Live Live.

Play a song.
Dance a little.
Sing along.
Dance a lot.
Sing it loud.
Break a sweat.
Get on down.
Get on up.
Stiff is paired with rotten
thus synonymous with dead.
Don’t live dead.
Lively up yourself.
Love up yourself.
Turn up the volume of your smiles…
May your laughs outnumber your sighs.
May your good vibes be felt for miles.
Let us blanket the earth with those very vibes.
Let us generate gratitude.
Let us say you’re welcomed more.
Let us act out our thanks.
Let us live.
Let us dance!

Dai-ikiru Akasha Maximillion
(Errol “Moxie” Percival Jr.)


It starts here and now.
From this moment on…
I am no longer that which I was.
I am now what I am always.
Uncut cloth…
As such…
Apt… up.
Rapt.. stuck… at the rapture…
that ruptures the rubric
leaving hemorrhage ensuing…
bleeding black red and blue ink…
is over I am Anu being…
Shiva… Anubis… Buddha…
Canoodling… destiny on forehead
Leelooing quintuple element.
Trismagestus binary cueing.
I-ching and Lao Tzu in…
Epic thesis of Epictetus.
Miyamoto rings…
Sun Tzu swords…
Krishnamurti eyes…
Ueshiba smiles…
Kabir laughter
Rumi fields
Tagore tears
Hua Ching Ni lucidity
Senzaki zen
Daiikiru dance!

Dai-ikiru Akasha Maximillion
(Errol “Moxie” Percival Jr.)

The Voice

The highest bidder…
The heist gets bigger.
Glaringly obvious…
what doubt is costing us.
Our plight’s enforced in us.
Opportunists capitalize.
Omissions in the enterprise…
Seedlings of value left to die.
The most luxurious foilage grows in the wild.
Divine determination brings home the win everytime… overtime.
Have the time of your life and a half.
Sit on the golden goose
and nurse the golden calf.
Chickens always come home to roost…
despite what spells some may cast.
Sometimes what people chase is the catch.
Sometimes the prompting of haste is the trap.
Without time to marinate the taste is so trash.
Some play chess against their very selves.
A peacock and a pigeon probably play the same game… oh well.
Shit on the boards, the pieces and the very shelves…
Will there be tears in heaven?
Will there be pearls and pigs?
Will there be surly living?
Will there be adults and kids?
How will we tell the difference?
What will be the point of reference?
There are books the library won’t let you take home.
There are those who won’t or can’t use your comb.
In my hand held phone there are tons of tomes.
I read tons of literature before I ever wrote one poem.
I did that out of love for the written word.
Thusly the seeds were planted
and the fruition is this voice that will be heard.

Dai-ikiru Akasha Maximillion
(Errol “Moxie” Percival Jr.)

In these spaces…

In these spaces…
The rise and the fall.
Pseudonym Basis.
The prize and the wall…
Simulated solitude…
Are we ever really alone?
All is related thus connected…
The “silence” is often filled to overflowing
by our doing… our undoing.
our molding… our masking…
our holding in… our tasking
of ourselves with that which is
none of our concern
until we make it so.
all the fake must go
uplift your face and glow
glow even in broad daylight
complement the sun…
moon, stars… earth.
we too inhabit heavenly body
release what weights you
but doesn’t fully shield you
body language is as neon lighting
revealing… advertising…
Help wanted… God…
Apply within.

Dai-ikiru Akasha Maximillion
(Errol “Moxie” Percival Jr.)


My heart knows no bounds.
It leaps into and despite any bonds
to spaces where complacent leave rooms
vacant or as well as… when devoid of action to carry on or out what they’ve championed
in public eye… but counter with private sty.
No judgment or condemnation which is oft’ paired with commendation as futile buttering…
Up it leaps out of chair in ovation at oration clear as if imbibed at spring or river source
to stares from the apparent unmoved…
the composed… the “I don’t knows”… because I don’t… So I remove these labels and have on hand rusty mystery cans containing approbation or scoff. I’ll never know for I don’t have an opener… And I don’t care to procure one. So I’ll use them as drums. The rhythm must go on. The living must go on… ecstatic… bubbling over like milk and rice. Troubling over. I relinquish the vice of fueling up on compliments and likes.
Who rocks or who doesn’t must never be a vise to constrict the conduit through which flow such vibes…
I’m the sun’s child…
So I bask… I withhold not my own glow…
despite the stifling smell of sunscreen.
I smile on… all… from pulpit pounder to reprobate… Every dog has its day.
Every heart has its place where it is bound to be unbound…
If not, I hold this space as of now.
Unabashed awe at the resilience and beauty of kindred souls overflows… We made it…
We can make it home.
I love you.

Open Windows

I lost a lot of myself
that wasn’t myself.
So much had been added onto me.
So much had been placed into me.
A purging was very necessary.
There is a poison in neglect and ill attention.
There is a malodorous air to veiled derision.
Unwarranted pity from the pitiable makes clear what the roads of hell are cobbled with.
Shoes and clothing mean much…
They are modes of communique.
They tell tales.
Sometimes the tales are true.
Some are material mating calls…
peacock feathers.
Some are armor.
Some are disguises.
Some are just thrown on…
and disclaimed as “This old thing.”
It is said that there is nothing new under sun.
So then is everything old?
If so what of the process of getting old?
Is it not also becoming new?
Becoming you?
Many things are getting old…
like these cliches that confine us.
Some spells spoken are as bars on the windows marring the view through the panes
dispelling the illusion of freedom…
The leashes are long…
The prison yard is vast.
The warden looks like us.
We self serve.
We self surveil.
We self imprison.
We self limit.
We self… fear.
We emulate the “God fearing.”
Can one fully love what one fears?
I’m asking for a kindred that isn’t my reflection but my extension.
I could go on forever…
The stream of consciousness never dries up.
Yet I understand dosages and increments.
So until the next… Peace.
Love and life.

Dai-ikiru Akasha Maximillion
(Errol “Moxie” Percival Jr.)