“Let’s just say I was testing the bounds of reality. I was curious to see what would happen. That’s all it was: just curiosity.” — Jim Morrison
The decade of the nineteen sixties was a melting pot of subversive young people who sought the perfect, free Utopia and who clashed against the boundaries imposed by the capitalist system. The arts and especially music were imbued by these feelings. Counterculture movements surged forth with the hippies leading the way, feeding their dreams with LSD and marijuana. In this explosion of sensations and colors, a mythical rock figure was born: Jim Morrison.
The Lizard King, as he was known, shoved the doors of the psychedelic wide open, wanting to find enlightenment through meditation stimulated by the consumption of drugs. He shared his feelings and his journeys to the boundaries of reality in the lyrics of the legendary band, The Doors.
One of the lesser-known attributes of the King of Orgasmic Rock was that he was a poet at heart. People flocked to him as if he were a prophet who would lead his people to the mystical state he spoke of in his poetry. The following ten poems will be your guides to the world Jim Morrison constructed, which thrives beyond the borders of what is known.
Jim Morrison’s Best Poems
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 and 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 in other worlds, in my deepest inner mind, and in the minds of others.
The World on Fire
The world on fire … Taxi from Africa… The Grand Hotel…
He was drunk a big party last night back going back in all directions sleeping these insane hours.
I’ll never wake up in a good mood again. I’m sick of these stinky boots.
The movie will begin in five moments. The mindless voice announced all those unseated will await the next show. We filed slowly, languidly into the hall.
The auditorium was vast and silent as we were seated and were darkened, the voice continued. The program for this evening is not new. You’ve seen this entertainment through and through. You’ve seen your birth your life and death you might recall all of the rest.
Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on? I’m getting out of here. Where are you going? To the other side of morning.
Please don’t chase the clouds, pagodas. Her cunt gripped him like a warm, friendly hand. It’s alright, all your friends are here. When can I meet them? After you’ve eaten I’m not hungry. Uh, we meant beaten. Silver stream, silvery scream. Oooooh, impossible concentration.
I’ll tell you this… No eternal reward will forgive us now. For wasting the dawn. Back in those days, everything was simpler and more confusing.
One summer night, going to the pier. I ran into two young girls. The blonde one was called Freedom. The dark one, Enterprise. We talked and they told me this story. Now listen to this…
I’ll tell you about Texas radio and the big beat. Soft driven, slow, and mad. Like some new language. Reaching your head with the cold, sudden fury of a divine messenger. Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god. Wandering, wandering in hopeless night.
Out here in the perimeter, there are no stars. Out here we is stoned. Immaculate.
Gently they stir, gently rise. The dead are newborn awakening. With ravaged limbs and wet souls. Gently they sigh in rapt funeral amazement. Who called these dead to dance?
Was it the young woman learning to play the ghost song on her baby grand? Was it the wilderness children? Was it the ghost god himself, stuttering, cheering, chatting blindly?
I called you up to anoint the earth. I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin. I called you to wish you well. To glory in self like a new monster. And now I call you to pray.
A Feast of Friends
Wow, I’m sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings.
The servants have the power dog-men and their mean women pulling poor blankets over our sailors (And where were you in our lean hour) Milking your moustache or grinding a flower?
I’m sick of dour faces Staring at me from the TV Tower, I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood-meal for the plant that’s plowed.
They are waiting to take us into the severed garden Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes death on a strange hour unannounced, unplanned for like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven’s claws
No more money, no more fancy dress This other kingdom seems by far the best until its other jaw reveals incest and loose obedience to a vegetable law. I will not go Prefer a Feast of Friends To the Giant Family.
Lament for my cock Sore and crucified I seek to know you Acquiring soulful wisdom You can open walls of mystery Stripshow
How to acquire death in the morning show TV death which the child absorbs Deathwell mystery which makes me write Slow train, the death of my cock gives life Forgive the poor old people who gave us entry Taught us god in the child’s prayer in the night
Guitar player Ancient wise satyr Sing your ode to my cock Caress it’s lament Stiffen and guide us, we frozen
Lost cells The knowledge of cancer To speak to the heart And give the great gift Words Power Trance This stable friend and the beast of his zoo Wild haired chicks Women flowering in their summit
Monsters of skin Each color connects to create the boat which rocks the race Could any hell be more horrible than now and real?
I pressed her thigh and death smiled Death, old friend Death and my cock are the world I can forgive my injuries in the name of Wisdom Luxury Romance Sentence upon sentence Words are the healing lament For the death of my cock’s spirit Has no meaning in the soft fire Words got me the wound and will get me well I you believe it
All join now and lament the death of my cock A tounge of knowledge in the feathered night Boys get crazy in the head and suffer I sacrifice my cock on the altar of silence
Hour of Magic
Resident mockery give us an hour for magic We of the purple glove We of the starling flight and velvet hour
We of Arabic pleasure’s breed We of sundome and the night Give us a creed To believe
A Night of lust Give us trust in The Night Give of color Hundred hues a rich mandala For me and you
And for your silky pillowed house A head, wisdom And a bed Troubled decree Resident mockery has claimed thee.
We used to believe. In the good old days. We still receive in little ways.
The Things of Kindness An unsporting brow Forget and allow.
Awake. Shake dreams from your hair My pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day The days divinity First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach in a cool jeweled moon Couples naked race down by its quiet side And we laugh like soft, mad children Smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy The music and voices are all around us.
Choose they croon the ancient ones The time has come again Choose now, they croon Beneath the moon Beside an ancient lake Enter again the sweet forest Enter the hot dream Come with us.
Everything is broken up and dance.
Did you know freedom exists In school books Did you know madmen are Running our prisons
Within a jail, within a gaol Within a white free protestant Maelstrom
We’re perched headlong On the edge of boredom We’re reaching for death On the end of a candle
We’re trying for something That’s already found us
This poet-prophet rock idol flung the doors of perception wide open, and as we read his poetry, for an instant we become infinite. His words continue to echo in the young of heart.