Jim Morrison born 8th December, 1943 in Melbourne, Florida -USA, found dead under mysterious circumstances, 3rd July 1971 in Paris, France. Our concern on this day of December is the birth anniversary of the man.

Jim Morrison, immortalized as the front man of The Doors, eccentric recording artist, a student of cinema, wished to be remembered as a poet. Your wish, dear sir is our command. The kind of ideas which gets us exited at Verses Inked. Poetry centrist.

Jim Morrison, an ingenious recording artist, eccentric showman, among the forefathers of psychedelia, counterculture protagonist, supernova forever in a state of suspension in the realms of infinity, for generations to behold.

On the occasion of the bard’s 74th birthday, we pick up on an ever popular subject. Man’s eternal muse, the aeonian drive towards evermore, the rate at which the force works, unit work per unit time. Power.

The piece was included in, “The lost writings of Jim Morrison” series, volume I titled, Wilderness. Published 1988 by Vintage Books.

As the back page monologue of the book proclaims, in the words of the author himself.

“Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.” –Jim Morrison

So shall our commentary be.

The reader may, if they so please seek for in the texts the Existentialism of Niethsche, Symbolism of Arthur Rimbaud, or the Romanticism of William Blake.

There is no pot of gold sitting at the end of the rainbow, that we could promise of to the reader. Reason enough for them to go onto the very end, except sheer merit of the verse, which we strategically commercialize to our advantage, rather than academically judge for any reason whatsoever. May the power press on.

Power by Jim Morrison

I can make the earth stop in

its tracks. I made the

blue cars go away.

I can make myself invisible or small.

I can become gigantic & reach the

farthest things. I can change

the course of nature.

I can place myself anywhere in

space or time.

I can summon the dead.

I can perceive events on other worlds,

in my deepest inner mind,

& in the minds of others.

I can

I am

~~~

People need Connectors

Writers, heroes, stars,

leaders

To give life form.

A child’s sand boat facing

the sun.

Plastic soldiers in the miniature

dirt war. Forts.

Garage Rocket Ships

Ceremonies, theatre, dances

To reassert Tribal needs & memories

a call to worship, uniting

above all, a reversion,

a longing for family & the

safety magic of childhood.

~~~

The grand highway

is crowded

w/

lovers

&

searchers

&

leavers

so

eager

to

please

&

forget

Wilderness

~~~

Now is blessed

The rest

remembered

~~~

A man rakes leaves into

a heap in his yard, a pile,

& leans on his rake &

burns them utterly.

The fragrance fills the forest

children pause & heed the

smell, which will become

nostalgia in several years

~~~

Sirens

Water

Rain & Thunder

Jet from the base

Hot searing insect cry

The frogs & crickets

Doors open & close

The smash of glass

The Soft Parade

An accident

Rustle of silk, nylon

Watering the dry grass

Fire

Bells

Rattlesnake, whistles, castanets

Lawn mower

Good Humor man

Skates & wagons

Bikes

~~~

Where’d you learn about

Satan- out of a book

Love?- out of a box

~~~

night of sin (The Fall)

-1st sex, a feeling of having

done this same act in time before

O No, not again

~~~

Between childhood, boyhood,

adolescence

& manhood (maturity) there

should be sharp lines drawn w/

Tests, deaths, feats, rites

stories, songs, & judgements

~~~

Men who go out on ships

To escape sin & the mire of cities

watch the placenta of evening stars

from the deck, on their backs

& cross the equator

& perform rituals to exhume the dead

dangerous initiations

To mark passage to new levels

To feel on the verge of an exorcism

a rite of passage

To wait, or seek manhood

enlightenment in a gun

To kill childhood, innocence

in an instant