Jim Morrison, this poet-prophet rock idol flung the doors of perception wide open and as we read his poetry, for an instant we become infinite…
“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 Poems | 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 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 on other worlds,
in my deepest inner mind,
and in the minds of others.
I can.
I am.
Jim Morrison Poems | 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.
Jim Morrison Poems | The Movie
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 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.
Jim Morrison Poems | Stoned Inmaculate
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 confused.
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.
Jim Morrison Poems | Newborn Awakening
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.
Jim Morrison Poems | 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.
Jim Morrison Poems | Lament
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
Jim Morrison Poems | 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.
Jim Morrison Poems | Ghost Song
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.
Jim Morrison Poems | Freedom Exists
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
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