Mark Somers:

A boy, cold and cramped in his little head sits alone with a chewed up pen. His eyes are wide, then close and fall up inside searching for that horizon sky. The lights are dim, Ya’ know? Lightning flash and thunder boom; letters come from the moon. It is then his hand begins to move…

Mark Somers:

A long time ago, when words were not uttered by man and man was not yet man but was an eternal oneness to all that was around him, the first of what we call man was born. Then (which is opposite of now) all was as in balance and time did not pass for there was no one there to sense it. However, that which was before man was cast out of timelessness and thrown naked into a world knowing not from where it came. Some speak that this was a mistake, but man not knowing of what is right or wrong was bound to bite from this apple eventually. And for that one mistake, man knew of choice. It was then that man first became conscious of a mistake. With this bitter realization it bound man to a life of tomorrow, always longing for that which was on the horizon. No longer was man destined to the reflection of himself, for he had became aware of his reflection.

        As man watched the times pass and saw that much evil was being done, he sought the connection with what was greater and beyond the pain of life. Thus the will of man was born. Over time man learned to speak in order to exercise his will through others and he began to speak of right and wrong, yesterday and tomorrow. Still as we awake into this life we cry for what was before. We cry from the womb from whenst we came. There we call out for the glory which was before and it haunts us in story to this day. For what was the beginning shall also be the end. 

Mark Somers:

It’s extreme beams of dream streams

They teem with primal cosmic vitality

like seeds with the capacity for vigorous activity

And that thinking mind is a spider weaving

thoughts into traps to keep you from being

Now don’t bite into a thought

without your wisdom teeth

Sheath you sword

look beneath these words

This is what the poet warns

These words are not a web

They’re a step

A hand reaching to help you up

The sun awaits

The ceaseless new and newer age

So let us turn the page

walk through the gates

drop the weight

listen to the fates

and become all of us that is great

Why do we wait?

Mark Somers:

To all my followers, the well 7 or so people who like my stuff often, and I thank you so much for reading, but I will be retiring from Tumblr for a time. It is still unknown to me if I will return but the answer will come to me in time. For now I need to divorce myself from the internet and return to an older world often forgot. Always in time. That’s the key to the door. I’ll tell you what I find. 

-

Yoga powers.
To make oneself invisible or small.
To become gigantic and reach to the farthest things.
To change the course of nature.
To place oneself anywhere in space or time.
To summon the dead.
To exalt senses and perceive inaccessible images, of events on other worlds,
in one’s deepest inner mind, or in the minds of others.

-Morrison

Mark Somers:

Do I need to tell you, you are here? With me too…

I see an imp, chiseling away the television world.

Lights spark out, shine out, far out, and reach out to blindfold us and turn us back outside

Some stare in the sun, adjust their eyes, go really blind

the latest time, where the magicians roam free and dress as kings divine

but fools we are, entertaining the throne, ya know?

The next act begins, a scene change

prepackaged teens, electronics gone mean, history blown to smithereens

The show is over, the audience can go home now

You will see, as nations collapse in their unfilled bullets

and ornament their starving bellies with gold.

Where poets are spitting fire, and calling it out.

It’s boiling their reflecting pools

Where a thousand people from across the land, from all types of land,

peek into each other’s hands looking to expand

Where we no longer need the rind of ripeness in old age

It will be, as the press of life turns us into wine

The seeds have died, the vine speaks its wisdom, curling up the tree of life

I am a shriveled leaf of fall gliding on the storm

whose gentle landing is a thunderous bomb in the sky

heard only by the silent bunch who have no words left or breadth

I hear it, stay with me, show me what? I can do

stopped in my tracks and then it’s off

the missile to the spaceship, the cracking of the pink sphere

rebirth - of the child - fears - whispers - of the shifting - of the unseen - cashier

Mark Somers:

Enlightenment is like sex

At first its unknown

when it’s known, everything changes

then it’s all there is to life

when it’s felt, its over soon

then it really is life

when its a steady habbit

then you begin to want something else

when your at the next one

then you begin to long for the last

when you don’t know what to do

then you start to believe in an ultimate one

when love has your heart in its hands

Mark Somers:

The voices, voices, the voices

glazed whispering over the ramparts

Echoing endlessly on out

of my mind

stretched out of time

The wail in the wheel

This is a bad poem

*delete*

Mark Somers:

It is Jersday, the premier of yet another season of senseless television. To some it is a sort of holiday and is celebrated with Ron Ron juice, glorified promiscuity, and essentially being a mindless whore/douchbag; Call me what you will. However, over in another equally decrepit scene, the US economy has begun its double dip recession. The rug beneath our feet is not just being pulled but unraveled before our eyes. All those willfully ignorant masses who cry and moan like children to remain in their blind awareness are, to me, nothing more than a giant joke of the Universe and stand as important as pubic hair on my toilet seat!

                I’ll say it now: We are done. The American Dream has been double tapped. This is the cry of fire in the city. It is burning before our eyes. Hope has been drained out of the American carcass to the last bloody drop, drank greedily by zombie American banshees. Again I say it, “We are done.” You better start packing your dreams up and get ready to move because the American “everything” you see before your eyes is about to vanish and a brutal harsh world hidden under that American flag rug is about to surface for the first time in many American eyes.