Dream Poem no. 001: Oh Mighty Summer


Oh mighty summer.
Magic made in wild open fields
Along lakes rippling white and blue and yellow green
In the short soft gust of a late afternoon breeze
Oh, how do I come here now?
Is it with the wonderment of the soul or adventure of the gut?
The air filled with the sounds of a distant wildlife
Hawk sings from tree to stone cliffside
And cricket fiddles on romantically
This rhythm. This being. This carriage for the heart.
Feels oh so natural.
Oh summer now.
Take your warm gentle airs
And lift me now ever so light
I want to be one with the clouds
And two for their pearly composure.
Give me breath and appetite
So that some day I will be the tree before he loses his leaves
The mountain while she’s still green and humble
And this body of water fed by Spring
A host to all life in this pleasant valley.


If you would like to support my current travels and in return get personalized dream poems, check out my Patreon campaign here: http://www.patreon.com/marshalljameskavanaugh

You can also read other dream poems I have written here: http://dreampoetforhire.tumblr.com

Dream Poem no. 001: Oh Mighty Summer

The Artist on Gist Street


This morning in Pittsburgh, I met an artist who’s art has gotten so big it’s begun spilling out onto the streets. He told me it started with a cement sculpture he left out to bake in the sun. His neighbors were so impressed by it they were soon asking for more, even offering up the exterior walls of their own houses as a raw canvas for the artist to work with. He hung large portraits and painted entire murals, each piece growing in size and intensity until the entire neighborhood took on a visionary glow. As he talked to me I noticed there was this calm glint in his eyes, a warmth of abundance, as if he knew the old ways have already crumbled, and it is now an artist’s responsibility to build what’s next.


Photos of murals by James Simon on Gist Street in Pittsburgh

The Artist on Gist Street

Those Rolling Pittsburgh Hills


Today, biking along the river in Pittsburgh under a late summer sun. Herbs like sage, lavender, and chamomile growing wild on the trail’s edge. The whole city filled with this element of letting nature take hold and overgrow its concrete boundaries. Insects and wildlife living alongside their human counterparts.

What better place to celebrate the seasonal equinox? Tonight we will be performing at a mini-festival atop a hill in a naturally reclaimed baseball field left to become a forest, called Bandi Shaum. There will be a little bit of poetry, a little bit of folk music, some casual campfire cooked potlucks, and of course the trumpeting bellows of the wandering unicorn, Ma Ja Ka!

Looking forward to it!

Those Rolling Pittsburgh Hills

Donate to the dream and hire me to write poetry for you!


Hey friends, tomorrow I embark on a cross-country jaunt out to California with a fine crew of fellow wanderers. We’ll be doing poetry readings on our way out, as well as some farming and adventuring, so you’ll be sure to see my advances through this wild country spread across various social media outlets over the next few months, and I look forward to sharing it with you.

If you’re looking for a way to support my poetic antics, I’ve devised a plan to engage a broader span of people with my services as a DREAM POET FOR HIRE. Basically, this website Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/marshalljameskavanaugh) functions much like a kickstarter or indiegogo campaign, only instead of a one time donation for an upcoming project, you would become one of my “patrons”, donating every time I post new content. To keep things interactive I will be fulfilling special commissions for anyone who would like to be a benefactor of mine, and as the community grows so will the quality and mediums of the work. You will not only be helping me continue to create, but directly guiding where things go.

The best part is I will continue to post most of my digital poetry for free to the public. The Patreon account will exist like a paid subscription for those who feel especially moved by my work and want to give something back. A lot of people have expressed gratitude to me over the last two years that I’ve focused my poetry online, for brightening their day or simply making their heart warm with a breath of fresh air with each post. If you’ve shared that sentiment, this is your chance to help me expand even further, and as a result receive some personalized dream poems. The campaign is set up so you can choose how much you donate per poem, and what is the maximum amount that you want to donate each month. I’d say a typical good donation per poem would be $1-5, and as more people donate the collective pot will grow, allowing me to expand what mediums I work in and how much time I spend on each piece. It is a dream to make a living as a writer, and I think this is a potential route for fulfilling that, but right now the goal is more about having fun and the ability to grow as an artist. All donations received will really go a long way in helping me pay for travel expenses, book production, and other literary expansions.

I’m really excited to start this project and begin working for you all! Anything (even just a thumbs up as support) would be greatly appreciated. Feel free to hit me up if you have any questions or would like more information! Also please like and share this post with anyone you think would be interested, to help spread it. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to continue writing this grand fiction that I live and keeping you all in the loop! Looking forward to seeing some of you on the road. To everyone else, thank you, and keep up the good vibes!

Take care,
Ma Ja Ka.

Donate to the dream and hire me to write poetry for you!

Meditation on Rock Hopping


Our hearts give to the earth with fragrant airs
We catch the ground
Hesitant feet letting go of their fear
Little mountains
Gentle giants
To and fro
The humble flow
Taking us outside of our safety zone
In a simple meditation
That proves our bodies are able
Our minds are sound
There is nothing so simple as lying still
Atop the Buddha full boulder
An epic in rock temples
The solid ground



Meditation on Rock Hopping

Visions of Big Sur


Finished reading Big Sur last night. How! Hoo! What a trip! Here speaks the perils of a psychedelic mind delving too deep off the mystic edge without the proper grounding, and by darn, way too much alcohol. Kerouac writing it at something like 37. Me reading it at something like 27. The super moon waxing high above in the night time air. Woo! What reflection! A healthy reminder to keep at least one foot on solid ground and not get too far out lost in dream. But instead stay mindful and relaxed and sometimes flow but sometimes stand your ground and always listen deeply to your heart, and when you get the fear, which should be something like almost every day if you’re a depressive like myself, just make sure you put aside some time to be with it sober and see where it comes from. It usually will come down to the basest of fears, which is the whole deathly fear, the fear of mortality, or some such other egocentric downfall like feeling unloveable or imperfect or not beautiful, the type of fear that takes a whole lifetime to get down with and there’s no rushing it in the meantime. It’s why it’s good to every now and then just get high up on a mountain and see all those pretty bright stars twinkling back at you reminding you you’re free and though you are tiny and small and there’s no chance you or even this planet will matter all that much when it comes right down to it, you very well have the power to craft the person you want to be and have positive effects on those around you in this life and whatever next follows.

Sure, there’s times to be a paranoiac and truly hate that we’ve all been put here, or just sit and feel the utter sadness of it all, what with all those emotions being healthy for your heart when it comes to having feeling at all, but geez louise it feels so good to love and be loved. And sure as hell, not blindly, but with all the lights turned on. If nothing else, you’ve always got yourself. And who loves you more than that inner muse that’s just waiting to be made love to more?

Happy summer friends. This zen lunatic, dream laborer, casual wanderer is looking forward to this Springing into Fall. Excited to see you all along the humble drive.


Visions of Big Sur

Zen Lunacy


The following is an excerpt from the Dream Dialectic: The New Aesthetic.

Sell your soul for less than it’s worth, the man says. Stay off the roads and be afraid of strangers. There is nothing good for you out there in the world of creativity. You must work, work, work or else this whole thing you’ve grown to understand will come crashing down with no hope in surrender.

​These are the delusions of reality that you will begin to dismiss as the car kicks into a higher gear and Zen Lunacy takes hold of the drive giving truth to the road. Your outward appearance appears well composed as the language rattles beatenly and erratically around wind turbines in your mind. The inner words set off soft chords of alarm for rationale down the line only to open up new neuro spaces and passageways spewing enlightened dialectics out into the light.

The practice of Zen Lunacy is simple to subsidize. Consume 1-2 mushrooms a day, practice yoga in a wide open field, cough abruptly and breath deeply, carry on with strange new acquaintances as if you’ve known them your whole lifetime, and make sure not to overstay your welcome but instead when the moment is right hit the road at a goddened speed.

The pursuits of the Zen Maniac are language and the clarity of expression. No Hum-drummer can talk him out of this ecstatic peace. Though some may try, his existence cannot be categorized out of the real. His imaginary predilections swoon and sway even the strongest minds into a dream like ecstasy marveling his floating glow as he plummets through inspiration and exaggerated flow.

The teacher student union transcends any normal platitudes for hierarchy. Any and all words he speaks are insightful and magical. Pick his brain and you will soon find the counterpart to his knowledge: he learns just as he teaches. You are the story he will tell the next troupe of students. Your presence is magical and existence is meaningful. You are the dharma bums he has come to exchange education with.

The world for the Zen Lunatic consists of plenty of young wandering souls waiting to impart their knowledge on a whole cast of other creatures. He is there like a monk his shaved crown perspiring as it fills to the brim with words. Time lies flat as his reach expands outwards. Highways and dirt roads are short subdued meditations bound for conversation following the curvature of the landscape. His spaceship hurtles at full speed down the alleyways of American wastelands and sublime rivers. Cigarette smoke expels from its windows. The paisley daze and tie dyed haze emits at high frequencies enraging otherwise tunnel-visioned middle roaders.

They shout at top volume, shaking their middle fingers rapidly out rolled down windows exchanging road violence for cooler breezes.

The Zen Lunatic is unaffected by these breaches with reality. His flying saucer equipped with the congo lines of Nigerian mambattiyana. Nodding his head and shaking highly the rhythms of nature. He waves back at these passer-bys with mirth-filled inflection glowing inwardly and outwardly a stupefied rapture.

At the colleges he is welcomed as a traveling writer. He is living the student’s dream. His colleagues back home believe he is on a far out bender that they will never have time for. His detractors ask Who pays for this? Who pays your rent? He responds calmly I pay for this. I pay my rent. I make things work and I create my reality.

Contrasting the 9 to 5 he sleeps four hours a night and extends his days from 24 to 36 and sometimes as far as 48 or 96. He is wide awake but always sleeping. He is conscious but always dreaming. The land he walks in is lucid. He dominates his atmosphere with jumps that turn to flight. His aura mixes with the fermentations of wanderers. He is a tree and at the same time a man and at the same time nothing but always everything undaunting. He speaks in proverbs of the vernacular. Life is sweet to him and he forecasts it is sweet to us all as soon as we open our eyes and look inward.

Zen Lunacy

Poetry Tour, end of September 2014


So, I’ve started planning the first leg of my road trip out to California with Willow Zef and Andrew Galati. This is the Northern Exposure where we go from city to city until we finally reach the plains to roam and graze until our bellies are so full of poetry the zen lunacy reaches a new plateau of humbleness. Give me a shout if you live in one of these areas along the below map and would like to set up a poetry reading for us, host us, or just point out to us something that we have to see! Also if we’re coming through your town, definitely come out to one of the performances.

This is my first time driving cross-country going west (I’ve spent most of my life driving around the east and midwest) and it hopefully won’t be the last. Excited to see you all and to find that American Dream going Further! Here are the dates and places we will be passing through:


9/21 Depart Philadelphia heading for Pittsburgh, PA
9/21-9/23 Hang in Pittsburgh and perform at the Autumnal Equinox Festival at the Bandi Shaum Community Garden
9/24 Columbus, Ohio
9/25 Oxford, Ohio or Cincinnati, Ohio
9/26-9/28 Indianapolis, IN to Chicago, IL
9/29 Milwaukee, WI
9/30 Minneapolis, MN or St. Paul, MN
10/1-10/3 camping in North Dakota
10-4-? ranching in Montana.

I’ll update the list as the tour solidifies.


Poetry Tour, end of September 2014

The Muse in Mystic

20140903-143450-52490993.jpgThe Muse and Her Poet, photo of Paige Osbourne and Willow Zef

I find the muse in Mystic
She tells me she is glad that I am following my heart
I hear in her words a slight sadness
The mystic sailor landlocked by this town the tourists call home
But bubbling up inside her
Is the joy to host some traveling visitors
To show them the willow tree in the graveyard
The one she has camped under
And climbed to the top of
A true rustic lady of the earth
Sublime in the way her smile ignites my inner fire
I feel humble to lay back
Twenty feet up
In the willow branches
My arm around her
With her head against my chest
Feeling her warm breath against my heart beat.

I realize from the tone of her voice
This powerful spell cast between us
That I first noticed
But she first spoke out loud
Works both ways
And right now,
My travels are opening her inner eyes
Much like her usual merry spirit has done to me in the past.

A muse to the muse
A subtle romance
A friend in life to share the road with
And to journey apart from
Meeting only to reflect upon
Life, love, and family
And the thousands of other pursuits in this memory

When we finally kiss
I hold my ground
Though my knees want to bend easy
And I think on how
I love a woman who makes me feel twelve years old again
Yet inspired like the mad men lost on top of mountains
If only to be here now
And remember
While holding her in my arms
What it was like
What it is like
To be in love
To be the muse’s lover.

The Muse in Mystic