PSY POETRY

PSY - POETRY

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....


	and so let it begin because...

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.

...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

friendship

passion

and universal community

called..... PsyTrance

The psychedelic days have come,

Â 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 Muppet plays

And from the DJ's fingertips,

all gloom is sent away.

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.


	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!
				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.

			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.

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 necromancerâ€™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.

		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