange birds
An island oasis it would appear
What I observed was truly beyond words

Sailors in various degrees of dress
Being chased and attacked by vicious foul
While steaks burned with cold beer we couldn’t care less
By sunset my shipmates began to howl

A bizarre lay over as you have read
We left at sunrise all with aching head

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series