A Psychedelic Poetry Reading in Los Angeles

Only 2 days away! Philosopher’s Stone Poetry is hosting A Psychedelic Poetry on the sidewalk in front of Vintage on Venice at the Mar Vista Art Walk this Thursday evening, September 7. We have an awesome line up, featuring 8 poets and 1 musician. We will be selling typewriters too! Come say hi between 6-10 pm to also participate in a community poem that will be read at the Art Bazaar After Party behind Grandview Fine Art Studios. It is going to be a joyfully bend-mending night and we cannot wait to hit the streets with our poets again.

Check out pspoet.org for more information about our poetry non-profit, and follow us on social media (links on website) for updates on events, contests, writing prompts and more.

♥ Nisi

A Psychedelic Poetry Reading at the Mar Vista Art Walk hosted by Philosopher's Stone Poetry | pspoets | Mar Vista, Los Angeles, California

Haiku Inspired by an Evening with Kaleo

We met these dudes from a blues-rock band named Kaleo with our friend Steve at the Old Man Bar in Culver City. We had a drink or two there, then headed over to our place and partied until the wee hours of the morning. They were super chill and we all had a great time.

They invited us to their show at the Wiltern in Mid-City last weekend. We showed up in time to watch the Mayweather vs McGregor fight with them in the green room. We hung for a bit then it was time for them to play. We went backstage to sneak a peak of the crowd. The place was packed. The anticipation was hard.

The bellowing blues bass lines and guitar riffs began, reverberating the entire space. The music rumbled my stomach, like the butterflies you get when visiting some place new. They rocked and rolled with powerful waves of sound and clean, poignant vocals. It was a great night. Hope to see them again soon.

♥ Nisi

Live Music Haiku at the blues rock band, Kaleo's show. Backstage at The Wiltern in Los Angeles, California | Nisi Poesy | Poetry and Creative Writing

in all seriousness

Gravity lets go sometimes,
dizzy spells trigger vertigo.

Someone has cut her whiskers,
this cat we had hoped to tame,
a beast she can only be.

Before we give up, let us try
to save the day by cutting our own,
bring about belief in our system.

In solidarity, we dizzy ourselves
so that everyone has a chance
to thrive even while injured.

This is what we do, human or not,
animal or not, a butterfly
caught in a wind storm.

How beautiful the tragedy
when it cannot escape itself,
the most devastating flower.

Mourn all reduction of doctrine,
until we can no longer feel it,
especially for what is to come.

A time when we need steadiness,
we know nothing but lost balance.




Inspiration: A New Page Dedicated to Influential Poets

I have created a new page dedicated to poets that have inspired me to be the person and writer I am today.

In honor of Black History Month and Langston Hughes’ birthday, I begin this page by featuring one of his poems that could not be more appropriate for the current state of politics.

The divisions we are facing in America and around the world are evident, to say the least. We think we are (or were) what our “forefathers” meant for us to be.

History (and poetry) will show you that we were not, we are not now, and seemingly, we never will be.


Summer of ’16

Let us surrender to lovely weather
undressing my smile when I forget

Hold me, fly down surf-like on palms’ leaves
waves on the air to embrace you tighter

Sounds wrinkle time and crinkle in our wake
only for an instant does this occur

Pretend none of this counts and relax now
we are here to do what we want to do

Only to please ourselves for this time
use the warm rays of shining sun and all

Even flowers bare the name, it’s sacred
among us white popcorn puffs in unison

Sprinkle between the yellow sun-god-heads
a bacchanal of summer and freedom

Let us surrender it to this lonely world
exist in us for this bat of eyelash

In this moment, pretend we are here now
small blip on radar, one disastrous ant

Hold you, myself and us in waves of mind
wordless thoughts envelop us, we are stamped

Other world communication on point
senses are jet-packed, I can feel it too.


Point Dume State Beach, Malibu 2016






Fill the empty home with emerald trees
wide fields carrying birds, harboring all

Retain muggle thoughts, muggy blots at best
as they all tend to disappear with time

Piles of distraction on side of roadkill
scrape off miles away but old stains remain

Comforting as such, the yellow ones are
found filling in outlines of rectangles

Old frames with dead families now lost
at best confused about who they should be

Remember the SNES, how it
turned just like the walls, yellow in some spots

When the long chords unraveled blasting off
to Yoshi’s world, get away from there

20/20 hindsight, stayed not much longer
grew up too fast when time is so short

6 years old and staying up so late so
I could greet them after a night of bars

Those summer nights, Ohio sky dead-stop
a humid, full home breathing 2nd hand

Nicotine stains, the birds fade in due course
leaving bits of tribute where possible

Good-bye lush trees, dancing fields of feather corn
watch you disappear into sapphire waves

Cerulean sky to greet what is left
a little bit of magic to pocket

Palm trees waving no flag like yellow gold
but there are bare walls to stain here too.







Finding it harder to close myself off,
tiny corners for tiny hands in a trough.

Nothing looks the same
in the end of this shortening day.

Pressing against the  window’s glass,
light reflects all, affecting the masses.

Cringeworthy to thinktank
the world in this state.

Affording a country “once great”,
driven down, still empty with hate.

Today, greed is the breeder,
it bled us out of brain by way of ear.

Becoming thieves of fear,
to me this is clear.

Rise high, now robots of praise,
proud USA to bear witness the ruse.

Knowing better is a tough endeavor,
to swim beyond a corrupting clutter.

Inside a glass house I passively watch
brand-name news stations compare color swatches.

Hoping to keep suckers at bay,
the leader of them, we sincerely pray.

Rather name them all mother fuckers,
let them waterboard each other.


“All Going to Hell in a Hand Basket”