Some Days

Some Days

Some days I question human behavior I question what we are doing here I question where I came from where mankind came from after I watch the news on tv after listening to people talking on there cell phones screaming at other human beings on the bus. But somehow I never give up. Somehow I just keep moving on. So I light another cigarette, and in that motion I become Buddha I become I God I become just another lost soul lost traveler moving through the process of life. Just another one of Darwin’s monkeys philosophizing why we all even bother anymore as somewhere aliens are watching from a spacecraft in the stars drinking beer & having a conversation about us saying


“Damn. When are all these monkeys going to be smart enough to free themselves from their own fucking cages?”C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_tumblr_p272wwEP6W1rlb7pso1_500


The Moon

By Jack Kerouac

The moon her magic be, big sad face
Of infinity An illuminated clay ball
Manifesting many gentlemanly remarks

She kicks a star, clouds foregather
In Scimitar shape, to round her
Cradle out, upsidedown any old time

You can also let the moon fool you
With imaginary orange-balls
Of blazing imaginary light in fright

As eyeballs, hurt & foregathered,
Wink to the wince of the seeing
Of a little sprightly otay

Which projects spikes of light
Out the round smooth blue balloon
Ball full of mountains and moons

Deep as the ocean, high as the moon,
Low as the lowliest river lagoon
Fish in the Tar and pull in the Spar

Billy de Bud and Hanshan Emperor
And all wall moongazers since
Daniel Machree, Yeats see

Gaze at the moon ocean marking
the face –

In some cases
The moon is you

In any case
The moon

* Photo By Photographer Lona Cygnus

Hell, A Prose Poem by Peter Johnson




“If you want to understand the social and political history of modern man, study hell.”

~ Thomas Merton

It’s probably like the excitement of your first cigarette, but it lasts forever, that dizzying nausea — the Unknown: with imitation human heads on their buttocks, bats leaping from black books, dragon tails waving, monkey glands everywhere, hope dying slowly like a bad marriage, “I am nobody” the only conversation.

But then again the damned might be as unrecognizable and stupid as the living: men who use the same condom twice, women who let them, the degenerate who molested Spider-Man — everyone perpetually suing each other, holding hands in a circle whose rim clangs like a counterfeit coin.

But more likely it’s the general humiliation of being dead, realizing your own personal Beelzebub might be the least weird guy you know.
© 1997 by Peter Johnson. 



I wear hope around my neck like a noose. It’s loose enough for me to breathe when I need to get me through the day. And, with each swagger and sway, comes a new belief that there’s a new relief around the way. So I keep going, halfway knowing it’s just a trick my mind likes to play so I don’t quit. Or is it? Maybe, I’ll never know. Maybe I’ll never go past the dreaming that there’s more, the scheming that what I’m searching for is seemingly reminiscent to the folklore that there’s a garden paradise where I can settle and never have to leave. Where I can breathe deep breaths and exhale with abandon. Maybe that paradise is wherever I’m standing… tall, believing in myself, that I can conquer all the sadness and all the madness, and have a ball wherever I go. Could that be the paradise I’m looking for? Maybe. Maybe I’ll never know.

~ Jeremiah

King Of The Literary Links


Here is a link to the Holy Grail of Magazine Listings that take poetry submissions & prose submissions in some cases as well. There are 2000 links here…. Use them wisely.


R.M.Literary Links

King Of The Literary Links