I like the sound of Twitter in the morning
The vibrations from army camps in the past
The congregation of warfare celebrating triumph
The herald of ages trawling the sea shanties
The memory of moody men and the hallowed ground of Devonshire.

Is this where the Tolkien family stayed when they planned his estate?
IS this what C S Lewis thought about when he planned a Christian tax rebate?
Render to Shakespeare what is Shakespeare and leave Caesar alone for a day or ten
Then we can amend time with some rhyme so that men can get back to work again.

COVID was not easy
Brexit was rough play
9/11 was enormous
The financiers might have been gay

… it’s something to say

This day will be long
I am dropping formal lines for an invention’s song
I celebrate myself too much and the computer is my pen
It is off the Buddhist looney bin again and again.
The past is the future and the future is not yet here
I have decades of unemployment in my mind to fear
This leads to anger and then the hatred eggs on a beginner
Writing letters to the Royal Family about national problems that don’t make me a winner.

On and on goes the day
There are only so many poems I can write.
I am lost without an editor
So am blaming mankind for being white.

Lend me your ears then friends as I direct my mind well
Something better than an online social media writer
Something for my father to get involved in as well.

For he is away and we do not use the modern mobile phone

Alone one day
Death is on my mind
Shallow corporate graduate life is not retrospectively
Kindness is going to win
The empty hanging line is a noisy din
“Make the pain go away!”
“I’m lost in outer space without Hindi or Mandarin things to say!”

On and on three times the clock will strike twice for the congregation I leave behind
Feeling lost at sea on a death bed with King Arthur for the shimmers in my mind
Settle down dear Muse
England will be fine
In the last place is Facebook and Youtube
For the Arjuna that I did whine.

The mirrors look back at me in time
On and on those verses do me harm
T.S. Eliot is all I know
The rest were hard to follow
We had not Wikipedia
The art was regal, well dressed and hollow.
I don’t know you – Mr Cavalier Poet and Milton’s Esquires reaping rich the wind with America’s hidden cowboys..
What’s this land that William Blake found when I was only asked to read what I could choose to be wrong about one day?

Prophecy this then America and sweep the floor in a cabin in the Himalayas
As you look for carnal longing in my made up Yoga
One with God at home instead of with Maya
Wrapped up in winter in layers and layers.

I shall not Chav and remark that I am open to the futures of Intelligensia
Needing names to be different like you have and have not done in the past
If Wilber did it, there are other Kenneth’s that can go free
For the illusion of love from Andrew Cohen, ripening lawyers
Frosty drawers
Salacious claws
The last lady in black will attract some spack attack
An attack so mean I mean to repeat it when I do
So history changes in the rude review
Time and time again the regression is a strain on my brain
And I admire the Radha swamp where the undergrowth is Maine Street.
The things we meet while Radhanath is so certain of the past
When things could have been different to conform sin for songs about me at last.