Cubism The Poem

By ronald allen

Cubism the poem takes place in San Francisco similar to life '60s and 70s. Conflicts and discourses between three people establish a relationship of ordinary thinking ongoing free time modes of survival on and off work even though work was not accentuated mostly play time and exasperating aggravated studies of filling spaces in voids amongst ordinary younger people never aging never advancing personal thoughts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ronald allen
• Release date: Apr 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798876175700

Book preview

Cubism

The Poem

by Ronald Allen

Copywrite2023@RonaldAllen

Description

Cubism: A Poetic Trilogy weaves an enchanting tapestry of three interconnected stories titled Sex Machine, Doors of Perception, and The Flop House. Set in the bustling streets of San Francisco, each verse brings forth the trials and tribulations of young souls grappling with a city plagued by drugs, chaos, and uncertainty. The reader is taken on an emotional journey, where hopes clash with reality, love transcends distance, and friendship becomes a lifeline amidst the tenderloin's trials. Through poetic brilliance, the author masterfully portrays the human spirit's resilience, painting vivid landscapes of struggle, yearning, and the quest for a place to call home. Cubism is a timeless exploration of the human experience, leaving readers captivated by the raw emotions and vivid imagery encapsulated within its pages.

Contents

Sex Machine

A Tough Experience

Broken teacup

Doors of Perception

Lore of The Hippie Odyssey

The Flop House

Sex Machine

––––––––

In a rundown apartment,

River fagged out,

eyes bulging gray,

Tired from a sleepless night,

she couldn't hold at bay.

Beside her, Little Willy,

the crooked hippie,

joints stained on his fingertips,

pondered slowly,

craving coffee and another smoke that he'd grip.

With a dangling marijuana cigarette,

Little Willy's eyes bloodshot,

as the night weighed on River's heart,

she felt distraught. "I'm just so tired,

Little Willy," she sighed,

rubbing her eyes. "Work awaits,

slinging hash in a restaurant where darkness lies."

Unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes,

Little Willy glanced at River,

unfazed by the sleepless night. What's the dilemma? he inquired.

Nothing, River replied.

"Just musing about life's core.

We're all just machines, cells,

and neurons at our core."

Little Willy shrugged. So what? he said.

That doesn't mean we're not special.

I didn't say we weren't special, River said.

I just said we're machines. And that's okay.

Okay? Little Willy asked.

"How can that be okay?

We're not just machines.

We're human beings.

We have feelings and emotions and thoughts.

We're capable of love and compassion and creativity."

Yes, we are, River said.

"But we're also capable of hate and violence and destruction.

We're capable of doing terrible things to each other.

And all of that is just as much a part of being human as the good stuff is."

So what are you saying?

Little Willy asked.

"That we're just machines,

and our actions don't matter?"

No, River said.

"I'm saying that our actions matter,

but they're not the only thing that matters.

We're more than just our actions.

We're more than just machines.

We're human beings, and we have the potential to be so much more."

Little Willy took a moment to mull over River's words.

He inhaled deeply from his marijuana cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke,

the room momentarily obscured.

"I guess you're right,

he said, the smoke billowing around him. We're more than just machines."

We sure are, River affirmed,

her voice steady.

"And we should never forget that.

xxxx

Like dreamers awaken by the machines In this beat generation, thoughts and emotions collide, Two souls grappling with existence, questioning the ride. We're machines, River freaked out, but Little Willie shook his head, We're human beings, he retorted, with love and passion widespread.

The smoke lingered in the air, a moment to reflect, Beyond the limits of machines, humanity connects. In this world of light and dark, both shadows and the gleam, They sought to find their purpose, in this beat generation dream.

River sighed again, I just can't do this anymore, she said. I'm so tired of lies and false hopes, stressed out, freaked out, I'm a machine and it's all in my head.

Turning, she walked away, footsteps heavy, hope redefined. She didn't know how to stop. But she knew there was no stopping as the streetcar clanged through the crack in the window.

Hang in there, he whispered, a plea from his core, As she sipped the coffee, feeling vitality restore. In this beat generation dance, as a small radio on the counter played, their struggles intertwined, The journey ahead, with hope defined.

Like dreamers awaken by the machines River nodded, grasping the essence of his words, their wisdom cutting through the fog of uncertainty.

––––––––

xxxx

Like dreamers awaken the machines

In this beat generation, thoughts and emotions collide,

Souls grappling,

The smoke lingered in the air,

a moment to reflect,

Beyond the limits of machines,

humanity connects.

A genuine smile graced River's face,

knowing she had a steadfast friend in Little Willie,

an anchor in the swirling currents of life.

As she savored another sip of coffee And blew some weed,

a sense of contentment washed over her.

She could feel the awakening of her soul,

rekindled with each moment.

The road ahead might be long and uncertain,

but she was resolute in her determination to face it head-on.

River was aware of the presence of Susie 2 and Little Willie,

two enigmatic figures with a dubious reputation,

dwelling in the same flophouse for months.

Their artful mastery of deceit intrigued her,

and she couldn't help but wonder about their stories.

Their lives,

a mosaic of shadows and intrigue,

overlapped with her own,

creating a strange interplay of existence.

––––––––

In this beat generation narrative,

lives intersect,

souls unite,

One day at a time,

they journey through the night.

An unlikely friendship,

a beacon in the dark,

A sip of coffee, a respite, a spark.

Like dreamers awaken the machines

In this beat generation, thoughts and emotions collide,

Souls grappling,

The smoke lingered in the air,

a moment to reflect,

Beyond the limits of machines,

humanity connects.

As the cut-up fold-in weaves its tale,

The beat of life, a rhythm to prevail.

Through struggles and trials,

they stand,

In the tapestry of existence,

hand in hand.

Always scheming for money,

trouble trailed their path,

River tried to steer clear,

an escape from their wrath.

Around her always,

they sought to ensnare,

Pulling her into schemes,

she wanted to declare,

Leave me be! she cried,

but they wouldn't relent,

A constant presence,

her peace they meant to dent.

––––––––

One day, returning home from toils of the day,

Susie 2 and Little Willie,

in her room did sway.

Her belongings rifled,

their intent unclear,

River knew she had to act,

overcome her fear.

What are you doing? her voice firm and