POWER – Jim Morrison – LitDiscourse – Verses Inked


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,
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


Now is blessed
The rest

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

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
Rattlesnake, whistles, castanets
Lawn mower
Good Humor man
Skates & wagons

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,
& 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


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