If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel. ~ Jim Morrison
James Douglas “Jim” Morrison (December 8, 1943 — July 3, 1971) was the lead singer and lyricist of American band The Doors.[1] He also wrote poetry. Morrison was ranked number 47 on Rolling Stone’s “100 Greatest Singers of All Time”[3] and is widely regarded as one of the most iconic frontmen in rock music history. (wiki)
As a poet, Jim Morrison was everything a poet is. He was a born poet, and not one made. His words were always of a shamanistic value, with a forewarning of inevitable doom if humanity did not finally “WAKE UP”, this famous shout from a stage in Paris or Toronto and from stages across the globe since then. He was best known as the lead singer and lyricist of The Doors and is widely considered to be one of the most charismatic front men in rock music history. He was also the author of several books of poetry and the director of a documentary and short film.
Although Morrison was known for his baritone vocals, many fans, scholars, and journalists have discussed his theatrical stage persona, his self-destructiveness, and his work as a poet, he was warrior in spirit and the misconception of him and his fellow band members as mere rock and roll stars is one of the most false ones in comparison to who The Doors really were.
Named The Doors after an excerpt in a book by Aldous Huxley’s “The Doors of Perception”. The book takes the form of Huxley’s recollection of a mescaline trip which took place over the course of an afternoon, and takes its title from William Blake‘s poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. In the early 1950s, when Huxley wrote his book, mescaline was still regarded as a research chemical rather than a drug and was listed in the Parke-Davis catalogue with no controls.
“If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would
appear to man as it is, infinite.” —William Blake
I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos-especially activity that seems to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom… Rather than starting inside, I start outside and reach the mental through the physical. ~ Jim Morrison
The poet’s mind of Jim Morrison was in understanding of the consciousness widening effect of peyote. The misconception that The Doors were the normal iconic rock stars of no regard whatsoever, was the greatest misconception in Modern Pop history. On the contrary, Jim Morrison, Ray Manzarek, Robbie Kreiger and John Densmore were on a different mission,
The Doors were rockers in search of the New Age consciousness that in effect we are living in today. For perfect example, with the historical electing of a minority into the White House. His messages were heard by the Nation 40 years later and in Jim’s very voice, singing the instructions for humanity’s survival and the survival of the planet overall.
The very moments word came to the awaiting world on November 8th, 2008, that Barack Obama was indeed the Nation’s new leader, mystically followed was the sound of the Doors in a blaring rock tune of lightning speed keyboards. drums and guitar. Jim was shout singing in the voice that knew one day they would hear him and agree. He sang it again, “…break on through to the other side …break on through …break on through, … break on through to the other side…”.
And now in a Birthday celebration of Los Angeles mythical bard, please enjoy the poetry of Jim Morrison.
THE OPENING OF THE TRUNK
Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened and the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus’d searching
here & there for teachers & friends.
Moment of Freedom
as the prisoner
blinks in the sun
like a mole
from his hole
a child’s 1st trip
away from home
That moment of Freedom
LAmerica
Cold treatment of our empress
LAmerica
The Transient Universe
LAmerica
Instant communion and
communication
lamerica
emeralds in glass
lamerica
searchlights at twi-light
lamerica
stoned streets in the pale dawn
lamerica
robed in exile
lamerica
swift beat of a proud heart
lamerica
eyes like twenty
lamerica
swift dream
lamerica
frozen heart
lamerica
soldiers doom
lamerica
clouds & struggles
lamerica
Nighthawk
doomed from the start
lamerica
“That’s how I met her,
lamerica
lonely and frozen
lamerica
& sullen, yes
lamerica
right from the start”
Then stop.
Go.
The wilderness between.
Go round the march.
he enters stage:
Blood boots. Killer storm.
Fool’s gold. God in a heaven.
Where is she?
Have you seen her?
Has anyone seen this girl?
snap shot (projected)
She’s my sister.
Ladies & gentlemen:
please attend carefully to these words & events
It’s your last chance, our last hope.
In this womb or tomb, we’re free of the swarming streets.
The black fever which rages is safely out those doors
My friends & I come from
Far Arden w/ dances, &
new music
Everywhere followers accrue
to our procession.
Tales of Kings, gods, warriors
and lovers dangled like
jewels for your careless pleasure
I’m Me!
Can you dig it.
My meat is real.
My hands–how they move
balanced like lithe demons
My hair–so twined and writhing
The skin of my face–pinch the cheeks
My flaming sword tongue
spraying verbal fire-flys
I’m real.
I’m human
But I’m not an ordinary man
No No No
What are you doing here?
What do you want?
Is it music?
We can play music.
But you want more.
You want something & someone new.
Am I right?
Of course I am.
You want ecstasy
Desire & dreams.
Things not exactly what they seem.
I lead you this way, he pulls that way.
I’m not singing to an imaginary girl.
I’m talking to you, my self.
Let’s recreate the world.
The palace of conception is burning.
Look. See it burn.
Bask in the warm hot coals.
You’re too young to be old
You don’t need to be told
You want to see things as they are.
You know exactly what I do
Everything
I am a guide to the Labyrinth
Monarch of the protean towers
on this cool stone patio
above the iron mist
sunk in its own waste
breathing its own breath
POWER
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 pard, a plie,
& 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 initiation
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
THE ANATOMY OF ROCK
The 1st electric wildness came
over the people
on sweet Friday.
Sweat was in the air.
The channel beamed,
token of power.
Incense brewed darkly.
Who could tell them that here
it would end?
One school bus crashed w/ a train.
This was the Crossroads.
Mercury stained.
I couldn’t get out of my seat.
The road was littered
w/ dead jitterbugs.
Help,
we’ll be late for class.
The secret flurry of rumor
marched over the yard &
pinned us unwittingly
Mt. fever.
A girl stripped naked on the
base of the flagpole.
In the restrooms all was cool
& silent
w/ the salt-green of latrines.
Blankets were needed.
Ropes fluttered.
Smiles flattered
& haunted.
Lockers pried open
& secrets discovered.
Ah sweet music.
Wild sounds in the night
Angel siren voices.
The baying of great hounds.
Cars screaming thru gears
& shrieks
on the wild road
Where the tires skip & slide
into dangerous curves.
Favorite corners.
Cheerleaders raped in summer
buildings.
Holding hands
& bopping toward Sunday.
Those lean sweet desperate hours.
Time searched the hallways
for a mind.
Hands kept time.
The climate altered like a
visible dance.
Night-time women.
Wondrous sacraments of doubt
Sprang sullen in bursts
of fear & guilt
in the womb’s pit hole
below
The belt of the beast
Worship w/ words, w/
sounds, hands, all
joyful playful &
obscene-in the insane
infant.
Old men worship w/ long
noses, old soulful eyes.
Young girls worship,
exotic, indian, w/ robes
who make us feel foolish
for acting w/ our eyes.
Lost in the vanity of the senses
which got us where we are.
Children worship but seldom
act at it. Who needs
temples & couches & T.V.
We can do it on a sunny
floor w/ friends & make
any sound or movement
that comes. Roll on our
backs screaming w/ mirth
glad in the guilt of our
madness. Better to be
cool in our worship &
gain the respect of the
ancient & wise wearing
those robes. They know
the secret of mind-change
reality.
“Have you ever seen God?”
-a mandala. A symmetrical angel.
Felt? yes. Fucking. The Sun.
Heard? Music. Voices.
Touched? an animal. your hand.
Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water,
& wine.
An angel runs
Thru the sudden light
Thru the room
A ghost precedes us
A shadow follows us
And each time we stop
We fall
No one thought up being;
he who thinks he has
Step forward
Shrill demented sparrows bark
The sun into being. They rule
dawn’s kingdom. The cars-
a rising chorus- Then
workmen’s songs & hammers
The children of the schoolyard,
a hundred high voices,
complete the orchestration
“In that year there was
an intense visitation
of energy.
I left school & went down
to the beach to live.
I slept on a roof
At night the moon became
a woman’s face.
I met the Spirit of Music.”
An appearance of the devil
on a Venice canal.
Running, I saw a Satan
or Satyr, moving beside
me, a fleshy shadow
of my secret mind. Running,
Knowing.
The day I left the beach
A hairy Satyr running
behind & a little to the
right.
In the holy solipsism
of the young
Now I can’t walk thru a city
street w/out eying each
single pedestrian. I feel
their vibes thru my
skin, the hair on my neck
-it rises.
Yvonne de la Vega was here. 
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