Poems by Raymond Cooper


Bells of Creation

O soul that is the poet
Write with the hand of time

And try to tell your brothers
That heaven is sublime

No gold, no diamond, no ruby or wedding ring
Is worth more than, or less than a pebble

When touched by a new born soul
Even the son of a king

From dust we came
To dust we go
Whether the casket be of gold
So dust we are

Whether we sit in mansion
Or in fold

The soul that flowered all of us
Was the beginning of the blood
In our veins

So when you judge the wealth of your success
Imagine our father's pen and paint

For God sees the man at work
Even though men cannot see the artist
Ring the bells of creation




An Eternal Kiss

Sailing on the sea of love
You've got me

Sailing on the sea of love
You are my destiny

In my dreams my soul
Cries out tears of ecstasy

I am sitting on a sky that's golden
With your love embraced

Your ruby lips smile

An eternal kiss


Love Coma

Kissing lips of fantasy
In the valley of heaven

He was
Because she loved him

She took him to caves of turquoise and lipstick
She showed him windows to black laced stockings
And perfumes of azure

He was allured to the taking
Turning pages of silk sheets
Reading sensuous love poems

Remembered by her spirit
He lived in a dream

He seldom awoke




A Song to Dana Mac-

It's hard to tell
Why mountains exist
It's hard to know
Why a snake has a hiss

It's hard to say why an ocean has waves

But it's easy to know
It's easy to tell
Clear as a bell
It's easy to say
You're going to need my loving one-day

Love, I gave you my heart
I gave you my soul
I wrote you poetry
I was going to marry you
Going to work and build us a home
But all you wanted was good times and a piece of my bone

Lord you're going to miss my loving one-day
Don't need a crystal ball to let you know

I held your spirit
When your blonde hair was shining gold
When the flames of our hearts both held the same light

The bright lights of this world
Won't give you what my love could have
I don't know why the sky is so high
I can't tell you why men don't have wings to fly
Can't tell you why gators don't cry
But one thing I do know
You're going to miss my loving one-day

I know I've missed you since I was seventeen
It may be when I rot and become part of the green
But you're going to miss my loving one-day
Yes, you're going to miss my loving one-day




Black Lipstick Baby

Black fingernail polish
Leather skirt and chains
Fishnet stockings
Mousse in your hair
Ring in your nose
Pretty as a pea pod
Sitting in a dark corner
Sipping on a soda

Black Lipstick Baby
You really turn me on
Black Lipstick Baby
You really ring my bell
Black lipstick Baby shiny and bright
May I have a light?
Black lipstick baby
Take me home tonight



The lust for life
And the crazy space of time in an apartment
Followed by an obsessed lover
Night and day
Dark and light
Disappear into a space within myself
I am ruled by psychology
And death knocks at my brain
Constantly I try to fly
But my wings are an illusion
The world is a haze
As I walk in a different dimension
Learning more and more
And knowing less
Never mind
I think it's time to go to bed


The Psycho Pseudo-logical institution

Educated emancipation of sadists minds
Sad structures paid for by the working class

Injected molecules of prison matter
To control the nervous system of people suffering from loss of love
From despair
From dysfunction

Staffed by the hands of Psycho-logic persons
It's an institution of compassion only after infliction of pain
Only after admission of being of sick mind
Food shelter and clothing
Only after one is stripped of one's aura
As if you came for help without any self-respect
Without the need to return to work
Obviously the pious have lost
To force-beings funded by government
The loving hand has been forced to withdraw again
To medieval type sooth-sawyers
Funded by a system lost to hypocrisy




Driven Mad

We are the insane
We know why
Many have used our condition as an excuse for murder, rape and pillaging
They are put amongst those of us in bondage
They eat and sleep beside us
This action has made us chronic
We are the insane
Driven mad by an infection in society
Driven mad by violence, selfishness, men of power, and greed
We will return one day
The day they go away
We are the insane tormented by curious PHd's for centuries
Some of us shunned by our families
In states like New York living in cardboard boxes in alleys
We were once strong and independent
In our plight we could reach the mountains of the moon
But so called civilization harnessed, straight-jacketed, shock treated, surgeonized, injected
Then in the more humane nineteen-eighties
Medicated, tranquilized, hypnotized, group therapied, reintegrated into the work placed us
We are the insane
We are dependent
May the lord have mercy on us


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Text and Images ©1999 Raymond Cooper