Denoted in demotion of theirs from precedence over ours…
Deference over hours spent locked into another’s paradigm of pursuit lost in the shuffle that is sacred dance to divine drum.
The knowing erupts.
The veil self destructs.
Meditativeness pervades.
Grace predates all teaching tales.
The wild sage is the template for the contained ones.
The ruler rulers…
The deceivers for the greater good.
The draped ones.
The robed in ritual.
The fake ones.
The holy rollers for a check.
The hangers on.
The blood sippers.
The energy harvesters.
The end of time harbingers.
Those who never ask what that even means.
I quest and query.
Inquest inner depths and my surface reaps goosebumps.
Visceral fear that time the tightrope as safety net will forsake me and leave me to the gaping maw of the abyss of eternity and I will have to truly be God… Power is responsibility.
Powerlessness is the result of blame and scapegoats.
Powerlessness is not knowing what you came for…
or knowing and being too afraid to do it due to adherance to what you are faithful but just isn’t for you.
It is for your warden.
You beg for pardons.
Rejects from gardens.
The weakest
The fallen…
Y’all better get up…
The fight is just starting.
We’re warriors darling.
Mark us more than words.
More than swords…
More than spears…
More than war paint and battle cries
More than our fears.
More than…
What they told us our limits were.
We choose what our limits are.
Wake up and live you mighty people…
Learn from Marcus and Bob…
But erect no idols…
to shade your kingdom from the sun.
The time to hide in the shadows is done.
We all are the one.




This is it.
This is what many have been waiting for.
This is lit.
True being power, grace and soul.
On fire… Blue flame.
Un-sired… Unnamed…
Every name given or chosen is pseudonym.
Every claim, ism or schism is useless phlegm.
At least to him.
They may get others where they’re going,
where good intentions never find fruition but ruin…
This is not wishful thinking.
This is clear vision of the prudent
who is yet but a suckling.
The universe nourishes.
A tune and verse flourishes
under tutelage that punishes.
Pain keeps its promises
of gain, purging, and perfected polishing.
Gratitude… yields much… and preserves.
On a mission…


Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion
Errol Percival Jr.

. … . … . … .

I won’t count them.
How does one measure a river’s flow without a dam.
It is continuous…
I just take a sip and share a bit ever so often.I also bathe in it…
It makes me wake and bids my eye to sharpen.
My writing prompts are a well known ache that leaves no recourse but to express like an engorged breast.
My restless muse rains milk like manna from the sky upon me and my mind moves at its behest…Deeper deeper into the self…
Into the zone where only I AM is known.
That one… all else are echoes…
Reverberations… Lotus petals.
The dance of the all…
Not one step a misstep or superfluous…
Superb sashay…
Leaving footprints that look strangely like letters…
Sent back home from war…
Bittersweet… This medicine…
This magic in reserve…
This regard haunted by a whisper…
“Study long; study wrong.”
I trust intuition and nature…
I belong… We belong to the night and the morning.
The dawning of a new hearer…
That listens and knows that the speaker is them packaged and labeled “different” but still them…
Wait… We are still us.
For peace… be still.
I speak not to storms.
We are not on speaking terms.
We can’t speak if you scream at me.
I speak to the sea of people…
the ocean of the populace…
the space of human promise…
Deep in we…
Access us love…
Be there…
Answer MJ’s query… Affirmatively.
One love… Asé.

Did I scare you?
Get a clear view.
They say the devil is in the details.
How much of what “they” say is true?
Is the divine vague… an artist with a wide brush?
Is it not versatile with paint.
Can’t see; can’t touch?
Then please explain to me these damn goosebumps.
Either way it’s all a moot point.
The distinction between divine and creation…
The divine is in the morning dew making a leaf a stand for a mirror of the whole universe… even the parts we can’t detect with the naked or aided eye.
It is there whether we like it or not.
We can make as many scapegoats as we like.
We can make as many houses to house the houses of gods as we like.
None may match the majesty of the “simple” sky.
Yet still none may match mastery of our “complex” insides.
Better get it right.
Blame is a blight.
Your saviour is your light.
Shed it on your plight.
Travel to all corners of you.
Mark your territory.
Be sovereign in truth.
Break your mental manacles and spiritual shackles.
Get a clear view.
Don’t be scared boo.


… … …

I’m inadvertently impolite at times.

I don’t mean to be.

Perhaps I should force it.

Perhaps I should stretch thin and wide.

Perhaps I should fake it to make it.

Perhaps I should apologize profusely at every turn.

Perhaps the cure for overstimulation is more stimulation and stricter stipulations and adherence to my contractual obligation to always do and say the right thing…

Man… I don’t know my ass from my elbow right now.

Maybe I’m exaggerating.

Maybe I’m overreacting.

Maybe I need to eat.

Maybe I need to get to napping.

Maybe I’m just purging my palette for more tasteful thoughts and should keep these to myself in the hopes of seeming invulnerable behind walls impregnable without a thesaurus and a map key for my psyche…

Thesaurus? Really?

Don’t you think highly of yourself?

You’re not that deep.

And even if you were… Who cares?

Don’t share…

You can’t risk a bad poem.

What will they think?

Who cares?

Do share… Maybe this will let you off the hook…

Maybe this will let you let go of the pommel of the saddle of your high horse that stands still no matter what you do with the reins.

Maybe you can relinquish the appellation “Poet” and just be Max who likes to write again.





DAM all that.

Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion ’til I’m in a grave or my name is engraved on something that commemorates something like making something out of nothing.

What will it say?

Who cares?

Maybe… Perhaps…

At least he was brave.

Errol Percival Jr. A.K.A. Pop pop.

… . …

What do you bring to the table?
Is it food for the soul?
Is it food for the ego?
You have to know.
Or maybe you don’t.
I’m responsible for what I eat…
hence what I am…
if idioms serve me correctly.
Fasting is some powerful shit.
Abstaining gives your character strength.
Fire for any form of guilt formulating act.
Walking what you talk gets you where you belong.
Don’t get in where you fit in.
Leave room for growth.
Shrink not from the truth.
Leave rooms full…
full of your self-replenishing essence.
May your cup overflow and bid you change the tablecloth.
May the birthright of love adorn as center piece and not languish underneath with cobwebs and daddy long legs.
May rolling stones go uphill, pushed with care like prams in the park.
May what you bring to the table be sufficient to surpass mere sustenance.
Be a banquet of being.
Love is not a weakness.
Let its true meaning be your reason.
Serve well.
Eat well.
Namastè / Yes I

Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion

Late Light

Shift your perspective; shift your life.
Dig to the root of the pain you flee and cover.
Life is a full cup even when half full.
We need to breathe more than we need to drink.
So be thankful for breathing room.
Be thankful for solitude where your guards don’t need to be up.
Be thankful for quietude that let’s thoughts bubble up and burst… as you relinquish them to from whence they came.
Be thankful for stillness or seeming stillness that allows you to see what moves you.
Just be thankful… for something…
It could be nothing.
It could be a friend… even ever distant.
It could be sensitivity that makes tears immediate.
Remember it takes all kinds to make the world, so being one of a kind is both burden and boon.
Carry it proudly… but not too proudly.
What does “too proudly” even mean?
I hope it isn’t tied to other’s comfort levels.
If “they” can’t take the shine, let them get out of the sun.
It may sound callous but the reality is: Stifling is a horrible death be it murder or suicide.
I love us.
– Daiikiru Maximillion