Jim Morrison – “Notebook Poems”

February 1, 2010 at 7:33 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

There are images I need to
create my own reality

Angels & Sailors (rich girls)
Backyard fences, tents
dreams watching each other
Soft luxuriant cars
Girls in garages
stripped, out to get
liquor & clothes
Half-gallons of wine
& six-packs of beer
Tender corral. Jumped.
Humped. Born to suffer.
Made to undress in
the wilderness.

-Hey man you want girls
Pills grass come-on
I show you good time
This place has everything
Come-on, I show you

Burlesque Beat

Can we resolve the past- lurking jaws
joints of Time- the base- to come
of age in a dry place- holes & caves

The music was new black polished
chrome & came over the summer
like liquid night- the D.J.’s
Took pills to stay awake & play
for 7 days.

The General’s son had a sister.
They went down to see him.
They went to the studio & someone
knew him. Someone knew
the T.V. Showman.

He came to our home room party &
played records & when he left,
in the hot noon sun, & walked
to his car, we saw the Chooks
had written F-U-C-K on his
windshield. He wiped it off
w/a white rag & smiling cooly,
drove away.

“He’s rich. Got a big car.”

My friend drove an hour each day
from the Mts. The bus gives
you a hard-on w/books in your
lap. We shot the bird at the
black M.P.

My gang will get you. Scenes
of rape in the arroyo. Seductions
in cars, abandoned buildings.
Fights at the food stand.
The dust. The Shoes
Opened shirts & raised collars.
Bright sculptured hair.
Spades dance best, from the hip.

Someone shot the bird on the
afternoon dance show. They gave
out free records to the best

Always a playground instructor,
never a killer. Always a bridesmaid
on the verge of fame, or over,
he maneuvered 2 girls into his
hotel room. One, a friend,
and a newer stranger, vaguely
Mexican or Puerto Rican.

Poor boy’s thighs & buttocks, scarred
by a father’s belt. She’s trying
to rise. Story of her boyfriend
& teen-age stone death games.
Handsome cat, dead in a car.

Come here
I love you.
Peace on earth
Will you die for me
eat me
this way
the end

-I’m surprised you could get it up.
He whips her lightly, sardonically
-Haven’t I been thru enough? she asks.

The dark girl begins to bleed.
It’s Catholic heaven. I have an
ancient Indian crucifix around
my neck. My chest is hard
& brown. Lying on stained &
wretched sheets w/a bleeding Virgin.
We could plan a murder, or
Start a religion.

I want to tell you
Texas Radio & the Big Beat

it comes out of the Virgin Swamps
cool & slow
w/plenty of precision
& a back beat narrow
& hard to master
some call it heavenly
in its brilliance
others mean & rueful
of the Western dream

I love the friends I have
gathered together
On this thin raft
we have constructed pyramids
in honor of our escaping
This is the land where
The pharaoh died-
The river contains specimens
The voices of singing women
call us on the far shore

& they are saying
“Forget the Night
live w/us in Forests
of azure”  (meager food for
souls forgot)

I tell you this;
no eternal reward will
forgive us now for
wasting the dawn

One morning you awoke
& the strange sun
& opening your door…

“Now listen to this:
I’ll tell you about
Texas Radio & the Big Beat
Soft driven slow & mad
like some new language

Reaching your head
w/the cold & sudden fury
of a divine messenger
Let me tell you about
heartache & the loss
of God
Wandering, wandering
in hopeless night

The negroes in the forest
brightly feathered
let me show you the maiden
w/wrought-iron soul
Out here on the perimeter
there are no stars
Out here we is stoned

Time works like acid
Stained eyes
You see time fly

The face changes as the heart beats
& breathes

We are not constant
We are an arrow in flight
The sum of the angles of change

Her face changed in the car
eyes & skin & hair remain
the same. But a hundred similar
girls succeed each other.

The sidewalkers moved faster
We joined the current. Suddenly
the cops, plastic shields & visors,
wielding long thin truncheons
like wands, in formation,
clearing the street the other way.
To get near or stay away.
Cafes were taking in tables
putting chairs on upside
down, pulling the steel playpen
safety bars. Whistles as
the vans arrive. Moustached
soldiers. We leave the scene.
Eyes of youth, wary, gleaming.
The church. A pastoral scene
of guitars, drums, flutes,
harps, & lovers. Past
Shakespeare & Co., the restaurants
w/elegant patrons, cross
street, the small Jazz
district (Story Ville) a
miniature New Orleans.
Negroes in African shirts.
A street brass band.
“Fare well to my web footed friends”
Crowd smiles, jogs, & sings.
Move past. San Michel Blvd.
The Statue. The Seine. Bonfires
of cardboard buzz evilly,
down the blvd. Fire-tenders.
Smell of smoke. Approach closer
nearer. Suddenly screams
long warhoops & the crowd runs
back. And as we flee,
they attack from behind.
Pressed against cafe tables.
Subway & news Kiosk- A
girl beaten, her cries. Can’t
hear blows. Rain. (Man w/bottle)
Join me at the demonstraion

We join groups under trees
& rain. Tall public buildings.

Join us at the demonstration.

Dreams are at once fruit & outcry
against an atrophy of the senses.

Dreaming is not solution.

We awoke, talking. Telling dreams.
an explosion during the night

A new siren. Not cop, Fire,
New York ambulance or european
movie riot news but the strange
siren predicting war. She ran
to the window. The yellow thing
had risen.

Fear is a porch where winds
slide thru in the North
A face at the Window that
becomes a leaf
An eagle sensing its disaster
But soaring gracefully above
A rabbit shining in the night

Still wet from a strange dream
dawn burst
scarring the chamber’s
roof where all things lie

I sat w/her & sipped cold sherry


(Caesura = ante-room to hell)

Start again: Should the events of those
days…Dream of incest & expulsion
from the tribe. Big Sister. It’s called
the clap. Get on over here, mother-of-pearl.
I was a virgin. It lasted 10 seconds.
Well don’t then. “I can’t relax.” Roll the
leather  pants up tightly for the morrow
They deserted me, deserted the cause, message
or word for another god. “We’re kicking
you out of our universe!” He ask’d for you.
I’ll bet he did.

Mystery of the dream
a woman or girl is trying
to appear

The Killer-Mexican, naked
except for shoes.

People, a family not connected
move at hypnotic cross lines
out of still frame

2 men, detectives, following
searching, sifting thru
back & side lit rooms, holding
muted counsel. Hats, suits.

People in a wood, a park.
The Killer lurks in his
own world.

dreams of children & families
return to the sub-world
to assimilate & guide events

New Orleans, sleep, (death’s
friend, death’s sister)
cattle, horses
faces get rubbery, clown-painted,
stupid sly & wise & knowing

The mystery of flight
To be inside the brain of a bird
goal-the end of a goddess
to slide gracefully &
knowledgeably into graveland
The Big Dream
Violent assassination of
Spirit & neck & skull
wounded he arrived

The dark American Sunset
The night like a vast
conspiracy to dream, hold
court in the swaying sand

Tijuana-the anus of Night
a cartoon of civilization
Whores are bores in the
American Night

What will we see in the
bowels of the night, in
The frosted cave where dreams
are made, right before your
eyes. Prophecy w/out money.

This song must have the sad
common strangeness of currency
coin of the realm. Bitter
embers. Scent of pine smoke
Fire-Night, special breeding
exercises. An excuse for
crime. High School of the
Night. Silence of a school
at night.

Acid dreams & Spanish Queens
L’America (another?, lone?, voice)
Asthma child, the fumidor
Duchess, rabbit, the woods by the road
Pearl Harbor-Shot of the road
Conceived in a beach Town
Relevance of beach or Lakes
Sinks, snakes, caves w/water
Religion & the Family
Plane crash in the Eastern Woods
Bailing-out over rice-fields
Guerrilla band inside the town
Bitter tree of consciousness
A fast car in the night-the road
Progress of The Good Disease

Those indians, dreams, &
the cosmic spinal bebop in blue.
The cosmic horrors. The cosmic
heebeejeebies. A combo of brain
tissue, blood, shit, sweat
sperm & steel, mixed w/grease
& liquid fire, ovaric calendars
Magnified on inner
Television lust-face, mirrors
into Nothing, great silence
opens layers of prehistoric
chinese monsters. The mouths,
the mouths, the cellular MAW.
A young Witch from
N.Y. is laying novice hexes
on my brain-pan, projecting
images of embryo development
on my psychology.

Her terrified wildness
disturbs my generals.
Baby, now I dig your
nightmare visions, & your
sadness & your bitchery

But, yet, thank you for
These spells. It gets
my pen moving.

The screaming maggot
group-grope called life.

It’s time for the desert wild.

Lust capital.

Time for an island, get
drunk, write & sail.

“I saw the Hell of women
back there.”

Women are obsolete

“Little Wine-dig that girl”

We placate women w/
food & song
w/sex, marriage, babies

You dig kids, Jim

Yeah, some of them are nice

I like your wife

Democracy of souls

The guided tour
“I am a guide to the labyrinth”

city is inside of body made manifest
meat organs & electrical
power plants

The place where, walking down
death-row (“You look like you’re”),
maps – AMERICUS – a river-vein
we ride along.

give form to the passing world

Freeways are a drama, a new
art form. Signs. Houses.
Faces. Loud gabble of Blacks
at a bus-stop.

car cemetery
The abandoned cars
The color of car paint, new at night
under neon
The dead reside in cars
-the old man, filthy,
keeper of the graveyard
Children, curious, throw stones

please like me
says the shrew
what can I do?
I love her.

Woman’s voice:
The palace of sperm seems warm tonight

Umm. gloom gloom doom ruin.

Marble porches. The grand ball room.
Silver smiles. Trumpets. Dancing

I want only you

This time come in me like an astronaut
Send snakes in my orbit

We can accomplish miracles
when we’re together.


w/the night to guide us

Don’t start that panic
Love Street parade

No one’s afraid of the law

Someone escaped
To the shore

Your image of me / my image of you
one-night scenes
out on the coast

Won’t work anymore

Soft parade
Love Street brigade

I bring these few rags
back home this evening
& lay them at your feet
Miserable witness
to a day of tragic
sadness & disbelief
Hope you’ll find me wanting
Take me to bed
Get me drunk (lay me out)

The bride-to-be lies in her bed
listening to
Festivities below
He steals her-in a dream

Star fish gluttony
What are the word-forms
for co(s)mic encounter
wedding flesh & mind
in one body

Tender island Night
And a promise of fever
& scars that burst
at blossom depths
& more green silver

Us wrestling in the warm temple of summer
beside the temple
cool inside
-He took my hand.
He spoke to me-

Black horse hooves galloping sun
mad chariot race burning
mad fiery chariot race
mad girl & mad boy
My feathered son flew
too near to the sun.

a moving
or movement
away from
a station

(weigh station)

Sound of lone car & low radio

A waving (good-bye to relations)
a way from
a waving
a motion

a moment
a waving

(call radio breaks in)

Uh, we have a message
brak brak

He follows a woman into the firmament
The solids, sonnets
elaborate requisitions for the god-soul

ah my bright jewelled town
a Widow’s band
roping sailors & hill-folk together
congeal on this flat spire
to partake of mineral jets
“he’s sick” he should be sleeping
peaceful by air, a movie of dead nights
in a wound, suffer to give out
your red-blue lighter’s flame
w/calm precision
your certainty lives in a match
or a mind
The huts are free evening cliff-dwellers
The trees, losing their variance, die sadly
O soft redness & palest blue
like a babie’s window
This is the hour you rule
& invite Ventures, quests,
trips to the electric valley down

“Mana Man”

He gets them into the dark hour
By playing singing stories hypnosis
wilderness     the island
Led out of bondage     (back there)
Viciously peeling fruit

Disguised as “Players”
command Performance

See-thru village
old hot forest of cars

cruel ambience
Leopard snake dance

swift lions of doubt
crouch in the window
& wait
for her to come

do you have
straight jackets
for the guests
yes we do

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters,
True sailing is dead.

Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned,
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop,
And heads bob up
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over

The original temptation was to destroy.
The Cliffs. The Road. The Walls.
Original heroism-to bluff the elements
of fire. To call creatures into the storm.
The original heroism was to fall. To ball.
The All. Natural man.

To participate in the creation.
To screw things up. To bring Things
into being.

The Crossroads where the car hides.
Lies. Resides. A meeting-place
of Worlds. Where dreams are made.
Where anything is possible. Demons

The car is steel & chrome. The wood-pile.
Top of the pile. The heap. The graveyard.
Where metal is reduced to its common
mute element. To be reborn. A tale
of rebirth in the wilderness. To become
chaos & come back.

2 spade chicks, or a king & queen,
comment from the balcony.

The types of society pass on the boards.
Microcosm in a thimble.

times change, damaged
cat’s blood rectify in haste
cactus furrows, wild
thrift catalog of grace

The chase bore inward
raise’d wet & westward shadows
To the strange trust
on the south bow

Augment pure shouter’s drawl
& light the candle
Night is comin’ on
& we’re outnumbered

By the waves, each soldier
bristling w/his trowel
To search & claim us
Teach our burial

The mind works wonders
for a spell, the lantern breathes
enlightens, then farewell

Each shipmate oars to under-
stand & eyes unoptic strains
to hear:

We came from over here,
to over there

Then told we wonder
mindless to degree
Most seldom furls
begins a century

Planes are groaning mothers
In our feeble insect wars.

Nylon condoms stream behind her Trojan
Warriors on their dreadful writhing flight.

Bailed out, sucked
from her metal belly,
one thin wire is left to prophesy return,
jump freely.

Swallowing air in the brief canal.
The ground leaps up like dogs
to snap, the field, & rolling pain.

Swamps, rice fields, danger.
Gunned down, over ten of them
struggling w/the wet placenta

While some land back in oceans.
Skin-divers float, free-float,
in the uterus.

The sea is a Vagina which
may be penetrated at any point.

Ah, the rule was war, as friendship
faltered. Families quarrelled, as usual,
in their chambers. The race suffered.
We traveled. We left home & beauty.
Ah, into these ships, again, we hastened.
The creation of power is slow-wasted.
Borrowed fillings. Brace for the brine.
Heaven kept, hour dated. Winds fermented
madness & kept parlour rife & rancid.

Crews took leave of sour concubines
& habits. The sea is no place for a lady.
Lads larked & frolicked, pulvering waves
they would seek into the deep.
Ark! Ark!
Cathay or Venice. Worlds beyond, &
Worlds after.

This story has no moral.
Trust not sleep or sorrow.
The fife-man croons the lull to wake
& Brings strong soldiers to a windy beach

India ink, ink of India
There are no more rich colors
Black neon, blocks away,
Escapes back smooth
in the desert sea.

There’s an appearance of sweat
on Italian silk skin.
Slap the rude face, & twist
into the doorway.

Then reappear, w/drums & glass
in jewels of laughter as one
called “The Gladiator”,
Hair claimed by flame of fire.

(Insulting to be back.
The dreaded, dismal day.)

Jail is a pussy coil,
dry as meat, dog-faced,

(Handsome dog & the shot gun eye.)

We leap the wall, dog & I,
To hang choking on fence collar chain.
Mate follows leap to suffer
String-throat, hollow, madness cry.

(In this “hollow” we were born.)

Mexican Khaki, the green womb.
Distrust all lovely words like green & womb.

(Obey the father.

Escape back into the landscape,
dry as meat, dusty, narrow.

Dog licks shit
Mexican girl whore sucks my prick.

(Open windows on the town.
Open pores on foreign air.)

The car rasps quiet.
Motor destroys itself on rotten fuel.
The pump is ill.
The hose has a steel nozzle.

Flesh of her rolls flesh away
in waves, The waters part
dry scalps beneath the hair
nude-white & very rare

And when she exits bed, the barge
To bathe in ocean’s tile & under
surgeon’s glare, blinking
I bask on the red floor of a Red Sea

Crime begins in the bed, the home,
It’s a low tide that talks
to rocks, & leaves
rust in its wake, & dry things crackling.

I fucked the dregs of the ruins
of an empire
I fucked the dust and the
horrible queen
I fucked the chick at the
gates of the Maya
I fucked all your women
& treated the same
w/respect for your warriors
returned from the
fucked w/the Negroes
in cabs of the drivers
Fucked little infants of North
Branded w/Napalm & screaming
in pain

pencilled heaven
my regards
no when to stop

There’s someone at the door.
A rapist rushes in.
No pain. No death.

It’s us, over & over again.

We’re coming in.
All right, search the place.
You won’t find anything.

Seeing all perspectives at once.

When everything freezes
& kind of turns back
in on itself.

feast green beast, spurred on by
sex, seasoned in silence, w/held
from slumber, silent in the deep pale
night beast lanquid a cool a cunt
a forest flower awoken now breathe
utter a word of reproach for fair
swifty flyers agon of night
The dream car the outlaw star
now he sits reclines in a terrible mansion
made more monstrous by the dark stroke
of slumber

The car is a purple foil beast dead in the
night. Neon is its sign his rich home
soft luxuriant car death gave grace
shaken to the soil  He stood in a strange
centre by the meeting pt. of worlds
This crossroads of desert flies the
corpse of sand batteries the ignition
What did happen! He screams at camera
Here she lie bleeding, blue wounds
just to tell us in our floppy hats
it’s over. The cops are rubber animals
w/surgeons cold pride, w/out their
glamour. The ambulance attendants
are sudden amateurs, good-natured in
this foreign chore. The cliffs no longer
contain faces. “I know what jail is
like” & “I know about time”.

So we played the carnival. Car. Carne.
Feast of meat. Celebration of blood.

O lucky ones who enjoy the dumb show

The reptile farm. The snake farm.
Woman & Monkey. The sign. The sign.

Search for the Tree. The place. The sink
Big Dismal

Goes in 2 ways. Spirit & meat. (sex)
You cannot join what can’t be joined
You cannot travel 2 roads
(He road off in all directions)

Hand Grenade

Very brave
all the rage
to tempt loneliness
upon Front page
gold head lines
w/Ali Khan & all the rest
Onassis, Blues
BB Albert Collins
gin & tonic
give him a high martin i
get him down
the prancing clown
will bring the empire
swooping swirling
Tunnelling Thundering Tumbling
hell, O, down

(That’s as down as I can
get right now, on a
Mainstream, & I am pretty
high, far gone)

Thank god I have the
Sweet warm promise of
a woman there to keep
me warm

So this is where my fine warm
poetry (pottery) has got
led me
back to Madness
& the men who made me

You think I don’t know that!

your poetry is so obsessed
I like my madmen cold

The abandoned Hotel
flowers dirt on its walls
The labyrinth of bowels
Moves slowly in grim waste
Children play here, wait
& sway here, tiring to her
swoon arched summer
and languid by the bow
Sits Esther, made up
like a queen, port in
a storm, striking fire-bells
in her drawers, chalking
the black street w/wild lies

O how could this be done to me
great dancer’s Witness
God, you are a satyr in disguise
Thus cruelly & uselessly to
Rend my life awry
I’ll lie here stolen, in cold wind
in the road, until peace freezes
& hallows me.
Rude ghost bastard.
Ah! Who comes now.

an afternoon of summer
I’m afraid to meet all
the rest of my brothers
in distress
Couldn’t we get in one
big Movie
Blow it all on one
Grand Floozie
& end it all
an autograph sends respects
to her Twin

everyone wants a Christ
& no one will give it to him
Mohammed, the enchanter
Keeper of Harems

Buddha, inkindergardened
under his tree, w/
not a moon-glow,
mindless Thought for you
& me

(This does not mean I want
or wish to be prey to people
God forbid)

& look at the steeple
a mindless wit am I
dickless, looking at the sky

a hole in the clouds
where a mind hides

in child’s raw hope

animal in a tunnel
defined by the light
around him

These evil subsidies
these shrouds

If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive, I’m dying.

The end of the rainbow

put all my screaming phantasies
into one giant

image of self-image-propagation
image of elation

limit 1st tree

image of Utopia
a slaughter of phantoms


The Human World
bounded by words
& dust

sweet soft & velvet

medium trust

Heaven or Hell the circus
of your actions

To Play
(chance is god here)
at Carnival

assuage the guilt
The deep fear

The separate loneliness

open Sinygog
open sesame

The Party of new connection
mind made free
Love cannot save you
from your own fate

Art cannot soothe
Words cannot tame
The Night

Scour the mind w/diamond
brushes. Cleanse into Mandalas.
Memory keeps us wicked & warm.
The Time temple. Who’ll go 1st?
Cloaked figures huddled by walls.
A head moves clocklike slowly.
I’m coming. Wait for me.

Lessons on becoming
a revolutionary
an actor
(a prophet!)
or a poet

There’s still good friends
to assist & relieve you
Mercenary whim
for her or for him

First become a
radiocal biochemical
aviationary sky-diver
Then contact your local pub-
lic accountant (he’ll tell you
how to spread the seeds of doubt)

Maids are bickering in the hall
The day is warm
Last night’s perfume
I lie alone in this
cool room

My mind is calm & swirling
like the marble pages of an
old book

I’m a cold clean skeleton
scarecrow on a hill
in April
Wind eases the arches
of my boney Kingdom
Wind whistles thru my mind
& soul
My life is an open book
or a T.V. confession

I wish a storm would
come & blow this shit
away. Or a bomb to
burn the Town & scour
the sea. I wish clean
death would come to me.

If only I
could feel
The sound
of the sparrows
& feel child hood
pulling me
back again

If only I could feel
me pulling back
& feel embraced
by reality
I would die
Gladly die

It has been said that
on birth we are trying
to find a proper womb
for the growth of our
Buddha nature, & that
on dying we find a
womb in the tomb of the
earth. This is my
father’s greatest
fear. It shouldn’t be.
Instead, he should
be trying to find me
a better tomb.

The end of the dream
will be when it

all things lie
Buddha will forgive me
Buddha will

-The cycle begins anew

a luring lulling sick-sad maddening
haunting ego-familiar strain
calls the wayward wanderer
home again

a music mosaic made of all image
tunes preceeding

The whistle or warm woman’s cry that
calls the child home from play

Thank you, O Lord
For the white blind light
A city rises from the sea
I had a splitting headache
from which the future’s made.


  1. Stephen Loomes said,

    Did he really feel this bad? If only I
    could feel
    The sound
    of the sparrows
    & feel child hood
    pulling me
    back again

    If only I could feel
    me pulling back
    & feel embraced
    by reality
    I would die
    Gladly die

    He talks about his death as his father’s greatest fear…
    This is my
    father’s greatest
    fear. It shouldn’t be.
    Instead, he should
    be trying to find me
    a better tomb.

    What father with such a brilliant troubled son, would not fret about his welfare. He was a thoughtful person, grateful for his life, but troubled by where he found himself.
    Thank you, O Lord
    For the white blind light
    A city rises from the sea
    I had a splitting headache
    from which the future’s made.

    His genius indeed has created the future and the masterpieces he left behind will support many a doctoral thesis. He was the greatest poet of the 20th century. Time will show that; but no-one wanted him to die for it. Or did he just, “die” to that life and leave it behind?
    Time for an island, get
    drunk, write & sail.

    I hope that is what he did; that the guy who died on heroin in the toilets at the circus was taken back to Rue Beautrellis, posed as Morrison in the bath-tub. He had been to Pere Lachaise a few days before this, probably found a grave; but for whom. He had applied for a new passport saying he had lost his old one. We can wonder, and in the meantime read these masterpieces, that are to literature more than what Picasso gave to canvas.

  2. Diogo Cabral said,

    I love Jim Morrison and his poetry, and i have found out that there were only a few websites that have some of his poems. So i decided to create one that is a compilation of all Jim Morrisons poems, i thought people would like to know. Here it is: http://www.jimmorrisonpoetry.com

    • jmucci said,

      Very cool. Thanks for letting me know.

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