Psy-Poems. About our community, the spirit, the music, the hopes and dreams, the feeling of it all. So let’s write and share the psypoetry of our hearts....


Play with yr fantasies, write a ballade about the VooV or Fullmoon, find magic words for beloved community, compose an ode about your favourite DJ... Let us know about YOUR OWN special magical moments - the dances? The spirit? The incredible feeling to spin? To just listen and dream? Tell us! In any language, in any form in any words! Send us your words of beauty via contactpage and join the world of Psy-Poetry! If you wanna contact the author, just write us...

and so let it begin because...

...some call it crazy

some unnatural

some think it’s just stupid

some just turn away


some try but will never understand

some better never try

some don’t have ears to listen

some no brain to think


a few now about the secret

the drug

the common heartbeat

the beauty

and the pain


you too are confined

forever with those shimmering ties

to our common magic



and universal community

called       PsyTrance

The psychedelic days have come,

 the bestest of the year

Of flailing drums, and naked bass,

and psytars all a'cheer

Heaped in the sonics of the sound,

 the bassline strummed ahead

Those dancers to the eddying gust,

they find their acid head

Astrix finds the Audiotec,

 the Misted Puppet plays

And from the DJ's fingertips,

all gloom is sent away.

See with what constant motion

Bizarre, psychedelic as the sun

Mountain's decks drive those lithe frames

That gave each turn of digital domain

And swifter than the wings of fame.


Dancers beat the willing pavement

By such a stars in the firmament

Which even they envy for the beat

Swelling into ever intenses of heat

The dance always remaining incomplete.


Each step trod out a lover's thought

Of the ambitious forlon hopes we brought

Enchained such to the sonic arts


Ever rising by fits and starts

The inflaming passion of our hearts.

Is Morlack taking us on voyage down memory lane?

Or is it instead of trip of getting psychedelic insane

that past melds with present, future to be

swirling and twisting, reaching out there for thee


grabbing horizon edges of reality,

twisting, swirling, still undoing me

until universe becomes a tie-die fabric

against which and on which with a hatrick


emotion, thought, feeling and premise,

conclusion, birth, death not to be remissed

sway to and fro, forward and back,

attaining a transcendency within no lack


shapes the very essence of future and fate

inflaming dreams are what we do trade

         Irish Komotoze liked the psy

He liked it so much he could cry

Then he heard Shoomy's mix

He then had his fix

So good he thought he could fly

             Mushrooms, music,

forest and lights

We all get together

To dance through the nights

In altered states,

of magic and wisdom

we all smile and dance

to the queens of the kingdom!

Psy angel
Woman of my dreams
Hemp sandaled
There is none like you among the dancers
None with such deft fingers.

I have not found you in the tents
In the broken darkness
I have not found you in the crowd
Among the women with glowsticks.

Your arms are as a young sapling under the bark
Your face as a river with psychedelic lights.

You guard the decks
Watching carefully
Bringing the gift
Of the psytar.

DJ Mountain and Fair Deccie

Spun all day on a hill

When day had come and the moon had set

They had not even spun their fill.


DJ Mountain spun a track in twain

Fair Deccie observ'd it well

"I've never seen a mix thus mixed

In music he does excel!"

"Give to me a deck or two

With which to ply my trade"

Said DJ Mountain to Fair Deccie

And then he did serenade.


And psy fans far an' wide

Gathered all round the hill

To hear the tunes that Mountain spun

It was no Barber of Seville.


No Mozart nor Willie Nelson

Were issued from those decks

It was something else, something new

Someting much more complex.


DJ Mountain and Fair Deccie

Spun all day on a hill

Psychedelics played loud and hard

The dance of all good will.

A little love, of psychedelic music go

And then we go, what matters it? Since where

Or when, or how, none may a priori know

Nor if love comes or goes, or lingering slow

Send on ahead the herald of psy love.


On this gray life, love lights with silvery glow

Refracted from music's source, the wings winged slow

Its glory surrounds us, and DeCibelle's music bestow

A little love!


A little, it's as much as we may bear

For Deccie's love is compassed with such magic air

She breathes it fully and selflessly so

The fans all but taste that overflow

For little lives, the minor dose she can spare

A little love!


On this bright horizon, she alights with wings fair

Gossamer being she is, with golden blonde hair

Psychedelic treats she shares them all fair

A little love!

definitely a more full-power set here by mountain
energies steadily building
pulling towards the dancefloor i leave the fountain
cosmic psy-DJ weilding

DJ of Mountain, what through banging psy
Your sonics mock men's anguish, and the sun
Glares like a beaming gun on many a one
That longs for night this intense soundly hue
Yet you do grant psy mercy, like mist and dew
And bang and bass and psytar day be done
Weaving over the vault the weary shun
Psy power more, with energy a-through.

When psy lights loves and all grand sounds are flown
When beaten drum falls from the reeling fight
And life is shone upon her petulant way
And noon is fierce and midnight set aright
Then dancing eyes turn once more, their own
Mountain of psy, the psy's DJ'er shown.

Without recall we pass this exile from the star-lit ways
Hour after timeless hour we toss along endless days
With solemn face turning away from stars on faery heights
The scent of a psychedelic angel under starry lights.

Yet the close enfolding night seemed filled with passion
For the adoring heart had turned away, feeling ashen
For beauty called to beauty, psychedelic with willpower
The vanished hours of love burning no more at our bower.

Let sweet eternal faces be forgotten forever
The music will nurture us through any endeavor.

We're called aliens, we are told,
Because our wayward visions stray
From that old method they unfold
The dreams of forgotten yesterday.

The sound of all the past is theirs,
The anthems and breaks, their claim to fame
Whose Goa sounds made glory flares
Sparks the sound of psychedelic flame.

They weave the necromancer’s spell
Spicy sounds from where the past has slept
Their ancient story to retell
Remembered sounds that dancers wept.

Old sounds re-sound anew to emerge
This worship of an ancient fire
In which we drift beyond the verge
The trippy voyage going ever higher.

Where is the flower, the fair young Deccie, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter lights and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Ah, she is here, sprightly, fair, herself a gentle blossom
And psytars she brings us all, edgy, sharp, and awesome
The rain recedes, its bowing, its curtseying away
It knows to not be welcome here, Deccie has come to stay.

The wind-flower and the violet, they can't hold a candle
To DeCibelle's sweet countenance; nor music of Handel
Can hold sway to psychedelics, she brings them openly
Jumpy, bouncy, bassy tuneage, fears goes disarmingly
Sweet lovely flower she remains, mixing tunes aplenty
A favorite among hippies, fans, and cognoscenti.

only to bring it back with full intensity
tunes mixed with magnetic flux density
bouncing like these gamma goblins,
witches even or bunch of hoblins
jumping with malicious ferocious intent, with all the sound and fury of dramatic event
of the furious sound of the past ages,
opening the passageways of soul cages
even beyond is psy you to drive
until sweet abyss soul comes alive

©  goa-project 2005