Danny the Spy

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

There was a friend called Danny
Things caught up with me
Times were tight and money was not easy
The women flowed and the flowers grew
The young children walked
Wailing in the desert for the educational classroom.


Such was the predicament
The consternation
The memory havoc in the rush hour of Windermere
Lakes of disaster and a failing standard
Gold standard
Centre lane down the bowling alley
Middle Way with Mr Blair
And all that jazz with Toni Morrison
And those niggers following her from Luke Skywalker
Chasing England’s first black female llama Evaristo
Building Empires
Selling rush days their due
Calling out the ennui from the business classes
Casting votes on the Obama scene
Dreaming of the N-Word in extempore revision
Some decent delicious decisions
Feminists of the past and a caste system worth remembering…

Then one day, the spies came knocking
And Dharamsala was not coming.
The Tibetan Llama had not gone to Washington
And Reigate was where the Cameron kudos stood
When the child had come to my classroom
And the KPMG Exec had balanced his books
At the Handsworth Mandir with some checking on the Soho Road
London had come to set them apart
For the pure at heart
Desiring more than cynical cycles of suffering
Dreams from Lhasa of good hunting.

AI Summary

It’s a poem about a life caught between personal memory and global turbulence, beginning with a friend named Danny and widening into a panorama of tight finances, wandering children, literary giants, racial tensions, political figures, and the long shadow of empire; the speaker moves through Windermere, Blair, Morrison, Evaristo, Obama, and the N‑word with a mix of critique and exhaustion, then shifts into a world of spies, Tibet, classrooms, temples, and corporate audits, where London and Lhasa, Handsworth and Washington, Dharamsala and Reigate all blur together; beneath the swirl is a longing for purity, clarity, and meaning — a desire to escape cycles of suffering and find a place where dreams, identity, and history stop colliding long enough for the speaker to breathe.

Chinese Poet Star

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Separating the wood from the boys
Metal Gnosis and erotic string theory
Fellows of the Dao at St Hugh’s crowds
A Chinese Centre {for Harold and Kumar}.
With love,
From the Bhakti boys
Something from Queen (IMDb)
How about the scene with those sex toys.
Did you think they came to see you?
The Bollywood crew
What about those Delhi bellies?
Have they seen the Buddha too?
2 Live Crew
Something for the Casino man in you
Come and see our central vase
Find your way out of your celebrity maze
Thy will be blonde
Amazon wonga
There’s no room my Inn
Things the saviours see in their diners.
Mick Jaggers gone Peaky Blinders
Chinatown and the Pagoda down the road
Lessons from monarchs
Leave without saying anything about Toad
Wind in the Hollows
Why didn’t you say so sooner
Abigail Crooner
There’s so much we can agree on
Solid ground
Milk drinks to be found
Coffee made us proud
Manifested from the Sacred Ground
1990-Web Ology
B.P.S. for Mum is not for me
CV developers in every city
New Age knowledge to climb over
High states to climb down
Get over the state of being brown
Yoga is all over town
Penniless crew
Travelling is not so important for the Brahmana in you
Driving Licence test
{Facebook would be best}

AI Summary

It’s a playful, chaotic, culturally overloaded poem where the speaker moves through Daoist fellows, Bhakti boys, Bollywood crews, Chinatown pagodas, Peaky Blinders, monarchs, yoga studios, CV factories, and New Age knowledge, all while poking fun at celebrity culture, racial anxieties, spiritual branding, and the pressure to reinvent oneself; the poem blends humour, satire, and self‑reflection as it jumps from sacred ground to sex toys, from Amazon money to Wind in the Willows, from coffee pride to caste jokes, ending with a wry acknowledgement of how identity, ambition, and spirituality get tangled in a world where everyone is hustling for meaning — even the Brahmana trying to pass a driving test.

Sticky Times

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

When I sort out a problem another one comes
But it doesn’t fill the past as I sit on my bum
Some say it is a dismal story but I can see my name in lights
Marketing products to the Almighty and advertising my fights.
The remissions of ideas is sticky times and light working over time
The mental concoction of the brain in the middle of the frame
Settling down to some more advanced medical protection
Where the immensity of the Maker is jumping around again.
The loss is not measured by religious decree
Being a Sannyasi is just not for me and my family
Nor are we Vasyas turning around some mentality
Justifying effort before the lap top and full frontal ennui.
Mind cap on during the forty something days and nights
Nothing to show downtown in the business of busman’s’ rites
Churning away the midday rush and the feisty famous people’s kit
So late in the asking of permission that the merriment is not shit.
These are the well known ways the twists and turns of images show up today
I don’t know what will happen if I happen to add japa – what other words will I add and say?

AI Summary

It’s a reflection on the endless churn of problems, ambitions, spiritual experiments, and work‑life pressures, where the speaker feels caught between religious ideals, caste‑coded identities, modern labour, and the grind of daily survival; the poem moves through frustration, humour, and resignation as the mind tries to stabilise itself amid medical worries, business routines, and the weight of expectation, ending with a question about what new words — or burdens — might arise if the speaker adds even one more spiritual practice to an already overloaded inner life.

Sexy Tombs

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

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.

AI Summary

It’s a long meditation on memory, national upheaval, literary ghosts, and personal anxiety, where the speaker drifts from the sound of Twitter and old military echoes to Tolkien, Lewis, Shakespeare, COVID, Brexit, and 9/11, all while wrestling with unemployment, self‑doubt, spiritual confusion, and the fear of being left behind; the poem spirals through anger, humour, and despair, touching on the Royal Family, American politics, Hindu cosmology, and the loneliness of writing without an editor, before settling into a final reckoning with mortality, Englishness, literary inheritance, and the desire for meaning in a world that feels both too large and too hollow, ending with a sense that history, spirituality, and identity keep looping back, demanding interpretation the speaker is exhausted from giving.

Last Days of Judgement

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

These are the last days of judgement
There is terror stored up in the stories of the body
The smouldering wreck of a lifetime spent serving God has reached it’s end
The Bible bashers are here again!

It must be something in the brain Brahma has to sort out
:: Like gout in the walls and some other stuff for the cement driven doer
Open to all sorts of the panache in the times of working parental control over the internet
Except rebellion against Drs.

Nurses will follow like the Pied Piper towards hell
And somehow VHS will live on for those who have lived long
Leaders from abroad
The broads from Of Guys and Dolls
Those Audrey Hepburn imposters
Leaving the leader asking for more.

Man needs a woman like a barbecued hamburger on a sunny day in a good bun.
Why do you argue like cats and dogs about the racial superiority of Hinduism.
Longer and older than a Vedic Saved lie that a Chinaman can explain to a King,
This lingam is not for sale.

Jeff Bezzos knows why I am king of the whales
The mystery of the Blue Whale always kept me going
Why don’t you English embrace Creationism?
Why don’t you let individuality be tested by those hard knocks you shelter with big knockers and bad rhymes?

They don’t want to remembered as English time, when they are dead.
That is going to be something for us to deliver you from the Royal Family.
No Church of England as William spends the future
Science Fiction in the Welsh dales with my karma from Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.

That is why I phoned America = come and watch the English bulldog bully his friends
Trashing Hare Krishna and the Naam
Celebrating Turbans and the Sikh rail road.

What did you build when your families insulted Krishna??
Why should we let you drink the Holy Ganga water?
Bottled up in a jar and now available online
We’ll never satisfy your corporate Tudor Street.
All those people men in Birmingham don’t meet in London.
Is this fact?
Is this not a poem Now?
Who walked past me and looked in the window at McDonalds in Northfield today?
How much does that racist have to say?

Worry about your own homes!
Social Services in deed
Another letter
More international feeds
Katherine on Instagram
A row from ‘Amal’ in time
Letters in response probably from George Clooney
Is this something his Area 51 could find.

[rishisunak]

What a piece of work is a question
#What novel reason is this
To tray 300 with Oxbridge muscle retention
And review wars spoilings geographically.
What is the best insult a politician has made of the poor
TV, dear sir,
I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Then La Morte D’Arthur is for European India
And they’ll control you with service in the docks for her in doors.

When are you married, naughty man
The dear Professor wants the Dr’s friend to know.
For all that Colonial gibberish he asked about
So that he could not go down below.
[Slammed]

AI Summary

It’s a poem about the feeling of living in an age of judgement, where religious pressure, cultural conflict, political spectacle, and personal fear all collide inside the speaker’s mind; the poem moves through Brahma, nurses, VHS tapes, Hollywood, creation myths, English identity, caste anxieties, and global misunderstandings, all while the speaker wrestles with being misinterpreted, racialised, or spiritually scrutinised; the tone swings between satire, anger, exhaustion, and dark humour as the speaker questions nationalism, faith, family, and the intrusion of institutions into private life, ending in a swirl of mythic references, personal vulnerability, and the sense that history, religion, and identity keep looping back in ways that feel both oppressive and absurd.

I Wonder

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I wonder at the light in the mind
The freedom that the morning waters find
The emotion of the sentience of me
Away from my jovial family.
What is this insipid separation in me
Content to be demented and demonstrated
Laughing out loud before the Northfield crowd
Walking and talking in Victoria Common about uncommon things.
Whispering under my microphone for the things the day brings
High mind and tender emotions and shallowest school boy belongings
Such wandering longings to begin again the journey of life.
The circumstances are repeated like the little boy lost looking for his mum
To make his environment feel warm, sound and comfortable
Not like those shadows aching his tired old brain
Remaining still inspite of all that strainging in the park
Not to look too deep into the hearts if dark at all…


What is all this news about The Fall?
Now I am a Church goer, the writing is not on that easy wall
Where the mission is so ministry that the members forget my poetic name.
I shall walk the walk of shame with my head held high
Until November rains mention the instilled nobility to the flowers again
And more than my disappointment is morning trade
In the hours away from my house I can afford to get upgraded.

AI Summary

It’s a meditation on the fragile clarity of morning, where the speaker feels both free and painfully separate from family, wandering through Northfield and Victoria Common with a mind full of longing, self‑consciousness, and the old ache of childhood vulnerability; the poem moves between tenderness and fear, between the desire to begin life again and the shadows that still cling to the brain, before turning toward church, community, and the slow dignity of carrying disappointment with one’s head held high, ending with the sense that even in shame or uncertainty, there is a quiet upgrade available in the simple act of stepping out into the day.

I Go Too Deep

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I go too deep
I swim far into the sea
I passion for my self
I change little in the world
I grow old
I am callous to the girls
I when and why
I lose how I try
I sell out to forest philosophers
I chase the wild thought like an arrowless archer
I hear the voices I want to
I imagine the hero that is daunting
I am above A.I.
I will fill all the trying points
I will answer the nation’s call
I will not let my self fall
 I will writ all about the soul
I am god’s and goddesses capitalisation
I am a wise word fashion
I am filler in the news of missions
I eliminate the competition
I write too much for the friction lane of existence
I listen to the wrong radio station
I invest in bad contracts and conceive too highly of my wealth
I worked too hard and over spent on social media for my health.

AI Summary

It’s a portrait of a mind spiralling through self‑awareness, where the speaker admits to going too deep, wanting too much, imagining greatness, fearing insignificance, chasing philosophy, hearing only the voices that suit him, and wrestling with ambition, ego, money, health, and the pressure to matter; the poem becomes a catalogue of contradictions — confidence and insecurity, spiritual longing and worldly frustration, self‑celebration and self‑critique — ending with the sense that the speaker has worked too hard, invested in the wrong things, and written himself into a corner, yet still can’t stop trying to name the truth of his own existence.

Crime and Punishment

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Crime never pays
So say the echelons of the echos around Formal Hall
It is evening time and the randy Dons are doing fine
Minding fashion with their economic rations
Camel toes all the way as they espy the noblest hand me downs of the gays.
People that say too much
Poets with the handiest touch
The rules of the game exampled on a phone
See! Even they fear being alone.

Moody waves travelled the wide oceans
Searching for space to engulf an academics brain
Researching this, researching that
Bound by the formal paintings of the architects of the 9/11 attacks
Muslim v Christian ex parte spiritual worlds
How is this for no more lecture for the boys and girls
Hundreds next to thousands all eating with Harry Potter
I need a break from my self
To the imagination’s squatter.

So what for these young youths
And their open hand before the legal system?
How will they reform the reformers
When they adjust from the Don’s ancestry
Television
Exam revision
Lonely            She was derided.
The ghosts of Christmas past can’t come every day.

If you search for a fight, you will find one
The fried fat disappoints the ideal visionary
But the flame in the fire of the digestive system
Eats up the discussion over dinner in a very good way.

There are things these Dons could have had to say
But they capitulated over night and day
The moon controlled their oceans and waved goodbye to the dissent
Needed over time of the cornered students on the floor.

They will rebut the military command one day
People trained not to hear what pain was to say
About a million monks and a thought from Siddhartha
About the way the world worked when Mao was not off the rack.

Keep the markets back until retail sings again
The business studies graduate and the bullies drinking again
Telling all and selling small
Keeping it all in the all and all

  • Reviewing poetry

E-Commerce is for me
Then they will allow Reiki to get away from their gear and staff.

Let the children have a laugh!
It is time to go home to your room after a full stomach
Then the aching pains of missing your parents
Will be your father and mother again – no matter what their name,
When they have drifted apart again
Buying and selling
Travelling and holidaying.
See the Tibetan mill saw dust
Tell about the eyes of the Shaman lost in lust:
#And you will anoint the dirty past of fighting spiritual people
Of #And along the way…

… the things the children will say
As they go back upstairs to their rooms
Is behind you as you clean up
Dinner ladies (like Shashi) who have so much left to do.

AI Summary

It’s a sweeping meditation on elite academic life, where Dons posture through decadence and fear, students drown in inherited systems, and global traumas become intellectual currency, all while the spiritual, political, and economic worlds collide in satire and sorrow; beneath the institutional noise runs a quieter human truth — the loneliness of youth, the longing for parents, the exhaustion of those who serve in the background, and the sense that despite all the grand narratives, it is the small, unseen figures like the dinner ladies who carry the real weight of the world.

Character

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

A character trying to be English
Is not a Welshman trying to be a Scot
For a Frenchman playing with the Irish
Is lost when the German is in Japan with a robot.
The Canadian playing with the American
Questions the Brazilian waxing lyrical with the African.
Then the Peruvian is selling coffee to the Columbian
Lost in strains of medicine with the Swiss and Portuguese.
The Queen of Spain pleases the Dutch
And the Maltese falcons fly south to Madagascar for the winter
The Australian demonises the British for his ancestry
While the Chinaman accepts the Llamas from Tibet back home.
These are the things my garden gnomes watch
While I hustle amongst the leaves and raze the lawn.

In such a way the world is a tripid thing to spell out loud
While the mature men travel and do business with the proud.

AI Summary

It’s a playful but pointed reflection on how national identities blur, clash, and parody one another, as people try on cultures like ill‑fitting clothes — the Englishman pretending, the Frenchman wandering, the German in Japan with a robot, the Australian resenting his British ancestry, the Tibetan llamas returning home — all watched by the poet’s garden gnomes as if the whole world were a miniature theatre; and in the end, the poem recognises that the global tangle of identity, commerce, ancestry, and pride is impossible to spell out cleanly, even as mature men travel the world doing business with the same old seriousness.

Connaught Place

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

What’s that talk you been ragging and slagging
That jive on the street the Drs have been shagging in
Their clothes in the market halls and their books in the Unis
Choose me a Curriculum for the transport of books for Ben Wright
Lover of Yasmin Khan eating Paan in Connaught Place
Raving about Statistics after fashion at Freuds for Christian raids all over the place
Changing his mind about a homosexual find
Paul Ready will travel to China.

They demand Amazon talks in the media
How is this not Slander
I can see it all cuming from here
I will be a victim again
And Rohan is not a corporate brain
Lost without my losses sharing with economies
One city – London advising on stock and shares over decades from teenagers dreams with their Drs friends of parents

PNAAC became OFSTED
Cheney went home and did drugs instead
Rumsfeld was known
Rice gave Condaleeza’s dog’s charity at Dog’s Trust a bone
And the Queen called off Crufts for a year.

Splitting the mind into China time
London stockbrokers to infinity

Into me
Not paying me Royalties
Investing in L Ron Hubbard Psychiatry
The streets are empty
There is no joy
He’s the master of happiness
He’ll diabetically medicate the boy
One day he’s in power
The Throne of thronging England
So many he has named
The British Empire will return, He said.

Look – this man is well read.
Surely this concerns me
Stories of great Yugas and Kalpas
Talks I am not included in
The dried out fruit of the lobotomised Holland and Barrett crew
Gymnastics next for your mother when she is 80 – I’ll bet
Things for human beings down at the NHS for the New Age Vets
Why don’t you waste you time giving thanks to those Gods
And choose gratitude as your punishment.

Messages in poems?
Interest in the literati
These are things to joke the day that money makes sense
Insulted by the edifices around Mike Pence
Showing the child medicine around Jill Biden
Things that Ernie van Woerkhom can control…

So much advice to give to a Self Help parent
So much intention to be the gay mother of invention.

AI Summary

It’s a poem about a mind under pressure, moving through street talk, academia, media noise, political figures, self‑help culture, and the machinery of capitalism, all while feeling exploited, misread, or excluded; the speaker watches institutions twist language, identity, and power, sees global politics bleed into personal life, and feels the weight of being used — by corporations, by systems, by narratives he never chose — until the poem ends in a kind of bitter humour about advice, invention, and the absurdity of trying to make sense of a world that constantly rewrites him.