christianity

Pilgrimage Poem

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

At Five Ways I learned discipline,
Study became prayer,
Questions became scripture.
The classroom was my chapel,
The assembly my liturgy.
What began as grammar,
Became gospel,
Preparing me for pilgrimage.

At Oxford I walked among spires,
Philosophy became psalm,
Poetry became prophecy.
In cloisters of silence,
I wrestled with faith and doubt,
each essay a sermon
each lecture a hymn.
The scholar’s lamp burned,
yet beneath it,
the Spirit whispered.

At St Brigid’s I first learned hymns,
Childhood voices rising in chant,
Ritual shaping memory,
Catholic flame in Northfield’s soil.
Brigid watching me with healing eyes,
Preparing me for testimony,
For prophecy,
For Albion’s renewal.

And then I returned,
To Birmingham’s churches,
To Elim’s Pentecostal fire,
To Alpha’s questions,
To hymns remembered at St Brigid’s.
I read the Bible entire,
Guided by Got Questions,
East meets West,
Krishna’s chant met Christ’s gospel.
Renewal sang through me,
And I stood not as seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light through rupture,
Chanting testimony into England’s soil.

Saying It While I See Part 4

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I cannot recommend
The brain strain to the end
Of the format for the demand
Of how to set up Christian.

Then there is the Flan
And you have to leave Pakistan
To mellow out with LinkedIn
Out of synch and out of sin.

This much it is to try
To work with that Fapohunda guy
Who came to me to say
I’ll make it now good any day.

Mr mister and Mister
Why don’t you talk to your sister
Following every word like a hawk
Not admitting you left the cue ball at baulk.

Some have to reason some have to say
What it is that helps them to work in a given day
Some have to grieve some have to stay
And this way, said Jesus, I am newer than thousands for play.

Reduction

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He is 1/500th the millionth part
Of the man I used to be in the start
Of a project where the goal is target number one
For the Way & the Hero: ~~

Come to me, now
Sell up your shores on the broken battles.
Those tired machines are art in the dreams of morons,
Who will they know?How will they be counted?
Scene by scene in the anime dream
Poking and toking
Joking about Loke.

Okely Dokey : That’s all they had to say
As the school grass grew wildly
And neither teacher nor parent won that day.
Every day?…
Every, every day?…
Sell me a fuck or Fuck OFF with me!

Switch off, his celebrity.
Change your mind, celebrated kind.
Change our change and spend your kindness,
Retire with us and pay us back for the broken image of Heartland.
What else don’t you understand?

What school was reprehensible – as my fashion was demeanable
Alternative type
Zero stripes
Military drape
Wife of the black man.

You’re a no man again
And I won my pain!
I am Victor next to Malthus
So that St Germaine is my French strain.

Common chill blaines – walking shore to shore as an immigrant talking about the door being shut on Jabba the Hut.
“Hello there too!”
I’m in your grandfather’s house as well.
Come in and I’ll shoot
The Porn is on reboot!

Exclaiming typists style away the YouTube braying of anticipation
Constant present awareness and nondual fidgeting without Capital.
Capitol Hill and the same men chill without Charity day of Chang
For a job that can rearrange,
The Drugs
The Thugs
The Harmony
The Druids and the Balmy Army…

Why do these questions plague me?
Centuries have I waited for a computer
Art is a mirror that makes us look away
It here for modern Kings to have their Thor’s day
IMDb and all that Brie
Save some for me, Lady Anastasia
All the men’s children and all the lady’s Portillo besides the braided bunch of lunch inspired speakers about twice a week instead of God’s sod off day Day Off.

Cough twice if you have heard about Nadia Nyce
Stamp three times if you think Bree Olson would be nice
Piano ties
Eyes that cry
Times like mine
Cooking with Thyme.
What the broth will cum up
When there is one big fuck up
And the acting breaks the Montego Bay railing
Far cry from the fast cars that did the jailing
Save all your pissing for me
When I am on ITV – and the plans for the Spandex hit my Decks at a quarter past the Tree of Knowledge.
Fuck what you were taught in your Daddy’s chair
While he stared
And the Beatles cared
Who dares lost
And the cost is a Valium
In the Valley of the Shadow of Death
Far from the prestigious breath of the outgoing Ujahi
Settlers on the Plains of Shiva and his Pranayama for Parvati.

There will come a time
When time will come to time
So that computers came to earth
Before the woman 9 monthed stoney births.
TV
Baby
Kazapow & ???…///:: Ping Pyao! Bang Bang Bom!!!!!
How long have you known.
                                                 About the Stone.
“Say something so high up there
I’ll be a Yuppie’s mum so aware
Of the rich things she’s driving they haven’t got
And the teacher at 75 who is ISKCON lost”

!Don’t you want my babies
Don’t you want a whore -awe -inspiring man -aweawaw”
——– The End|

Pay Tree Ark

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When the good debt was folded
And the sacred bird had flown
There was one who was Awake
Top of the hat to his own.

They called him Jeff and let him ride
So far to the other side
That the mentionables were kept afloat
By the shopping he did around the moat.

The moat they built in the past
When Canary Wharf was not going to last
Because his kind kindly sung to the Police
Of knowledge that left them fucking Analese,

[Remind me how to spell @ When his witches are in Hell]
, another one of his little fertile girls
Showing me the balance of Time
For the rhythm of a rhyme
And how to Hare Krishna power=share just fine.

Krishna is just fine, thanks for asking
Rama will be grateful for his Shabba Ranks, canal driven man
Down the Maine Street with the Wilberforce treats
Stuck in a traffic jam no matter what Lady Marmalade says next.

That’s EnlightenNext: Up and off there for some Techno=Fest
Costing the coasting Guru Nanak some Repo action
For all his fancy foot action
What was it? At the end of the day….
…
…
Sigh No More and Sai Baba is gone
What was the pleasure in losing his song.

One
Two
And not Zee
Maybe the Charmed twins got up to three?
Who was the Guru – who was the Pen?
When will the showtime get back to the Penitentiary
Internationally Amnesty International planned by me
To settle the nettles on the floor for more than £10.

Come down to laughing out loud
Om Shanti to the quoting men
Speak to batallions raised from the streets
Chant wildly of Ken Wilber eating out Chinese food whenever his old age
Walks
Talks
On all fours
The Missing Link
Guru & some smelly pink socks on The Big Think
Call me a PhD
Watch me Pee
“Can I have a P please Bobby?”
There is friction between us in The Sea.

Fraternity
The final filial piety
Count slowly as you walk away from me
That the hour passes slowly from when we die.
Too shy
Too rich
Too regal
Such a bitch!
Why would you WAG
When you could Hag,

And The Chase screened to Manhatten
The Questions you would like?
Back to Jeff and old man Bally
Down the Classy Junction
For some Gurdijeff and Gurdwara function.
But time is not so kind to all and this is a time to the Recorder
So that when action is in inaction and Jazbaa is spoken
The Fake Alexander is O’Neils at last for some New World Order.

Order It Again

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In order to build order
Find out what the disorder did to you.
When there is water let there be dryness
If you find your Highness is too much of a blow for you.

They called him a King who dwelt on the most high
And left him with a poet who lost his script when the ink was dry –
That is the first difference between me and you:
That is the difference between a Cross and a Jew.

There are letters that say how I have been feeling
When the wire is tapped so the walkers are reeling

From their orgasms and manic spasms in the left of the Fall
When Autumn knows no conversation in the old Mordan Hall.
Sell my your cough as you walk repeated and reappear
Like a mirror from the Magic Mandrake who’s Magi is near
To the salesman who’s bonus means a full meal for the family and all
When the Summertown is not dunces town with a wheely bin for the Ball.

Next to me is the whisperer and the Clothed Dagger of the magic pen
Saying “Again!”
“Again!”
Where is the writer’s brain?
Straining, like a refraining, draining on the containment of time,
Again…

Ole 2 Gramma (!#@?)

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Load the Sangeet
Dance with my feet
Stray sleepers on the street
That’s not where we meet.

Fanciful debonair desires
The heart is still on fire
For what the TV brought
When the ships returned nought.

How can I be rude for you
When you have the Moon to review
And your conspiracy crew
Is full of their own truth.

Jesus is for you
After you nailed him to the Cross
And told the story for us
Of your yesteryears and wankers’ Tax and Overdrafts.

Shares on the Shaadi
Come over with the Commons
Share the commotion with one of your Literary Reviews
Your just just not going to get the Kiplings cakes on, are you?

It’s always the same
With the Colonial strain
Something feminist and then some chilblains
If they don’t see it for themselves with Dwayne.

Hassle free Texts
Something frilly for your Ex
So I can be betwixt my vexation
Always late for your non invitation.

How?
Brogues.
The lounge.
Lozenges.

// Whatever could it have been
COVID and the streets of CCTV
When the waters were civilized
And more TV passed a Prince’s eyes:

  • For the child he just just could not see
  • When the Willow the Wisp was not I-SPN
  • Heroes see.

Mr 2 Write

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There are things you say I should not say
Like sorry to the hedges I cut on the way
When I sold my shares initially in sorrow
To buy my way out of footsie for tomorrow.

I’m the best, my nation said so
That’s the way that one’s got to go.
#AndWhenImDone there’s nothing left to do
Except folly and old fortune for the Armada Hampstead crew.

Battle me this and cohabitate me with the vacuum that:
Where is the honesty in the open handed approach to the road :-
The road east of Vancouver where the radio check is preapproved
Like a beer t-shirt ripped open for the cover of Summit recovered.

Too easy to shin and far over the older beard to shine
There is a head where the coupling will be diners.
It’s not all sandwiches at Waitrose when the beat is on the minute;
Leave me an iPod when you get the time to be on a zillion.

My Henry Kissinger and that’s the top hat blown
Like the Top Hotel we have not shown with all the shows on far from Noam.
Is there any cover left for the car he is bereft off having not shown foam
For the parties he carries a tune for. Mr Canary and the way back home.

From Siam I have flown and known the airport underneath my feet
Where the Jetstream is some cold cleaners and Mr Sheen for the Air Host’s feat
To jump so many moons to keep up with those Shrooms
And whatever did not Clear while Florida kept Ron Hubbard with Martin Clunes.

Underground with the dune buggies and up top where the hatch is blown
So much more the Saviour, so much more the way back home.
Something for me and something for you
A way to the routine in Jalandhar for the coded cabin crew.

Something for me and something for you
Take anything you like from the top shelf: I’m done with the quarterback Jew.

Gay Con

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It’s a gay consideration
It’s a warrior by your door
In the coldness of a winter day
To sell you smelly Dogs and nothing more.

It’s positively humorous
The lady in the lake of heavenly resonance
Who deals with the online poker taunts
To buy something so informant and keep us ticking along.

So many phone calls
So many books and cheese
On the dance floor where the angels fear to tred
And the murderers are an igloo of understanding in the red. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssso what, I hear you say
Where the money is on the table and deals are ahead with trays
In the Churches where I bought my wayward soul with Waylan Lewis
To go forth towards the

Control Again

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Contemporary to the age that I live in
Caged by the fashions I fail to live in
Controlled by the markets that get on each day
I am a vigil unto myself by the end of the day.

There is worthiness and there is worship
There is the rigmarole of the self.
There is homage and there is self awareness
There is here and there for me to be perfection in.

The teacher tells me the meaning of the verse
The director addresses the timing of the hearse
The website fixes the prices of my poems
And the neighbours advertise the size of their knowing.

Such is the development of my sad days
When money is not flowing like Niagra Falls says
And health deteriorates to the bottom of a rock
Where the crew is damaged like a flimsy dream in Iraq.

These are the hopes and fear of one frightful hour
When the urchin is emotional about serving God for an hour:
So who is in charge of the Temple where it is said
Pray to me, your Papal History, as long as I am read?

Boomerang

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The way they live nowadays!
Oh, it’s something to see!
Declare it bloodily – between Beijing and Shang Hai on Channel 3
If there are four of us, will you massage my loins,
So that the lion of Daniel is flying my planes?

Ire
The ions of Zion
The complaint of a late period
The waiting for Oxford steroids
How were the Elections for you: Olympic crew?
Not so satisfied with Jai Santosh Mata for you –
Time
Uppity
& Chance.

{ But can HE dance }

He can dance the trip wire
And li[please the Elysium on a D String]
All I said was :
“And the coloured girl played you out”
Twist and Shout!
“Tits are out!”
#EchoTheAbsolute while you watch Das Boot
Malfunction the male function of a disjunction
Sell me a product robotically systematic in Japan
Land on the flag of an Island for the American man
Make me some Bombay blues for review in the news!

New things like this don’t bother me
I’m another Temporal displacement for the Agency.
She said she would be early
He left a little late
When I get back home from the bus full of Christians
I’m still just learning to masturbate.

The Great Danes of York
The daintiest dresses of Counsel
The frenzy of rhetoric down my blouse
A mirage of Oasis by the hassle free Living E-Room:
} Guru is Loungin’
{ Pharcyde is Punditry
@MasserBossman in the Foundry
Qn: The little man in the Mill on the Floss
Dental loss : One for the shoesmiths who lives down Brick Lane
… the commas are back again,
Repeat a refrain
Scar the brain
Scan the sans motif
Ban the Aperitif
This was not the medium
They were not the Colgate dream
Too fast!

Worry again –
Sell me this brain, Come back for Follow On, Mr Indian name
333 and 6 sixes
Why there is now China witches?
Can’t they just pay…
Wages
One
Day
.


Then there was a sea and a battle story for the old men
That told of wivery so that the behaviour was Omen
Then the nautious ideas of Poesies came to Michael Kamen
And told again for the need for riches to Eric and thieves.

Sell me again!
Tell me your mane?
“Quell my heart’s pain”
Listen to typing, Again.
There is Breakfast at Tiffany’s
But no Fiddler on the Roof,
The market know three storey’s higher than Wall Street
And J.F.K. second shooter is still not enough proof.

Poetry is encoded on the barren soul that leaves women blind
So they do not remember the door swinging when I went home very kind
And left a trail of disaster wherever I feared to tread
For the roses from tomorrow and what Llama’s might have said.
Clouds counsel widows
The measurement stifling in England
What is In in IN-Land
But revenue they lost …
Rhyme that.

Flatten that.
Spell that
& Buddha is Prayer.
Wash your own linen
& the married man is there.
Settle down man
Hua Mulan is free now of the Decogan
The march of the Angels is Chariots of fire
For the wireless Bra that she stands on;
8 Measures
4 Measures
Numbers Measure
Poets seek pleasure.

This way was spoken a death’s decree
For the mercy of errors of the Dharma upon me:
To hasten Byron for a safer passage than love’s crimes
Lest Science is Fiction that Millions cannot boon on time.

03/05/2023