The Threat of Poems

by Jon Rappoport

August 27, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Poems. The threat of poems.

A literal mind wants literal reality. It wants language laid down like a perfect grid over the world as it is. If you give a literal human something else, he suddenly pulls up his horse, jumps off, and runs back in the direction he came from. He’s stage-struck, and not happy at all about his little jaunt in the high country.

People say they want to experience what is outside the reality machine, but when you give it to them they object. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ They actually want something that looks and sounds and feels like ordinary reality. They want the method and the system of ordinary reality with a few odd tidbits thrown in. If you move to another arena of harmonics and dissonance, where the interstitial connections radically change—poetry—they balk. They wanted to go in orbit around the Earth, all the time looking down on it, and you took them to an X frontier on an unfamiliar shore where the moon was moored in the dock.

Shivering in the green water,
Wriggling in the net of desperate oxygen,
Rolling prisoners,
Foam falling from their bodies…

Summer nights
I sat on the front porch with my mother
Rhododendrons were thrashed by slow comets of rain

These are the letters of my ancient fathers,
And these are the letters of the roses
Blowing across the rolling apparatus
That moves the sun,
Shining through old windows
On old men.

Now they shake off the rime
And stagger up from their trench.

They form a subconscious moon

They enter a sleeping shepherd boy near his flock,
To repair the damage of centuries.

glittering garbage
of fantastic dream

on its way to a factory

on the antediluvian shores of a breastfed paradise

I have no arduous duty in the
library at Alexandria
I’m there



the vanishing point architecture of eternity

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

2 comments on “The Threat of Poems

  1. Janice Burdick says:

    You are an incredible man, Jon Rappoport. Your depth of understanding finds me in awe. Thank you for always forging forward…forever the champion of Truth and Dignity.

  2. David Evans says:

    Rise Up Lion hearts

    By David Evans

    Eternity brooding, the mystery gestating
    Then comes the mortal storm,
    And the whole epic of man arising
    A lovely rose, a bloody thorn.

    Adam and Eve cast from the garden sublime
    Now dance between the clashing rocks,
    Condemned to the field of time
    Cursed by the slashing tick and tock.

    Haunted by the myth of Man’s fall
    We have written history’s many bloody pages,
    With original sin casting it’s pall
    Over all the guilty ages.

    Are we really the brutish creatures
    That the holy clergy must instruct,
    To escape this mortal flicker feature
    Before we self destruct.

    I bequeath my pound of flesh
    To future generations,
    Who will follow my heavenly quest
    Singing their lovely lamentations.

    You are a race that has been imprisoned
    Lashed by the algorithms of a rogue mind,
    Your hell self fashioned
    In a land where the blind lead the blind.

    For none are more hopelessly enslaved
    Than those who believe they are free,
    Victims of an evil conclave
    That has drained the sap from life’s tree

    We have written so many bloody pages of history
    That we have become convinced of our sins,
    Eclipsing the joy of the great mystery
    With anguished tears filling history’s dustbin.

    For we are a race that craves sufferings bitter sweet taste
    In the disguise of humble nobility,
    Adorning our lives with a false sense of grace
    While we run like crazy from our own morbidity.

    Rise up! Rise up! You sloven race of sheep
    Loose your lion hearts,
    Escape once and for all this devil’s keep
    While singing your soul’s true art.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *