A Sufi Graduation

Letters from the past won’t train

The memories to fell the Tree of Knowledge

So I am strained to remember the fellowship

Of more than I could count on

To talk to My Beloved with remembrance.

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Come and talk to me then Wench!

For it has been too long without the utmost importance.

There and here have I been swayed and moved

To fathom this and that merchant

For a carriage on my breast and smelly balance in my soul.

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It is okay for you to sail on the Ocean of tragedy,

Far from the Tempest of shackled likeminded people

With their trendy shoes and open flower pots –

What would you do? Oh Hand that feeds all:

If they all suddenly turned and looked at you?

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Don’t the mentionable men get in the way first

With their posh offices and the adorned frocks.

Their days meet Your glances first

As you satisfy your Science with the Doctor of Lust.

There are only us left by the middle of the post

When the mourning is derived from who ate brown breaded talked about toast.

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There are those who go nowhere and stay together

And there are those who have somewhere to go

Even though they are alone.

Which one You choose is never so satisfied

As when I am the Asker at the end of the day.

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The Swallow greeted the Ocean during midday

While the narrative was stuck at Elevenses

For the Hobbits to find their way past the awkward time

Of brotherly Love. When will you hear what She has to say

About the nature of Nature to repeat some of the unmanly things?

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Thunder is unnatural when You are against me

I would rather face the size of waves perturbed by Dynasties

That have informed me of your Grace over the Ages

And how little I am now that I am formed.

Who created me? I do not know.

I am unknown now that You have found Me.

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The horses race but there is no victory

Because the causal realm is not decided by tape.

The rapture is empty and the perfume of the showgirl haunts

From the bystander on the Road to Hell

Who cannot find contentment in the arms of too many men.

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The Consciousness of the space hero

Is celebrated as a modern sport and trophy holder

Who can verify my experience without Crown

And has seen The Promised Land without downsizing

Too many people to smaller tasks than their allotted time with The

Maker.


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Errors cannot stop the oncoming onslaught

Time will be timid before the might of dark nights

When there is no time for sunny walks

And handsome weather with friends

And tea in the café with good talks:

For this reason God kept Death alone and talked wisely with Friends.

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University was not meant to be after the Saddhu was rejected

By the end of the world Islam who’s labels were not Nike.

The exams were not reductions

And the students were not so welcome

As harrowing voices from strange Doctors

Hearing of things that they had not focused on before.

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The blessings of a century were not enough

To heal the heart of a hungry devotee.

He had gone mistaken that the world was for charity

When he needed help from the powerful and lived with the poor.

Krishna was found speaking strangely to Radha

About his expectations and rhetoric of open door.

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There was an academic dispute in the Rajahs

Their clouds had been parted and there was commotion.

Indra was counselled and the informers were diseased

From contamination with material nature

To learn more about earth

When en route to Evolutionary heights.

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Now that I am down with the depressing Computer

The days and nights are not felt in the greenery.

Motions are so cold in the machinery

Of my darkened nights with hostile light

That speaks of terror and my removal from The Spirit.

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Some men show and some men tell

The one that I am is within.

That is the shutting out of others who dwell

In the heat of the hearty fire of family and friend

While sacrificing riches for the one Friend at the end.

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In the making of the images of self-success

Is the Dream advertised by the ruined landscape

Repeated broken fragments

Slated coloured tropes

Into the tropes of Consciousness that does not speak of Love,

Until I am felt together with my fellow Seeker.

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The young are not like me any longer;

They do not seek like I did –

Until I am with the holding of The Spirit

Who is majestic and most fearful with my Id,

And the cold hard truth of identity parades

When the Industrialists made me empty value of zero.

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Just because I am lonely

Does not mean the Dowsing is over

For the abdomen of a successful seeker

Who has balanced money with want.

The measurements are small and large

By which my appetite is satisfied:

And the model is not known by which to bring Her home again.

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Passion is not so fiery when the options are removed.

The energy is less than exciting when the chance is gone.

But the reason is energetic because of Love

And the Social Media provides ideas

That change the mood and leave me aloof

From wondering what would have happened alone.

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The past is not poetical when the youth is familial

And the innocence of wanting is linked to The Other

And how the motions of desire could meet Sport,

As well as The Feminine

To express something that in time would flower

To meet different growths and unstrange melodies.

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The fear of the loss of the Mother;

Is there anything so potent about that

When the worldliness is speaking of her Greatness

And the tides of travellers do not talk back

About the changes in time to spread her wings

And make her with The Maker and not my Son?

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Mergers and proclamations of ideas not form

Tender the realms to be inconsiderate to drawings

Of the meanderings of minds to waver wagers on weaklings,

When the strength of tried and tested men

Leans on the old hands of Politicians

Who knew of the New to wait until tomorrow.

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Forgotten are the hopes and aspirations

Towns, cities and their nations

Joinery and mergers, thinking better

About how The One could be possible

For the many to be in pursuit of

Before happening to find too many tomorrows.

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The Love that was sweetest was not beckoned.

It arrived when the shores were least trodden on

And the sands of Time were busy with regret from Explorers

Seeking and finding the tortured remains of days and nights

(In the Land of Knights) where The Beloved held strains

To keep the curtains from falling on their last Play.

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Precious used to be the domain of awareness

Where attunement was gross and causal.

Before the subtlest sinews attested to the frostiest welcome

Of Love from the Source and how it was Consciousness,

So that The Spirit was silent and not proclaimed so wisely.

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We live in an Enlightened Age,

When the Computer pre-empts the legal page

And written on our hearts is the nuisance of the Mind

That can our closest ally touch up and find.

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Words were once lament

And the walks in the woods were something well spent

To balance down the Abyss of Knowledge from Saraswati

Sharing with caring what was not so easy.

Freedom and Love sat beside Death and Hope

Such were the tournaments of Elders to decide.

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Deception so cold that the newest thing is a fright

Where the languishing of Knowledge is up all night.

Some things are adrift on the ocean

Where the moon’s cares are half spent on temporary things,

So that blame is an imbecile’s important gathering

To know the journey of Love.

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Olympus deemed that pigeons and crows were fruitful

In their disposition on the earth to denote meaning.

So They fashioned mankind from the past

To be able to govern himself some more.

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The lakes were cold and tormented by icy edges

Where the land did not recognize the contrast.

It was here the Lady once stood with the sword in her hand

In the imagination of the fallen men

Who had deemed to frighten the Self to fancy all.

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The penmanship of the mighty

Was equal to the task of Time

And the oceans were taken to be far away

By the local man at the end of the day.

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A metaphor upon us is not a direction

The win is composed for the navigator

Of a movement that encompasses the Boddhi Tree

When Jesus was ring fenced by sheep.

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The movement is towards the meeting of ignorance

Education is the battleground of definition.

Time and space hollow the honest man for valour

When the news is pumped out each day

For the mentioning from various classes for organization.

The Shadow of a Sufi

A Sufi’s wasted barren land is a used heart
Where the mood is mellow for trading
Amongst foreign travelers who forgive a vagabond
And passion is accepted and loved equally.

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The unwelcome footfall of a follower
Trains the travelled leader to unknow
Love better than the round way
For those who would shed wheat
Under wet leaves and copy what is left
Before an unripe Beloved teased of tomorrow’s profit.

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The learned man waits for the Teacher
After schools have left him penniless
To remind him of good times;
Empty as a day of the sun without the moon to follow,
Where he can be complete with God’s love.


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No workman can know it, no toolkit can put it together
Yet many Eastern travelers are worded journeymen in search of it:
Time – the unforgotten Maya telling of the forgiven Guru
Where the balances are heavy
And the darkness harrowing for far away Cinema
And Maya is still ashen for more Amore.

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The level revealed the unleavened bread
So that the wafer was laughter to the unconscious self,
That needed a boast from a Brahmin for an hour
To wrestle with the Ego off the staff and dabble
In the undergrowth of the marsh for a bog’s day worth.

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With respect she laid her cup down and wailed patiently;
The saucer poised for sure empty gasps.
This was the bargain of loyalty and commemorative playfulness
To abandon filial piety for the rudest awakening
Of love’s cruel beginnings in Time.

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The outline was fair for a cloudy day
Overseeing The Lord’s return on past loans and positions –
But the recalcitrant Messiah was not welcoming
Of shares in the means and modes of communication.

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By night the cars sped past the riverside,
By daytime they were parked outside Office and work.
Then the moon and tide were full of Remembrance
Of how The Prophet Muhammed knew Mumbai
Before the auditing of taxed credit and carded entry.

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The Mother was despondent when Her children stopped playing
And the Word wandered looking for answers to rain on windshields.

It pacified Her cries for infants to be loving instead of engage in fights
So that Warfare could amend the Law as the cock crowed too early again.


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Across oceans is never across Continents,
When the cities hold the Friendships far.
Then the married mind is fine and dirty with unclean lined linen
That sullies the moment with memory of Innocence within the Lover’s den
And some choices relied upon by The Other.

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Taking less from the trees the youth remembered
The flows of tomorrow were for sharing with his sister
Then the Autumn was greater than Summer,
For the time they had spent apart
Differing in cooking and sport before the Almighty Eye.

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The junior class not stoppable,
The uppity class was upsettable,
And the looking seemed plausible:
Thus the Onlooker was bemused as to who thought reason was political
When sex was on the table of the imagination and the Dancer.

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The learned were returned to shop for Mahogany
Rather than spend the Laws in Carpentry with the honest wood cutter
Who was not in need of repetition
For power and hold over those without correct pronunciation
And CD-Rom to back up the niche hard drive.


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And then man made men so big
That he fought with woman before time spent watching TV,
When The Maker was travelled before Rani and Maharaj
Learned of The Way and however memes did not need reminding.

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Then the ignoring of fallen Phallus
Was stoking the wrong fire and sending flames to Heaven,
Which sent them back and asked no more
Than what was not offered as Greystoke
For the Tarzan of tomorrow to claim all of the Indus Valley.


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The class was full of the cleverest and the cleanest
Who took to awkward ways about those who were regressive
When the Administrator was late with results
As Zeus was the onlooker of normal letters without envelopes,
Much to Ganesh’s dismay as He viewed E-Mails all day long.

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It was not a deep climb out of despair
Where there was a nothingness and emptiness,
Beside a hole where the poor looked for more
But the Monk kept watch for pride
With his notes at home with the others
And the lazy smiles of memory that shared his eyes in the mist.


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One house was different, amongst all the rest
For the Overlord to rendition the Akaashic Field for a while.
Then the souls were awakened high above the idle rooftops
Where hours of sleep, food, work and the brief dementia of awakenings
Moderated the love of friendliness for some languishing before Death.


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The time and honour met incorrectly
And the incorruptible were unkempt before Her grace.
So the far travelled suffered and controlled ennui,
To help the momentous for the momentary
Where the ineffable ideal of Thebes remained youthful.


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Only are perfect still remains
To bother the traveller about beingness.
Goodness will follow the requisite decider
And done punisher of sloth and infidelity,
Who journey to the infidels too often,
Laughing at Isa with loss.


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When the lover had left and the Everyman had care,
The evil of the past had taken shape.
Thus the Serpent was busy and the Mind’s eye was shaken
So that the whole town would see
That nobody was ready for love.



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There was One who did not lesson time from His birth
And from Him have come many to speak of more.
So too does Time exist as a Creation of man,
To somehow speak a voice amongst others
That are silent before the Law of the Mystic.


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Contaminated by greed I know the sorrow
Of too many years at war with the peace of Oneness,
Such that the ‘good morning’ of a neighbour
Is nothing more than the ‘good night’ of the Eternal Lover
Who will not reveal Her face or show His grace.

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If half of an ominous moment is banished regret
By serums and tablets laid on the table
Where once love stood in the place of empty promises
And half eaten meals and work the children had not done yet:
Then who was to blame for the opening in the doorway
Called Escapism and that chance that was created from craving the first time someone was brave?

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What is the mention of numbness
When the waterfall is opened to icy times
That cascade down the cavernous suggestion
Of motion surrendered to an abyss of thought
Bleeding love across Nature without men.

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Incidentally to the fifth hour of prayer
The Jesuit founded new mournings
On the mooring of sorrows for time lost in the future
With a bent jealousy lamenting fractal Time
As the cow jumped over the moon, backward to please sad doves.

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To preach is to have been preached at
With the learned Christians approving the mistake
Of too much authority with secure insult for the loss of one life
That forget all the rest:
Father knows mother again and heaven is tested.


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In the expression of joy is the friendship is known
When the hypocrite of God is ruled by Venus.
Too much the dance of time and ignorance of the untimed experiment,
As a known before their own flogging crowd around;
This is the friendship stolen and the band of gold found and traded
While India is a Tryst with tragedy for the doing given amongst withheld (unpoetic) associations.


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The hottest months came from profound astrology
When the silent choice of measure was of the beyond
And memory shone from wet leaves of greenery
To blend the Amazon with a shade of technology,
And wonder of man cared about anything anymore.


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Qualifying the intent
Sharpening the arrow
Healing the error;
The intelligence of compassion is second
To the love of tomorrow after rest and relaxation.



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In the introspection of temporal understanding
The flower maker learned of visitations
The meaning of which was quiet and shone mesmerizingly bright
In the dim wit that was a contrasting focus
In the sunlight of all allowing wallowing daisies
Small and fresh for some newlywed wandering promise.

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Illusions were magistrate before the lover
As time was a majestic squalor before the artisan.
Listeners were not balanced, liking the lie,
The fabrication and dis-equilibrium
Like balancing on a knife’s edge needing more than running milk underneath you
To fall into in the undergrowth,
Weeding the D-Sound of your own wedded return.

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In the past the challenged self
Was lounging in the armchair perusing the divan and Maharaja’s throne.
There the Rani could ensconce the visitor
And the Devi was attendant to the Scholar’s squalor
To revise and revisit history until the entrant’s fee
Of higher than mighty and more fallen than foul
For a fairer than fair degree.

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There will be thunder when there should be summer
And snowfall when gold was promised with corn.
These are the best laid plans of the Estated class,
Ignorant of skin and believing in common plans
That deny the weather choice before the ordinary man
To find his way to the Light and what bothers him in the saddest race before Time.

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See! But only see! There is enough tea for two
Then there will be work for the Concorde
And temporal bliss for the sexual motor of Bicycle.
Not all things can fit in the Dao,
Time is inevitable to be repeated by Teacher
To squeeze the perfection of Adam and Eve at a loss
From hours spent on high with Angels and arches of sound.


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Escape artists of the heart were there
When the possibility was part of Redemption.
The closet of understanding was full of unkempt meaning
That the watchman echoed was filling time.
Then there was rabbit hearted hope
Of getting out of past loves and promises,
That the girls remembered without too much affair.


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Looking ahead, I saw too much
There were wished for Friendships
There was not enough balance in the Dao
There were closed options from others
And too many people knew of quotation again
For The Vow to be unlocked.



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Camelot was not too long invisible after the journey
Which treated Knight and Traveler the same,
Coming to pass as the night skies overgrow Crusades
Warring all things for the books of the remembered time
And a brave face of shame for tomorrow’s purchase
On water falling from demonized dry eyes.

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A National Flag became a treasure of the Sanctuary
Where the flighted bird was fed by The Wind
And Love was kept shielded like the wings of tomorrow
When Bravery would hold aloft Promise
To attack despair in Kuruksetra with power.

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In the land of fear there was Reason
That painted the flag with covering Intent
Short lived was the battle throw of the axe
That commended the fielder to more than cricket
While the Maiden consorted on all fours.

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The world called to know my affairs
Then the oceans cried to remind me of loss.
Time was ahead with rubble and ramifications,
Allowance was made for inevitability and acceptance.
The Lord then listened as Angels played fair
And movement followed the loss of time
To save man the burden of Memory and loss.

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When I was a soul, I tried
The towers of Infinity needed effort.
Then I was a man, so I cried
The lances of battlefields called for more.
Now I am a Scholar and I lose
The love of a dance is nothing compared to the hands of a Master.

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People were smiling and the happiness did not make sense,
There was desperation around the corner
Due to too much merriment and noisy partying.
This left the dancer without a rhythm
While her shoes were on the floor
Under the table as she tapped her feet at the restaurant.
Love cried for the wine to try
Remembrance to fail her hope for respite.

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I was important for a while
And then there was intrepidation.
The errant knave was seeking Time
And forgiveness for too much joy.
The sun shone on and the moon glistened
As waves carried the loss onto distant lands.

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Dresses were not common after comrades spoke well
And legs were covered when heads spoke even better
Then the Hijab, the Heresy and the Heathen
Bound to Pagan for loser’s worship and Devil’s Fall:
Is that all that came back from the cry of the world’s wolf on the Prairie?

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Once I was aware of ghosts and awareness brought fear
Then marriage was a hearse to an act for a Promised tomorrow,
So love chased the horror away of night without day
And light was a fire of knowledge that God satisfied with Bhakti.


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Brahma and Saraswati awaited the good evening tide
Of shallow waters from the staff of Palaces –
There the pain of Dukha worked the Karmi
To fracture the flesh and bone to commemorate Christian union
And Anglican memory of love before Jesus for bread and maybe more.


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Swami was not adherent the needs of hours
As moonlight commanded the night sky for a shadow
Of Shirdi who swam far from Death.
This was the future kindest when the Sun was shared
Between the Modernist loving Eastern and Western dialectics the same.

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The fires welcomed all in a new unit of time
When The Fall of Man was dispersed with;
By Historian and Artisan alike for the look of the Dao –
Shanti! By the Yin Yang sign on the floor, broken by the door.

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Squandered, the youth prevailed upon Thebes
To water the Fountain of Immortality in the Garden
For hours to dwell in the idleness of Devilry
Before Aphrodite called Time before the countdown of Venus
To massive Light by Sunshine and smiling and joy, again.

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The ocean was settled and the ship’s passengers eased
After rough waters while the stories were blazen
And arrogantly of the Hoariness en route to Jinnah
Or wherever else the seafarer had pledged that voyage.

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Jesus arose finer than man’s description
To face finer tests than hitherto attempted
And politicised Krsna’s realms and heaven
Providing Light for the lens to quest His search back home.

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The memory of the Modernist
With mirrors of marriage
Haunts him for one hundred years
As he loses the ability to celebrate the single life.

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The dominance of The Lord under the marketplace
Was observed by few as time was unseen.
It was the visage that left the ladies in ruin,
As they rearranged their attire to court him back a second time.

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If starlight was trembling
It would be straight through a young Lover’s arrow
Flown over the hanging gardens o’er hanging overhead.
There would be no need for another
And the ocean would depart more hope to ships
Carrying tales of return voyages after lazy conquest.

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If the Serpent was swift the stories would be spun
And different nations would know the debutante
Who asks of places and people the secret of damage.
Then the kindest following of religious heritage
Would answer with debt to Caste System and Language,
Stay with me for the wonders of money and how a few can and others cannot.

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The charlatan says it never happened
But the Lover remembers he never brought a drink.
Safe and far away in Eastern terraces are thinkers
Who need to called upon for tests of top down economics
Via viaducts of responsibility and Visa recognition.

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The suitor may have sat on the stolen chair
But the arranger is aware of the pre-party plans
And how the seating plans were ornately laid out for all to attend
The show where the human heart was not to be judged and settled
All at once and all at one time for all at sea to be known before The Creator.

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The Mystic wandered home unsure of his place in the Universe
Only to find himself awash of Rose wine and White sheets
In an esteemed friend’s adjacent collection of rooms.
In time they would be to be called house, flat, apartment and home
As the Wanderer arose again looking for somewhere else to stay.

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The heart never settles on the same place twice.
That is why the wise are quiet and innocent before the powerful;
When they play games all of the rooms in the house are used
And people shout from the rafters of The Play, the thing and what definition is –
So, in fact, the medical man is prepared for Death and seated in the kitchen for swill and fine dining.

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Latency is not much if the aid and audience is not targeted
With esteemed love and affection.
Quips were made to be kept out of the hands of ordinary men
And women were made to be reborn again in faith after renewal and destruction: –
Thus were the Laws spoken of when the Redeemed saw their progress again after The Fall.

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The girl who did not gossip is the woman who did not talk
And the repression that did not own up, is the awkwardness that would not walk.
Survive these chastisements and contour your changes on the planet for saving face
And see one day the unfinished life
That was boasted of as complete before The Creator and all of Her children.

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When God sent two eyes to stare into more,
He counted more than a third for the Hindu to be native
To the squalored squire who debated at the Union
Of snakes and ladders and how it was possible to climb social distance
While novels were low key and clothes freshly pressed in India.

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Beware the fool who gambols and gambits as he follows you awhile,
He has a more mature Ace in the sleeve with more stiffness
To harness a correct address about how many rights and wrongs
You are entitled to in this brief sojourn called time
When his arrow is shot badly from a Bow for Arjuna to pick it up
And do the work for him before Krsna.

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The streets are not safe while the naïve idealist moans
That life whistles past his speedy train
Of rehearsed thought that tires the Beloved
Of all the things he nearly did not do
To help those that She was trying to get to Herself.

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The old addressee leaves his stamp where the large boots fill canvasses
Of dead Art and emotionless comradeship
For the certainty that was enjoyed that School would be your life
And your life would not turn out good
Before the rehearsals before Grandsire and Time,
That waltzed and winked at the waning moon for more water in the ocean
To beg for thanks for the chance to do Sewa.

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The clock face cannot solve the problem of emptiness
Just like the dials cannot desire to go backwards.
But the potent Lover can redirect attention in both cases
Just as he can use Karma to make a Language more fruitful.

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The novice practices on his apprentice and both are denied Royal Assent
For the graduation class of attending parties
When the observation was had for notice before Court
Of values and virtues that Temples are cleansed of every day,
While the Churches sit back, film and firmly ask “How?”

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The rude boy does not apologise for his loud bands
And the Schoolteachers are not wise about the morning after thrills.
This way the past is the Path to the highest mountains for utmost resistant strain
To put down the baggage where the lazy man stood and worked
While taking food away from others who wanted The Beloved.

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What is not wanted will not last,
What is not used will wither
And what is not called upon will go away:
This way The Beloved has arrived to travel with some tarried souls awhile
Before leaving on the last ship to set sail to wiser places
And lands before time knew sad memories of Sex and wasted food and drink.

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The path to God was his own.
His only sin was Nationalism and being a pawn in a game of jest and gesticulation.
Softly spoke the ages then of nuance and nouns
So that the rich and powerful could get back to magic
And the stubborn classes of mentionable qualities
Could be addressed by God as worth something in return for desperation and slovenliness.

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Society fits together in all sorts of ways.
One group is chastised for leading the others on
To be Readers of the highest order
While mathematics arranges Pride to squander
The Lions’ share of probabilities that anyone will talk to them.

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Quote well while you are together, majestic class,
For tomorrow is mine when I am at leisure to make social change
And you will adjudicate that I was judged by history
To fulfill The Maker’s balance of Rugby books that told your head off
So many times in so many days from whence we used to walk down the drive together.

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If you consider me a social misfit
File me rank and awhile with the military and armed guards,
For wanting them to be bridged a hearty embrace while they are away from a warm bed
And to find the Solidarity right by their side.


***********************************************

The Brotherhood of Man is dawning
And the awakened state is remembering that One sat down to remember Allah.
For when Buddha recalled The Dharma,
The Dao let go of Time.

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Spaces on the indentation of my keyboard
Tell of fear and emotional escapology before my readers
And who will judge me the most and who will let go of me the least
And all those lessons from school that cost me University Fees
To learn how to sit before a computer properly and type before Sati.

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I will not judge the commotion
Of settling down with Parvati for aeons of forgiveness and melodies,
While Saraswati is laden with burden and chores
To find a way out of pennilessness for one of Lakshmi’s blues.

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The Friend gathers at sport and field
The enemy is far away within himself and under lock and key
Not to be let out until the goal is scored and the roar is unwelcome after Time is heralded
The greatest champion of both sides competing
For fans on all terraces around the ground.


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Complain and I will hear you
Doubt and I will walk away.
These are the methods by which I have come to know God
And these walkways will I count the crumbs left behind
For hungry birds to swiftly lay succour for Truth.

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Open is the passageway of the great halls to the timid
To trample bold dreams from dragons under foot
And tempt the Goddess from the cold clouds that man couldn’t count
For a day’s awakening to find out the Origin
And who mastered reality to leave a door half open
After their creation.

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I will not be there to grieve you
When the hour is ripened like a fine option
Of Time amongst the weather of Mother Earth
For you to be rough with my sails
As I travel in loss in search of good companionship.

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The cavern is bare weather
The beast is a cold reminder
And the ladies are fair dues
For heroism spent in the hour of Jedi religion
Before the Humanist turned him out into the warmth of the Establishment.

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Seeing is the hollowest thing
Fame is the sound back from empty barriers to the Universe
As the Cosmos calls along for none to shoulder Honour
And ask of Tibetan flags where the casual warrior is
Who once knew of mountains that were just mountains?

********************************************

How many flights has the eagle taken since the Master left?
How many people have seen since the birds drew breath?
Too many and thus are words awash with grief
To know what it is to hear the sound of life so brief
To handle the promises of Guru that He sought,
And the God walks amongst and never not didn’t (get) taught.

**********************************************

Who was he who moved you thus?
To speak of clouds as if thought were commotion in Churches
For pews and belonging with the Asians…
Time will know seconds while pages know sages
Before His messages know Mastery for a repetition under Shiva’s great skies.

**********************************************

Man asked of the Gods proof that there was hope for them
And Honour responded that mistakes would be made
As they appointed their leaders and paid their taxes
To stage fear, failure, regret and women’s empowerment –
While one truth lay aside the heart to know tomorrow again: Time.

**********************************************

Tiredness took the walking ghost far into the darkest regions of the mind
Where the sallow sailor was honest for one hour too many
And reminded God that He loved Him so much
That he had sailed out too far to turn back
And offer his land Honour, Love, Courage and household.

***********************************************

Poetry was regret: –
That was why man came to nationalize analysis
And claim the regressive credit of biography
Of dead men without their women
In Encyclopaedia’s of knowledge before the tower of wicked bowers and the Banyan Tree.

*****************************************************

It was only when man learned of Eden where loss was
That woman earned enough from Gopal
To finalise the wages of sin
And carry the home on the range past greedy bankers and their housewives
Seeking and finding rivalry between books without their authors on The Word of God.

**************************************************

Forbidden secrets were released to trusting crowds
In time with oceans speaking to moon tides and Tarot cards.
The fathoming was arrival not too late
To catch the watchful man able to steer streets of confusion
Back into the calmness of homes seeking quiet and redress.

**********************************************

Is that enough for you, if I empty my heart?
Will you fill it again for another round of nothing worth your salary?
Or shall I find another Lover and another parking lot for my empty garage,
Where I too am a staged regret and forced entrapment
To condition mankind to second best after The Bard and his fortunate kinsmen?

**************************************************

What is the rage of the husband
But that he cannot equal the melodrama of moods upon The Globe’s welcome boards,
To harass his acceptable Lover to partitioned moments of fine leisure
While the celebrity forgets the mirror of Art and Life too many times
For rhyme to be attractive for artifice and bad regrets.


******************************************************

I shall not follow where Almustafa went
Nor shall I tread lightly to know Muses so emotional to weed a Garden as precious as yours.
For mine is a part endowment of a world with The Lord Buddha
That knows of pain the difference between Innocence and Experience
Before you thought to teach me Authority and penmanship against such sails and voyages…
… to be a Voyeur.

*********************************************

If I leave the door half open
Will you send some quiet for the emptiness of Realization?
Can I know again peace and contentment for the failure of woman to please
What I invented them all to address?
Send instead your Angels to remind me of the pact with mortality to be humble and not upset,
So that expectations are not so important.

***********************************************

Is a page enough for you?
Can I leave when the mud is trapsed into the house via the back door
After an hour more than the extra ones of looking for good love?
Or shall you send out for more than the usual
And find in the population more than the Kings and their friends succeeding with their goals?

************************************************

Why do you fill the love that was lost in life with love on the page?
Is it that you are not constant
Or is that you have past lives to forget?
When the sea is steady and the oceans are forgiven for their roughness of late,
I shall swim across the lakes of fire and The War in Heaven and ask of Samsara direct:
What is it you fear to accept and why do you torture earth with Maya?

*************************************************

The winds howled and the night skies looked peaceful to those needing stars
And one town somewhere was accepting
Of all that Allah once did say would happen:
Dharma thus named Dharamsala the resting place where Indian Raja greeted Chinese politician to find out what the Pundits said about the Tibetan Gods and Goddesses.


BARDO POETRY

Travelling I see too
There are things that the world can do without
My self is one of them.
The passage of time leaves me without despair
I am longing to be there
But can wait,
Time.

**************************************

The mirrors are too much
There is too much confusion
The house of Scorpio has not been properly addressed
There is broken glass on the floor.

****************************************

I wait
I am high
My hiatus means I can fly with the Buddhas
They can see
I can see
It is with them
They are not the crowd in the world down below.

***********************************

It seemed to befit me
The crimes against passion
All that reason
The machinery
The robots
The self-awareness tests
The cults
But I could not see myself
And I fell over, awkwardly, and they laughed at me like I was a fool.

************************************************

Travelling I see the meandering ages of man
Tell a tale far richer than Whitehall
Or Madison Square Gardens.
I am free
Free from the search
The Superbowl is on somewhere
All time is marketed to them
And I shall not return to animal or livestock.

*************************************

It is not what it seems
The fanfare and the bandstand
The celebrity still rings in my My-ness
The popularity is affection from the Highness
I was too soon
And tomorrow it will all be gone.

**************************************

Through the photograph lens
Beyond the fires
After the wars
I am still sentient of who I was
Though they said nothing.

Was it me?
Was it the time?
What was the horoscope?
Maybe there is meaning over there…

*********************************

Their social scene
The seances
The senses
I need them.
I need them to patrol the vicinity with the emptiness of shadows
There may be some good borrowing.

Your voices of history are good for me
I can make sense now of what It was trying to say.

************************************

You have me
Examinations
The before and after yesterday
When the world knew what it did before the walls fell
And oceans welled up with Godly tears.

Connectives.
Your years.
Experience.

The Superficiality of a life lived since the 1980s
Oxford (boys and women).

**************************************

I recollect
Life before the medical debit
Credit cards
The American showdown
Little Tokyo.

There was so much to go
Life had it’s fair promise
Those who can, don’t show.

*****************************************

I was right
The after-shock of experience
And mental time
When before you did not mark my school works.

Medical jerk
Reactions and the Olympic way
There will be stern recollections
When no pills are available after the benefits of so many dead.

****************************************

They tale the East
Travel to the margin
Isolated they are poor
Yours is a good version.

Spied on
Eyed on
The many views of Brahma
Are kindness and karma –
I can see what the Buddha sees
But nobody told me what to now see.

*************************************

The race was more important
The time before the table was left out
The chase after the ball
I am with it all –
The one and all.

Seeing is so important
When is time?
Will life be mine again
For the love of The Buddha…

*************************************

Many years I wanted
The red saree and the golden bands of my special day
Why?
Trust.
The legal land
& what they had planned
Weddings and the marriage of what was impossible.

*********************************

To make a crime
And then not find
The legal time
For time and mind.

Only the Buddha could revenge
Empires and human kindness.

*****************************************

Lift me to kind Lhasa
And share with me tales of new Taj Mahals
Where Mumtaz will see it all
As I have seen it all before
A deigned Asian.

Pacifist
Medium-ist
Loser in the Christian war.

These are calm waters
Before The Flood.

************************************

I saw for the last time
I was not the Winner
I was not the Beauty.
The Beast was denied a final Fall
And all I did was before me
(In English).

**************************************

Life was not about being on the TV
Those that dined on TV
There were times for TV
I was a TV for a time with the Great Sea
And the Ocean of Compassion –
Whose name:
Avalokitesvara.

(Learning).

****************************************

What did not come at no cost to me
Settled The Ramayana with all families
This will be the last
There is no more incarnation
For a rose in a desert without imitation.

*******************************************

What is Maya?
What is the world?

Why is your life so?
When will it make sense to you?

These whispers you have heard in your life
And they were medicated into transcription
By the surgeon with a knife.

***********************************************

The love was not worth it
Time spoke of Modernism
There is a place called The Tate Modern
Time is so random

There will times tomorrow
(far away)
Where the journey of love will not be about your youth.

***********************************************

Cinema
Fractured lens of perception
Continental rejection
I want to be at The Cannes Film Festival again.

{a croissant brain}

There is more to life than the peremptory reflection of your own dejection before the light of Goddess Tara

And more to life than drugs and film
And more to life than drugs and film

************************************************

When I saw time
Regret made sense
The denial of time
Had made times tense.

The poet
The narrator
The voice:
All these things The Buddha did not judge.

**************************************************

Meteors
Comet showers and Astrological ivory towers
Waywardness and giddiness

I could tell myself apart from the human race below me

Follow me: Said Tara
& other Devas were there

************************************

Don’t be greater than your mum
There is no need for shallow matter.

The affairs
The yellow lights
The traffic in your modern age
The lack of turning pages

The modernists came true.

*************************************

They wandered far as Israelites
And found the settled land was not far
India and the Tibetan Temples
Is where Emerson shook his fists at from afar.

Himalayan ranges
Bhagavad Gita pages
The computer and human resources
Rhymes for Lakshmi’s golf courses.

…first things first…

*********************************

They yelled at me
Voice, Vermouth and Vote!
I saw those decades
Ranches and Oil
There is not much left now

Why is the TV so?

just wait until they are oldthey are human too, “Black man”

***********************************

The devil never wore a blue dress
He wrote Native Son

…if this is where your literary travels are beginning
then just wait until the end…

Books are my friends
Now

they will not always be so…

***********************************

The grand luminosity welcomes back wisdom
The shallowest part of a human being
The sentiment of meaning something to someone
Give it to me!

… let Krishna be free…

Not until some debts are paid
The way to Calvary is laid.

*************************************

We are the collective consciousness
We are the sum of One.
We are the ones who think of God all day long
And not where the loin cloth belongs.

You torture with Why do we do it?
You include with It is all ours?


We are the collective consciousness
You are the summation of Suma Theologie.

*******************************************

It all seems so much the annoyance of the sameness
The way I used to know things
Sadness
The joy of money
Tomorrow brings warnings.

The weather was false
{No nation ruled}
Those were just people who made mistakes as well.

Narrator
20th Century telling Hell.

************************************

I was the first to depart
So the story stayed with me
There was no Brahmin
Able
Watchmen
Ahead were Aeons of pleasure
Beyond that, was more of the same.

*****************************************

A world without their myths is no travellers den
The unreal seek themselves in the real
And the world moves to the planet so that the earth can give the wise rest
From the weary who do not know
And always show

Peace
Suffering
and Dharma

They will build a path to it soon

And then they shall write letters.

Communication
Warfare
Lovers.

That was who I was.

It was who you always were
And it was who you were always going to be

*****************************************


Sorrow has not place
Wind has no race to win
Candles are not lit
There is no life that is worth the most for a few or the many

Yet, Buddha’s jewels are treasured more than all the oil paintings on earth

Of those…
From those…
WITH those…

Nalanda.

*******************************************

In the afterlife
The life
Naming life still
The Renaissance
Oliver Cromwell
Charles Darwin
Adolf Hitler
Still.

that is why some are called hard-headed

***********************************

There was no use
The century was too more than before
The noise of Guru
What was all before his Victorian houses?

These are the spoils of man
This is the same India as before
I am learning of the devil in minute matters
I seek the refuge of The Buddha

Only in the afterlife will you see the Christ he was not.

************************************

My writing went to Asians and they recommended it to Academics
I was in Alcoholics Anonymous with people I thought it helped more
If only the mobile phone had let me use my body.

Sex
2100s
The morbid future
A world with “China”.

**************************************

Seeing the future did not mean being the future
Distress
Disembodied state
The search for meaning
Let the Black Man have his soul

RnB
#RnB1990s

That was how they did it

Dislocation
The world of the five senses,
And no religion mattered

#TheBeatles

(Cheer)

**********************************

She cheered for you like a groupie
Rock Star
Film Star
Paid accomplice (with child).

The children come every time.

School is out.

I was ignorant of the High Street.

***************************************

All of George Orwell’s little children
The past
Greyness
Jealousy of Americana

A great cup of coffee

*Bliss again*

They were there to annotate the pain

Criticism.
Journalism!
Criticism.

The News.

**************************************

In the end
It was in the beginning
One lifetime was enough to delude them

England
Quantity and Amount

I was not an Accountant

You will be by the end

*********************************

The past is not behind you
The future is not ahead of you
The Mystic is not hidden from you
& Revelations make sense by the toe of a Buddha

Therein is Christ the most reverend
And my story makes sense by his side.

Differences
Nowness
The Jews
Divide and Conquer
Linear Time

I understand so much

The Father
(The ‘not-Father’)

**********************************

I was swallowed up once before by the flowers of India
The decorations of the Dharma
Promises of showers of enthronement and leadership
The ability to mean well

Kali and the singular truth
Renting Colonialism is the same I felt after 1983

The photo & Dancers
Too much to turn my back on as Maya.

**************************************

Fullness
Wholeness of experience
The act of marriage

Emptiness and Politics
Watching man talk about anything but that

#Forget2047
Remember Socrates, Plato and Aristotle

************************************

I read the Greeks in the past
Before they were translated {in English}
For the GBP
Against the Dollar

The cradle of Western Civilisation was bankrupt
Brexit happened

…nobody noticed I existed either…

*********************************


The story of English society
Civilization
Retelling
American Invention
The Japanese invented I.P.
The Chinese were aware of Marketing
The 2300s made no apology

The Environment recycled things so the Black Man could know history

Circular Time & my life mattered again

…Vedas…

********************************

The Kama Sutra was superimposed
Layers and Minimalism
Marilyn Monroe

The Beatles (again)

The shutter speed was too quick
Man could not handle invention
The gun

It was too late.

********************************

They came from the past
To tell me my future
Before it was the present
Of the richest Celebrity.

Nobody
No-one
Nothing

Where was the book Telling me?

***********************************

It came so fastThe1960s
And the race was won

Space will never be the same again
And I was there to televise my own success

Mind
And The Buddha will win

*************************************


When I left the laws of the land
I was hurt in my head
The foggy density of a wild forest
They knew better.

The Police were the intellectual class
The Scholars just worked on their pass.

Automation.

***************************************

Libraries
The TV Wars
Opulent faux pas
The policy of turning

My life is the same again
the politician knew what books would do…

The years 2200 are ahead.

****************************************

If you have something intelligent to say
Say it with regret to Newspapers
That’s all I can see from up here
{Them}

Photographing the world
Spacemen

the Buddha in Tibet would have been nice

****************************************

When the realms spoke their truth
Accents
The familiar disgust
The territories and the frontiers
The Frontier Men

War by another means
Give me another name
Celebrate the Self

#Medicated

*************************************

And then they said it never mattered
All
All is all
He was All-Powerful
All Knowing
All Seeing
All Present
All

all

**********************************************

Many times I walked down the same road
They said it was sanity
Institutions were …
… Categorized
Sanitized                   demographically prioritized
Celebrated

The Word
                          became
              a literary delight

Turks

Marriage is a Corporation


**************************************

The mirror broke
And there was another
The possibility of understanding
The rhetoric of 20th Century success

“He never said”

{Know thyself}

***************************************

All the misery of life told simply truthfully to me
Made me convinced I did not want to smile
Was that The Maker?
Will I reach the goal?
Are the books arranged there, the way they are meant to be?

Ganesh was wise to shadow Shiva’s Mahabharata

********************************************

The line of the mind was narrow
The gates were illumined by Great Bear
Bardos told of time & simile
The way to truth was different there
Forgetful

I can see when my legs are wide apart
The gates of Greece are nationhood tomorrow

Buddhist Monastery’s will have filing cabinets

Socialism

Media

Leonardo da Vinci

***********************************

I shouldered the burdens of history
Unpacking the presents of Santa Claus
The nations were providing legal clauses
Nobody stopped for tomorrow.

These were the causes of my sorrow
Unhappiness led to depth
Depth was followed and mocked

The leaders sold the example
Nobody stopped for the hollow.

**************************************

Like a snowstorm the memories came to me
Then there was stillness and bliss
I recalled the promises from Sages and Wise Men
I was at the market stall at the time.

Fragmentary
In an allegory
The afterlife still exited reality at the same door.


**************************************

Evolutionary trajectory
There was so much slowness before the acceptance
Mind Body Spirit
Witness
The differences from the past
Being there and free at last

Brahman and the deceptive opinion
That all was one all of the time.


***********************************

It was not until I was dead that I was dead
And death was the party of the political scene.
Where have the English been
Why did the Americans let it happen?
What will happen?

Where will they export the rivers of blood to?

Dib Dib Dib
Rub a Dub Dub

Sail Away. Dreams!

censored


************************************

Some souls live
Some souls strive
Some educate
This one dramatized.

There was nothing left for me
The British Empire
It made up Colonialism while I was educating The Other(s).

It was too late,
There was nothing I could do
And I could not go back for them…

…#RememberingVietnam


************************************

When you photo’ed
When you screened a parade
When you where in Charade (IMDb)
Where you Audrey?…
How fair is that?

{Rat-a-Tat-Tat}

What were your rates for Heaven and Earth?

Head of the Church

all the Churches

************************************

It was human nature
There was so much illness
State Sponsored
So I joined in

Pressure
Stress
Tension

No school tomorrow
Days off and getting out of work.

Jai Om Namo Shivaya

{& Cassius Clay}


*********************************

From the beginning
To the end
It was not my end
That was not the end of my life
{Time}

They run their routes
They tease in their suits
They use the Firemans’ boots
The ambulance’s are in cahoots

Technology & The Police ruined the country
How complicated does a crime need to be?
L.P.C. & London Met

Schools must shut down

is Home Schooling safe?

“With them around”


************************************

Singh Song

Catch me some history and the trees will fall
The writing of one book and love for us all.
The Guru Granth Sahib is remarkable for what I do not read
The eyes of another and internet feed.

This is the modern age and man does not know himself too well
Tainted paint with graffiti about facts he summarised.
Man cannot use that which is normal for too long without time
Interfering gathering of life around vices representing grime.

Manners are spoken, voices can be heard
A man’s true designation is otherwise preferred.
At the feet of the Master and not out there with the loose cannons
Computer gamblers hopeful of some sexual passions.

Man was not made to know woman until the Bible was spoken over top
Optional headdress for those left out in the cold,
Like this old verse that beyond Renaissance ideals
Seeking love elsewhere for those fashions to balance a heartfelt steal.

Save me from Guru save me from despair
But do not rescue the Buddha within me
That will cut off my hair.
In England they are the same
And the Gurdwara is no good
They tempt you there with wastage and free food.

These interludes are some qualities of knowledge that I see vaguely
The lights on the city of the hills is not really business for me.
These religions grow tired, and the true Guru has enough words for himself
To leave me out and not include me in the fortress of his rude health.

Words can be deceptive, and the hierarchy can leave acres in the brain
Neurons mistake projects for New Age scientists to place strains
Men and women workers suffer uncooked food at home tables
Education is lesser and wielding to their career and pension repeatably well.

These are the days of finding that time is not beyond embarrassing man
And Guru Nanak faces psychiatry with a hand in the Yugas and Kalpas:
Again after Scientology they have a Master Plan
Nazi, suicide missions and English revisions to delete your man.

So, gather for a ramble and a march amongst the brambles of Birmingham
From an unlikely suspect of poetic disturbance within himself:
Where is the stealth of Xenu in the bygone age of post-2012 spirituality
After the NHS medicated my mother with tortious liability of proximity?

On The Padded Cell

(Ring. Ring.)

They drove me mad
It was first gear
They were all I had
That was secondary fears.
Scanned and locked
Banned and fucked.
The memory issue was only solved
By going forward in reverse.
That was a very merry hearse;
Marry me tomorrow to the lady in white
May we be the “Oum” Japa Bunnies
Maybe it is the wedding cake
Mistakes have been made
In and outside of M-An-Hat=Tan

(Ring. Ring.)

Stopped by Jersey for a tan
Caught up with the NHS boy for some fab fans
Offline printer
Online winters
Sad paid plans for old age
Road rage
Whitsun Weddings
-> Flotsam and Jesters
Still Larkin around, I see
::-> some people should be paid for padded cell poetry
To,
Brighten Up Your Jig
and make you dance with the wig
Yours,
Tories too and their Techno game.

For parties in parks
Sex on the brain.

(Ring. Ring.)

What happened?
Spin the polity
Rave the menagerie
Meditate the meditators
Medicate the lactators
Convene the meetings at 3 o’clock
Suck on that chicken for evening sticks and sticks that won’t break my bones
When your words on my dinner plate hurt me…
Wages and costs
Living on the box:
What was the (real)?
When wages were all I could feel.

(click)

Numbered

Model
The experience.
Infernal reference points in hell
Pointing the way to experience unexplained blues;
I blew on the tissue
Kleenex. Jokes and the borstal,
Extension to primary university remorseful.
How could you be
Without or with me?
Don’t.
Let it overuse assumption
Of the non-inheritable gazumption
Of The Land Unuser; an illegal abuser
Without an Ark for Joan.
Don’t.

#She wants to be there with you
Nirvanic realms…
Dreams with the intolerable poet
Misused matches of daytime scenes
Corroborated evidence of sanity’s personal plea
Misunderstood. Too good! Too good!
Sahib! Is the poori warm enough?
Are you craving enough?
What senseless devotion is due?
The noon sun is Ganges and lungi lounge music is through
Tune!
Love me.
Move me.
Settle me a score
On the settee next to me,
Is a siren:
“Don’t you set them free?”

One time: Just for you
It’s called my: Nirvana Tune …
Bardos of being and becoming
The unity country of bespoke tailored streams
Yodel and make fun of them too.
What’s a culture between me and you?
Sahib!
One day will be born
A Sahib!
Rival of Mountain Gods
A bountiful ocean of wisdom and love:
Mountbatten woods, never leave home
Without a Calendar. Ishq.
‘The Glass Palace’ could be half full
The human dilemma wasn’t for our Phool Taiji
Tejji-Boy.
Techi-Boy is after you,
Satan’s mills again.
Not one word, but one wolf
The ingratitude of face lone raccoons,
The smells of Hell will be Zulus mercy
For [               ] Guru rehearsal;
What we didn’t know
When he sent us down there to the unconscious pit
About Reading.

William Blake had a wife.
Englishness is an avid read
The world
Outside:
[                  ], Fucked da’ Po’ Lease
Proper Ties are when they’re homes with lies
About the money and the means.
Instagram ya grams for your banana and our Supergran!
Racist will be your leads:
You dirty rat!

William Blake had a life.
That would be nice
Remembrance.
Some of us need it, Some of us out it on show
There’s no time left for the Romantic flow of underwriting.
A carriage, a barge a heavy load of ignorant male envy
The horror of modern time; Africa is afraid of mentionable rhymes.

William Blake knew how to read.
Wham! That’s taker.
Hole. That’s Diwali fire worker
Tears and jerking off in the cinema
Need a better cough for rudimentary
And medicals
In testicles of Routines: The East is where their mama’s hands have not been.
Knock 3 times, it’s Babylon:
The Origin Of [                ] is behind marijuana door number greens.

Feeding, leaning, accepting, crowd pleasing
Hello to the helpers who helped before
Savior
Messiah
Savior of Medusa
The Funky Cold Medina is a watchdog in Madeira.
Healers are leaders if they read, it “just…”

Repain time, responses are for you
Know one day. This world …
Through.

William Blake knew energy.
Consciousness was a porous time.
Swedenborg is fine.
Tied to the Guna of Attila the Hun
I am one of five who are proud
Before a Junta: jokes at Jintao
Two towers, one was left for Miss World to see, too.
Human misery is a beauty contest
Both Ways, acceptance offer and pecuniary loss
Their Islamic toss-off road racers will do.

13. Is thief
Egypt  could have 2012 A.D. for some, a few, a troupe, a clue
Model, overtime
Of how Yeshua could his Jellybeans find.
Sand of time, Zeek, corrosive fires
day
Is not one line.
3. Lines aum is Om your not Triumvirate reclining chakra
5. The fifth is SITH, see the whole when She lives in wholeness with You again
William Blake numbered his verse.

Neurodivergent

Pictures of success
Excess dancing of fiery emblematic
Time spent undressing tragic dreams.
There is no more seems
Terror plots
Yesterday’s waste
Forgotten travelling clouds;
Mesmerising water
Of the neurological passageway,
They have thoroughfare.

The concrete reality of a subterranean jungle
Met with monster-like deceitful strain
Going this way and that way
A fitness survived fit for a King’s competition.
Elements combine some new way of rage
Desperation pants for a damp rag to wipe a sweaty face
This day and that old something.

Can you wear a bonnet and go to the races?
Or stay with me while I pace up and down the streets?
So that at the end of the year it is still Christmas
And there is some imaginative space where we meet.
It cannot be your world, when I am jobless too –
For those pictures of you dinner and dancing
Never show the real world like a workplace for you.

Despicable covered clothing
A sheath of apple and two timing pie:
Terse reprehensible verse
Taking reality on time of some guy’s interpretation of some guy’s interpretation.

Hold on! Catch some beats – there is rhythm in these streets;
And the message of the new century unfolding
Is that horror is not the old archaic armchair of the untold
Frightening night that might lose me
In the pleasure of anonymous spendthrift ways:
When stars pass as human beings
And dark partial truths follow wet nights and days.

Monsters of Game

Monsters of fame know the game that I name
But redrawers of old drawers cannot know the originality:
I claim! Stay with me & you will see. That is seeing,
And I am being. Keyboard, laptop & mouse:
If I am not grateful for my house –
Then who is the Conglomerate upon me
Greater than the North Sea and the airspace now governed by the School of Commoning
And evolutionary strains for more melody than harmony
| The right to not be repeated |
Poetry will not be defeated.
Even clowns have hands to stand on,
Do not admire the programmers’ random.

There is no-one to know how the space can be cleared
Fellows handle doorknobs for men being a different kind of fellow they fear.
Estimation is a cleverer way of describing the giving
That has not thanks in the miniature that is still living
After the wars of the East that fell down for the cleanest cocking
Of a gun to not know the right time to go door knocking
And find the Dame with the same man: Sing to me your Christmas plan.

Some games knew boards and the years bowled over wickets
So that the PLO could go underground and down below
The seas of the wavelengths for Mata’s density and travels
In the New Age of opened bowels and tortured remains
So that Puja could clean brains and Aarti told Saraswati:
‘Better the devil she knew’. Time is through with you
Clouds have fractures and health knows matters
Knowledge is in tatters and men know manners.

So be polite as Jews feminise the day
And hurry back home from the Christian who is Jolly Roger,
Tomorrow it is karma for the Muslim to have sway
As Mind Body Spirit stays with it for ‘Who is gay?

Microchip Romance

I came to see you
It was your asking
Stolen nighttime
Switches off
a century’s tale of lovers betwixt two microchips,
May some fat in the oven enlarge me
This aching Data uselessly touches the rising of my loins,
Cookies and dreams
consciousness’ streams.

What’s your ideal type?
Who are your fantasies?
Where can we get together?
What are the best trees to go planting?

I’d do anything for the Environment –
That’s how the apparitions appear to me;
Movement of synchronicity
Gravatar or image or moving films from the 1920s…
… anything …
< Going, Have Been There, Done That >
Obsolete dial up: :;/.%”-+;@: “Call me back!”

My information is not at your doorstep
Help is very far away.

Abandoned.
Isolated.

Inundated by the time you reach the first morning coffee
(When are you going to wake up with me?)
Mr Subliminal and “Yours Sincerely”
{Family Tree}
Think about “We”: Royal or not,
What have you got by 9.30 o’clock.

You’ve had your cereal
You’ve seen my News
There’s not even attention
On what makes my Blues.

Yet you deny me your access codes
You don’t download to me your privacy.

Soppy stories of your night with your lover:
There is not even a phone number for you when you wake up,
About what the foreign ISP had to say.