Poetry By James Douglas Morrison

People need Connectors
Writers, heroes, stars, leaders
To give life form.
A child's sand boat facing
the sun.
Plastic soldiers in the miniature
dirt war. Forts.
Garage Rocket Ships

Ceremonies, theatre, dances
To reassert Tribal needs & memories
a call to worship, uniting
above all, a reversion,
a longing for family & the
safety magic of childhood

Between childhood, boyhood,
adolescence
& manhood (maturity) there
should be sharp lines drawn w/
Tests, deaths, feats, rites
stories, songs, & judgments

Shrill demented sparrows bark
The sun into being. They rule
dawn's kingdom. The cars-
a rising chorus- Then
workmen's songs & hammers
The children of the schoolyard,
a hundred high voices,
complete the orchestration

The Crossroads
a place where ghosts
reside to whisper into
the ears of travelers &
interest them in their fate

Hitchhiker drinks:
"I call again on the dark
hidden gods of blood"

-Why do you call us?
You know our price. It
never changes. Death of
you will give you life
& free you from a vile
fate. But it is getting late.

-If I could see you again
& talk w/ you, & walk a
short while in your company,
& drink the heady brew
of your conversations,
I thought

-to rescue a soul already
ruined. To achieve respite.
To plunder green gold
on a pirate raid & bring
to camp the glory of old.

-As the capesman faces
poisoned horns & drinks
red victory; the soldier,
too, w/ his trophy, a
pierced helmet; & the
ledge-walker shuddering
his way into inward grace

-(laughter) Well, then. Would
you mock yourself?

-No.

-Soon our voices must become
one, or one must leave.

AS I LOOK BACK


As I look back
   over my life
   I am struck by post
               cards
Ruined Snap shots

   faded posters
Of a time, I can't recall

I am a Scot, or so
I'm told. Really
the heir of Mystery
            Christians

Snake in the Glen

The child of a
   Military family...

I rebelled against church
   after phases of
      fervor

I curried favor in school
   & attack'd the teachers

      I was given a
      desk in the corner

      I was a fool
            &
      The smartest kid
         in class

Walks in D.C. in
         Negro streets. The library
         & book stores. Orange
         brick in warm sun.
         The books & poets magic

Then sex gives greater stimulation
Than you've ever known &
all peace & books lose their
charm & you are thrown
back on the eye of vision

History of Rock
   coinciding w/ my
               adolescence

Came to LA to
   Film School

Venice Summer

Drug Visions

Roof top songs

early struggles &
         humiliations

Thanks to the girls
who fed me.

Making Records

Elvis had sex�wise
mature voice at 19.

Mine still retains the
nasal whine of a
repressed adolescent
   minor squeaks & furies
An interesting singer
at best � a scream
or a sick croon. Nothing
in�between.


ROAD DAYS


fear of Plane death

And night was what Night
      should be
A girl, a bottle, & blessed sleep

I have ploughed
My seed thru the heart
of the nation.
   Injected a germ in the psychic blood vein.

Now I embrace the poetry
of business & become � for
a time � a "Prince of Industry"

A natural leader, a poet,
            a Shaman, w/ the
soul of a clown.

What am I doing
   in the Bull Ring
         Arena
Every public figure
   running for Leader

Spectators at the Tomb
�riot watchers

Fear of Eyes
Assassination

Being drunk is a good disguise.

I drink so I
can talk to assholes.
This includes me.

The horror of business

The Problem of Money
       guilt
   do I deserve it?

The Meeting
Rid of Managers & agents

After 4 yrs. I'm left w/ a
   mind like a fuzzy hammer

regret for wasted nights
   & wasted years
I pissed it all away
   American Music

End w/ fond good�bye
& plans for future
�Not an actor
   Writer�filmmaker

Which of my cellves
         will be remember'd

Good�bye America
   I loved you

         Money from home
         good luck
         stay out of trouble