I don’t understand my poetry
It makes me feel not good
I’m not a warrior in the market
I’m not a corporate woman being misunderstood.
This morning is some arising with the birds
The trees outside the window miss the one that looked like a Sea Horse
Who chopped it down in the distress of unsymphonied Arjunas walking around the place
Racing like the races of the ages down trodden roads of traders
Entrance of the imagination
Skilled scared readers of destriding
The manifestation of political rule
Peace with the over estimated merchandise of the mother rule
The chickens roosting proudly at home
Making a fool of time
The poet’s rhyme is predictable
And Thomas Hardy is the measure of a postgraduate’s rise to power
To emit the truth in verse of the corporate thieves
Their hearses are not insured in a legalease London illegal to the man with a Rambler’s walking stick
The man who’s fashion you can’t understand
Calls you unplanned
In John Lennon’s land
When his time is up on the remission cycle for a cancer in the ocean of bliss
And too many unkissed lips on the British TV.

Who are the celebrity reviewers of the fashion policy
So I can earn money
Jeff Bezzos
Steve Jobs
Microsoft Gates
And hate from the British mates who are mates to each other and not a Friend to Krishna.
Then I don’t want to diss ya
And your bad rhymes in London town
Mixing and warbling Techno Fucking all around
As you ruin my mate Sting with British American pop video VHS bling.
Remastered Soul Cages remixes is all in the Independent Press
This Cowboy Song is copyright
Not these uptight verses
Unnamed like a flame from the Rama’s bow where wisdom is the rectification of the past
Loving words from unvarnished Hindus at last
Like a frame to a painting that sits on the museum’s floor
Waiting for the fort of the adored.
What kind of symmetry is this
To be kissed by time to be mortal
When the Sufi is fantastic and the merriment is outside in the corporate rages of Colonial pages of contracts
That have nothing to do with my past 20 years
Of fears and fears and fears and fears
That transcend the shallow empty pitiful words of the hopeful Christian?
Why did that question mark go there> That is all Oxford wanted – The Computer.

I went to Crescendo heaven where Michael Jackson taught me odds and evens
A game of draughts on the floor of Billie Jean King
Singing and singing the song celestial with a wavelength too far from the crowds of appreciation
Ravaan’s adoration
Sita’s self examination
Who takes the old person out for some sandwiches from Handsworth hall
Just once in a blue moon is all that charity can implore
From a Mahatma Gandhi Centre from the kids off school
And the rush of a terrorists exit in London with Theresa May’s fool –
Pressure cooker on Soho Road
How long have you planned my Ego?

Who was the ruination of Colonial distress
When you referenced Bryan Blessed’s chest
Next to the unkind reference to Geoffrey of Monmouth
Politicians too stupid to not touch Academia
Streams of Guru Nanak hysteria
Crying for the English girl about to attack the Asian
Not speaking about her YouTube fashions…
Why don’t you like me?
What is better or worst?
How many likes is too many?
For a brockwurst with Laura Hambrook at a Christmas Market on Birmingham New Street
Live Cams everywhere
The phone is the TV we were
We never didn’t not want to see who our parents cannot not be in the now of their hollowed out stomachs
Frightened by the politicians who just don’t go out and hand out money
Rather than try to solve the Final Solution –
Employment Law with Adolf and Hitler’s white Nazi children.
No academy for me, please and English writing dens
For pillocks in Oxford City and their racist past lives again.

Why do you strain over simple things?
Why is writing not a career?
Why don’t you teach novel and poetry writing?
What are you afraid of?
Tupac and his drive by death?
What is that was not his last breat?
Then I was right before the tears of teasing Isabel Rivers
These forms are not for me
Idea City – that is where I shall retire
As my mum and dad don’t read properly either
And you throw tyre tracks around their wasted waists without sarees and Kurtha pyjamas in Hindu Mandirs
Their estates and esteem too old for corporate Christians and mad dog man named Christian at Elim Church
‘This concerns us’ – then medicate yourself properly
Fear can lead to illness and your Daily Papers are not self aware.

You program what makes me unfashionable
You hide your literary reviews
You stress me out with the ordinary man
And then say Hank Paulson is not for you.
You steal from my home and laptop
And pay for Andrea Leadsom’s lap dances,
You trash Bollywood’s billionaires lifestyles
And then want to whitewash China with Matt Damon riding on the chariots of fire in flames of heaven
For Stephen at Creative Support
Warbling like the smelly paki minicab driver in Lake House Mental Support unit fake hospital with Allah

• The name of a God, once more
• The name of a God, once more
• Irony and Satire on the living room vacuumed floor

The corporate language of failure, lights and success
Ken Wilber in the Oval Office as a freemason
The Happiest Actor ever
At least Indian TV is real
SWOT
SWO(Loss)T #Feminists
The word of God leads to the hidden form of God
Some Bella Pasta super fantastic modelling secret societies
And nothing on my TV for me
As you tell me how to read
And what to think of my neighbour.

So what is the ultimate poem?!
Question who is the following Question who is the leader
Question when the Police became pigs on The Simpsons
Who was the reader of animal farm to those coffeespoon users in cool offices with extra sugar
Gibbs was a mutherfucker with his Ark in his basement
That’s what my depression and years of solidarity with Westminster meant
Sent for the imagined time
Who imagined Time?
Whosever answers this will steal the economy
The race for the next century
\.. \\\ lots and lots of space from me
Emptiness is begetting things too soon
Fashionable faces are in my room
I feel the need to talk out loud
The spies around the place are Weoley Castle proud
The mobile phone is so walkabout loud
Telling appalling people where I live
Far from my aunty’s inhabitants in the shires of Robin Hood’s glen
… silly men
Do you think I am revealing my quotations and references today?
What would you say?