Photo of Jim Morrison


by Jim Morrison.

Lament for my cock

Sore and crucified

I seek to know you

Acquiring soulful wisdom

You can open walls of mystery


     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 colour 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

Dear, 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 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

     If you believe it

All join now and lament for 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 alter of silence


It`s not always clear in Jim Morrison`s poetry, whether he`s having a laugh at our expense, being seriously bad, or just being serious. Many have cited him as a genius of words, while others think it`s simply a stream of consciousness erupting from a drug addled brain and spluttered onto the page like a misfiring machine gun, without rhyme or reason. Of course, poetry doesn`t need rhyme or reason to hit the spot; it simply is what it is, and can mean all things to all people. So, Jim Morrison is either a poetic gem, a turd hidden in full view on a dung heap, or something in between. You pay your money and make your choice. I simply think his poetry is great fun to read;  good or bad, is always in the eye of the beholder.


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