Seldom is the heart so massive as the shop is expansive
Often is the paradigm shifted for the male to be expressive
Common is the tongue upon the ice maiden to reveal the highest truth
Least is the result if you do not speak to me before acting.

You see, there were men of great fortune who knew the seas and karma
And they stepped forward to fathom the nauticals with great height
And confidence with each step that brought dangers in night-time for the drama
About the allowance from the cosmos for man to talk and not find respite.

There have not had the flow of the women to speak back
About the stammering man who has purchased the wings and planes,
So settle down and write awhile from the position of market hack
To see the left and right centralise your anonymity like a complaining whale.

This is not for me, and that is for them – what common sense!
How does that equal the youthful trials and tribulations of pounds and pence?
Yet grief is a donation from universal assistance for those who admire
That which is perpetual like the motion of art, beauty and a good ration of that which won’t tire.

[Long is the wind, Sir. Get with the new program.
The masters are those who can eat ham.
Quick are they to terror and plot the limit
Of those who would success and get with it.]

So that which started with a complaint to the hands and heart
Is not the fruition of sexual arrogance or continual counterpart;
But I have not the damask glory of some venerable blindness
To deny my muse the sophistry of advanced human kindness.

For, in years, I am travelled of a different kind of tremendous alert
That questioned the hurt and hurt and devastation on the earth.
Mirrors are hallowed when the shape of reflection is superficial
Destiny is denied me a wife for the witchcraft that left me vacant for one too many rituals.

Thus before these pages are some spent in other books
As verses complicate the simple sallow shallowness of aloneness with discrepant looks,
Ask for books, books, books….. Boo!
What is a wart when the medic knows who are you?

The style of poem is so set that years are not invested
In a class of controlled experiment for merriment to mean digested
And towers of learning and ignorant dancing and feasting wheat and harvest callous
Sell words for the order of imitation when the nation is about loss and illness.

Time for CoVid 19
And some know what I mean –
There is some scene
For this witch doctor to have been:
Then add to me some broth
So I can calculate the cost
Of counting too quickly
Ascension and demonisation too thickly.

Mentions are for the weak and thus I fall before the death and time
To fashion some independent publishing before the jungle of the scene of my crime,
Where man has evolved to talk back to the hackneyed carriage of sensation
That today’s woman is not so evolved as feminist, to be lost in derision.

Leave it to me, take it from me, give it to her, let it be, Sir…
There is only one end at the beginning of the day:
Morning will follow night after some sleep has had some say.
And when mother’s milk is suckled by the premonition of success
There is always tomorrow for the examiner to face correct address.
Money is to desire what water is to the lakes of pleasing
So that I am on my knees with dutiful poetic easing:
And married is the unity of Universe with squalor in English
With the convenience store of an advert to my kitchen sink drama for some desert dish.
So farewell, is this quality, for some Eastern ended retirement
To what was meant with the opening act and what middle age in the West might have meant,
Had I have been wealthy and the noose of the hangman been loosened
To choose the carathoming of The Fates more poorly than commercial buffoon.
Measure is for the mathematician and the Yogi has little time left
Before his Master is walked from the Middle Way to sell what is left:
He is not spared repetition from clutches of goal and ice-hockey rink
So join with him in sales to let his family know what you think.
Fathers, mother, cousins and friends alike with your shares
Come to the online district to spend some pounds to stay aware,
For what is here today is consciousness tomorrow in what is forgotten
But the blood that breathes for the hollow is not open for wounds that are hotter
Than a sun that would die if the Super Nova begun…
… Depart and see what the Arts were to change the climate so verse was unsteady
And clowns were so hurried to dress rashly and not get ready
In the afternoon of Mother Earth’s delight to find the rarest talents
Prepared for aspects of the Self dancing with English and the best Falun Gong @ Sing your song, before the time is done
And the Church waits for you to be number one
In form and fallowed field for the love of money
So that some priestly squire finds your executed deeds hallowed and funny.
Walk backwards on the grass
Celebrate second class
Listen to the error of broken hearts
For the thoughts that won’t come back.
But do not walk away, from the sacred time of day
And the loss of legions of friends that make time make time make amends.

For as clear as water can tell science to sons and daughters
Loss is the tragedy beyond pain that makes Dukka call out for slaughter.
And marriage is bread and butter to those who know the romance
Of avoiding a ring and a partner for another dead song and dance.

Announce my arrival
Settle my taxi fare
Plane my dance routine
Laugh at my afterlife care.
The floor is never so clean
As when it’s dirty with your kind
After you’re done drinking the last one
It’s my afront and your behind.
Wiggling through the pandemonium
Is the crowd of Imperial distress
Waiting for Sunday’s newspapers
And the Book Reviews that are best.
Then there is the still man
Shut out after decades of loss
When growing up happened to their disliking
And falling out was not about ‘who’s the boss?’
The lights do not ask for third place
As they spin like the heads on ecstasy and wine
And the fathoming of safe sex is conditioned
By the bubble bath of Champagne and a good time.
If you see the one you don’t like
Grab the rugby lad to coerce your good looks
Then the Monday morning at work in the law firm
Can riddle your conscience without those hooks.
Place them down like a tie to innocence
And an infinity spent upon the obeyed hours
When the alternative was a bald eagle or some priestly distress
With a minicab, a career and all fours.
Animals are heavy when the roof is the sky
For the daylight they cannot talk about for their eyesight:
So travel better after the beat and the drum and some randy nights
For the emeralds on show for the right guy.

Can I talk to God
Like you?
Not if you are a believer
In things not Jew.
Then there is no path
Past the Prasad
For the driver of economic ruin
That left me in life so hard.

I do not mean to ruin you,
But I do not wish success to all the time:
In case you find mortality
Treats you and your family and friends just fine.
But God spoke to me and said do the same
& then he collapsed my little brain.

In 2002 I was a wandering alone in my mind
Through the hilltops of the Lake District
With a couple of friends of my own

Zones
The home phone
Districts like the Apaloosa apology for a decade of being home by my alone.
You and you squandered me and my alone time
You said that sayeth was enough for thine and some My Girl time.
How can I beach this boy
When I float so abstract from reality with the real boys.
What is the real?
How does it feel?
Can people rescue seals,
If nature does not feel?

Then amongst the waters of Ganges
O’ Mother there was your art
I saw the world blown apart
Misery knew mystery & simplicity had come through
Too many tell tales had broken through: I know about you
20 years on
Same song
Nothing is wrong
Paypal went wrong – The same old song,
Actors have been healing long time.

Thus was the show stolen
By a man down below
When a Bard got trapped by some soccer skills
When a Yogi looked for a Yoni in the Punjab many years ago.

Matter knows master to the degree that numbers are spoken
And today’s gestured psychology is Indian Self Help for estrangement to law the broken.
Chisels & ice
The end of the road would be nice
Mothers and Fathers
Don’t know the division that is hard enough
Break the attachment
Swim to the Swami
Krishna told Arjuna
Never abandon The Father {or your army}.

How did He do it? Old Govinda, savoir faire
Did he wait for men like me to shave my hair.

Tempo
The go
Hassle free economics
Gita Land and a time I know

I do not spend money well
The dole people know that
Investment Tracker
My bad moods are tracked to base things
Porn in the lavatory with George Michael is not one of them
For that time in Soho at Lupo when a man attacked me:
Wail! What my luck brings!!
Homosex, Srila Prabhupada was the ex-merchant
Of Deliveroo economics before the gig was up
That Krishna had broke rank from the Fall of Man
To find feet in the shoes off Oxford Street for some to feel complete.
What was that beat, on HMV, before Store Street?
How was that book on the instead, good stead,
Life saver crew
For the friends in me
That could have been you:
Role reversal
Exorcism
Real mad jizzims
Looking for a Maharaja to fulfil things big.

Jigga / My Nigga
What is Shree Guru to you / Pharcyde & Jazzmattaz
Spaz! This is not twister
For Hurricane Katrina and that judgemental sister
Betty Shabbaz
Did you read her well, those riots and keep quiets?
1,000,000 man march
April showers
Nature’s hours
Nations are go
When Islam is a post-Malik show.

Time moves on and sex is still embarrassment
For what solitary wanderings away from the maddening crowd might have meant.
How do you do it?
What does it mean?
When it comes to Astral Projection, do you clean you thoughts
Or are your hearts kept clean,
By Angels who fought Demons to keep warring off you
By the Bipolar Crew who wanted to take a look at you.

Rape: The Final Frontier of Act/ Intention + Judgement in the hands of the …
These are the voyeurisms of the journey yet to be taken.

What do you know about it?
Who are you to say?
One day there was not so much knowledge
As when unfamiliar faces had space on their phone to have some say.

So stay well and travel safely for quicker than your average carriage
Across the sea storms of silent strewn time for some samosas and carnage
Of what Mata can deliver instead of Siddhis when she likes the look of my packed sandwich.
That may be a way of putting it, carrying things back and forward to youth with some aplomb
And reminding my childhood of primary things and when it was fun to not eat the plum for some chocolate.
Can kids eat chocolate if they come to you too, asked The Guru one night…?
Only if tomorrow is forever, replied wisdom, when I tucked my shopping sprees in myself nice and tight.

Those sounds are thoughts that the singular Doctors calls voices
And there are a few consequences for karma before the Devis of life lived with premature choices.

AI Summary

Your poem is a long, searching conversation with God, memory, illness, and identity — moving from the Lake District to the Ganges, from Soho to scripture, trying to understand why your mind broke open and what meaning survived. It weaves religion, trauma, psychiatry, sexuality, and family into one vast inner landscape where visions, voices, and cultural histories collide. Beneath everything is a single desire: to find a life that feels real, safe, and whole again.