Vibrations in the Field of Miracles

Akaash speaks and the faucet tap leaks
Speaking of an age when the rage knew the warrior.
The men were less densely populated
The women were married to the clothes line
Sex was not indecision
For the trackers who chased away the forty thousand foxes.

Vibrations in the miracles of fields lay extensions
Corporation street is not so happy when Santosh is not dining at Café Neros
The depression hits the Free Market
Trump is at House of Fraser
The wrong Psychiatrist is “I’m listening”.

Army jacket
Stars and stripes banner
The eagle forgets
Rhyme is slicker than your average
Fry, Punt and Dennis let Lenny Henry in

  • Santosh is displeased again
  • Where is my family’s Kings Heath strain
  • Apache Ranvir Turna
  • Kamal Johnny Zee & Niraj Martial Arts

What does it take to keep Victoria a secret?
This is not our trunket
The man with the acordian is back in Northfield I hope, soon
Splitting to infinity and fascalling a waling loss.

If Job is the boss, I am unemployed
Tiresias is echoed for the first time
A journey of a thousand miles begins
The nations will sing
It’s always the same after the road trip down the Nile
Amazing Amazonians seem the simple life fort Conrad
Hearts and heads in gangs and New York streets

IF I AM DEFEATED blame the internet
It’s the best mind a manic mind can get
writing writing writing away
all the day has something to say
mental health hospitals accompanying loss
trying to find work to replace my hunched back
yoga is not for me until I can listen to that track
alignment with YouTube Buddhists sending his karma back
the Dalai Lama of mass harm and weapons of hissing destruction
inspiration to nothing
elocution is wanting

When they are you

The concept of insurance escapes me easily
Harrowing medics and their dogs
Walking the razor’s edge
Mastering nothing
Leading no-one
Not even enough sports for the mirrors to go on.

It won’t be long until the fame catches up to me
Running before I can walk down the barney
Rows and fights and the mind of man is old again
The echos down the chamber halls are not stable
The links are not straight lines and the happiness is not genuine
Poets are there in the tense times of Ukrainian distress
Wars that still fail to impress the delusional population
Still so easily facile about the penile projections of the proletariat.

Is that for me when I walk to the park?
Supporting the political party for some time off dreaming
Better things to come for other Popes and their commanded forces
Christ is rebirthed in another way these days.

Ordered Folios
Places where the imagined don’t go
Feeling the flow
Daisy flowers
Chelsea Flower Show
Manifested madness
Clouds and eclipses and hollow rain
Dark clouds distributing graphs and selling the science again.
Pick yourself up and get on with the task
Don’t get down in the mouth wearing a mask.
That is the task
That is the fee
Setting yourself free
#somethingforme

The merriment in the European Union
The self against the self and the fashions of their glamour
The ski slopes and the chosen people
Partying in the alpine freshness of lodges and whitened valleys
Black runs and jump suits that are fun
Sliding to a stop just close enough for luvvies
Cars that keep running to stave away the cold finish
Hot cocoa before the wine in the evenings
When the walls fell
Shakazulu and the tribes are now Harry Potter
Such good potting of plants
How did she know how to dance?
Listening to me, listening to you
Lightsabres at dawn for fights with the anti-semite.

Jews Work From Home

Ex Parte the London Bankroll Mob
Some wesbites that are free, at least for me
What was I supposed to do mother?
Lexington Steele asked the crowd.
I just wanted to play poker, staying at home crying (unemployed) out loud.

Why isn’t this world for me?
What have I done?
Where is the imagination?
Why does the internet make the clouds run?

Too
More
From
With
How are the ambit car parkers when frothing at the mouth?

So many questions and the children run poses around the park
Larking around the last placed children
Racing games and who is the best at stretching like a fairy and magician
Come home in time for school revision
Hard working pen work – a time away from the policeman
And all that beeping about they do, racing cars are fine.

See the political leaders today
They give the haranguing game away
Telling us what to do and who to be
From what they wear and what they see.
I would like to do that and shake that man’s hand
Travelling without my parents to some far and distant land.
But, I am not cultured: I do not know the names of crockery and pots
Lots and lots of crockery and pots
At least that is what the man seems to say is omitted from the classroom
Antiques that have their own roadshow is on soon…#IStillDon’tGetIt
Syntax and hastags
That old fat slag keeps on texting me
At least that’s how she looks when I book some time on that chat Ap.
Monkeys games are next when I finish up this exam text
And then it’s off downstairs to see if the cookie jar tells them I am self aware
Jesting speaker and mouthpiece tells them I am opening it
Open yourself, funny boy, if you think I am paying attention.
So much memory retention – how can it be that the brain does not explode!
Anodes and cathodes
Messages in a bottle
Lazy women on motorbikes
Tattoos for me who likes full throttle.
At least that is what mum says when she gets home
All worldly with the radio on in the car telling me she will be home soon
She is not far from the door, I guess, when I stress to impress
I’ll get the dinner on after one last cookie munch for some thank you, Mum, very much.

First Political contd

I don’t feel much like court
Is that where all the funding goes
What about the findings of the scientists
Even they get called mega rich today by the political class
Sitting on their arse
Costing all the class
Sizes and the houses
Students and their desks
Not long before they are back again
London is a right and left Westminster strain
Mortgage escapes my clutches
The DVLA won’t give me my breaks
I’ve seen the superwoofer shop
And it’s back to Rap and RnB for me
After a quarter past three
To cruise controlled past the paedophile pitch
Where the Teachers erect a defence that makes my nerves itch.

SO much going on when I drop a leaflet through the door
I need some time of from free work
It’s time for no time to catch up on the bezerk creativity
More fettered freedom for me
Interest rates on the rise
Climate change talks around the dinner table
Mr rival’s eyes
An empty prize for the victor at Mr Conversation’s door
Hollow no more
For every day is the same
And mother’s and father’s possessions
Dinner plate set with vegetable complements
Well thought out address all night long
Singing the complacent song
Time away from the i-Pod
Keeping up with the crazy frogs
And all that French accompaniment
And what the next Olympics meant
During our COVID lockdown and mash up military expression
No time for Saturday dance lessons
Each and every step easily set up with graphics on the floor
Nobody knocking on our doors
And even the football stadiums weren’t allowed
Crowds
Bowed
Aloud
The silence was deafening
The leaders spoke their mind
Boris Johnson was friends for a while
And left us the Human Rights Act to talk about
When the Europeans bade farewell to our sceptic hell
And decades of debate about the tax rebate
Council court bills and people who can’t chill
For all that stress that comes back to the front
After quiet times with medical cunts
… & Intermission
[The End.]

Psychological blockages
Parts of myself I don’t know for the level
Staying alive for the cleverness
Spirit and some drive
Get up and go
Syndromes and accomplishments
Reviewing myself in the wrong direction
Tyre tracks in the wrong direction
Repairing myself in the wrong direction
Living life in the wrong direction
Benjamin Button (again) and sensory perception on the brain.
Cousins who don’t care about me
A brother who is nearly 53 years old
Time for a mother to turn 70
When your father is repenting his retired living standards too
What was an uncle to do?
When his aunty was on the train with the Jew,
For whom life was not well enough with all of Israel inside of me
And nothing from reservoirs of love because of Srila P.

Man is such a force that he commands respect after reserving love
Trusting the laws of earth for what he can give from up above
And if such control is populated with sisters in their Temples
Then he can leave with the receipts and call the other men simple.

This is the way the relatives mocked me
This is the task for Oxford to repair me
Sannyasi and Brahmin in a Vasya’s age
Listening to N-Word rap music and developing rage.

Turn the page

If life is a stage, Who am I?
// some computerised reflection of boredom of Adam’s loins
Bastardised rememory of the factory down the lane
Iron and ball bearings and the frustrated furnace of the father’s min
Jalandhar does not have many kind people in it
They are all in doors
Washing their floors
Marble and a little meshed window
To break up the table time for food from the servants
So we can eat and talk together before TV time.

There is not so much time for rhyme
I don’t know why I was thinking there was time
For The Rishi Factor and that internet speed
When English is not the language they read
At least when the Reed is the internet feed
And the programmers are programmed all day long
By the things that Shakespeare fans tease
The lightening speed of the freedom from a lease:
To, Own
Love
Laptop.

Capitalism is fine it’s just not often served with white wine
I think that red is best for the hairs still left on my chest
In case I try to make the whole world mine
Since the movies spoke of the Science Fiction crest
In image and moving words
About how the world is absurd
And needs some super non-African meaning
To tame the tapes that are streaming
The news of wars in the Chinese plains.

Poetry

Just a drum
A shaking rattle
The missing snake
Moves and dancing girls all over the place
My mother does business in Japan
The speaking trees
Environmental leases
Razor Guarding the wilderness of the American everglades
Stationary like a magic bean before a giant that pays the minimum age
A wage for the imagination is at Amazon’s doorstep
Terrified before 100s of offices worldwide about things the K says
Real before the invented
Crude before the demented
Timeless before the dead
On Social Media before the best read.

These are the times of the These Times
These are the times of the New York Times.

What they will say, only some people will know
As England goes down below
Hellish Realms for the Chinese people
Saddened by war again by steeple chasers
Hungry for The Commonwealth Games
And more things that fame in English has to say –
Not about the Americans in English land
When children go to the walking park with politician for some Saturday sand.

Is this a question John Lennon will understand
How about Ringo Starr so death defying with the McCartney man not to stand oaths before pass the final stone
Leaving is such an alone thing to do
I guess we’ll be here being beaten black and blue being forced to like some musician
They don’t care about us at Glastonbury
Maybe they are content with the Bible and Mary Berry.

So, I’m going to go and get my Bible and some self defence
And see if these wise kindnesses from other books make some comment, meaning, earning and noblest sense
Like the fat man said when he sold me some bread
And told me to travel the world as a well read man.

Then I will find the women better to please
Talking fine things on a Sunday afternoon’s time in a café’s ease
Something forgotten in the motions of the last few times
When war dominated our minds
Diamonds were so out of the ordinary
Women forgot to like their watches
Men dressed in drabby suits
And the photographer was never interviews.

Sell me four Gospels, please, annotate them like Milton
Leave the Old Testament in Arden’s back yard
Don’t borrow me from my millions.
One day strip them down and explain to me the things that John Said
When the Mayans are so skippy in the best laid plans on man.

How do we pray to them?
What are their names?
It seems they travel like the Hindoos
Keeping up twice as quicker with the fame.
Then I need a car and my own house too
Something borrowed from an unclean man
Then you can tap my machinery and quote me illogical
So I will win some races and be there on time at the restaurant
When I can afford a date with my fantasy girl
Lost one night on a deserted island
Far away from the TV
That said all these things triply.

That is for me
The misspent awkward word
Maybe then I help Jesus
Not say so many things Church absurd

Serpentry

I coil like a serpent
Spent energy and mysteries awash the daily grind.
There are things I cannot find anymore,
The old way of life
Without the English sweet shop on the corner
Reminding me of the value of wood
And old Gobstoppers in bottle jars.

It seems we have come far and the progress is on the roads
That is no place for Toad from Toad Hall

I might see him at the community fair and the Old Ball,
Running around like a mindless chicken
Inclusion in The Fall.
That fallen man and that forgiven woman
Leven bread and three Hindu Havans: –
I will include them in my community pages
Working for less than Amazon rainforest wages.

A few pounds, some pence and lots of corporate sense,
This is no time for Little Miss Moffitt!
Can you fit like a glove around my romantic love
And sell me some verse for the drive by from the hearse.
These are things grounding themselves in you
As you take it all personally, the things you have been through,
Lashing out
Striking back
Like a hack attack
Not knocking on doors at University
Studying in doors for the truth of the universe within me.

I’ll see you at three
And read you there,
Something to help me stay up top and keep mindfully aware.
Just don’t reform all the schools of thought with one foul pen
Lest you fail before you begin to keep it all within your heavenly retention.

Saturday Afternoon at a Friend’s House

I walk the familiar road,
a soft December sun leaning over Weoley Castle,
light pooling on the pavement
like a blessing I did not ask for
but accept anyway.

The afternoon is ordinary –
a friend’s house,
a knock on the door,
the warmth of a kettle coming to life –
yet something in me moves
as if this small journey
were another chapter
in the long autobiography
I’ve been writing with breath and memory.

I carry no incense,
no mantra,
no visions of Maya or Albion today –
only the quiet knowledge
that every threshold
is a kind of pilgrimage
when the self is listening.

Inside, laugher rises,
cups clink,
the world shrinks to a living room
where stories drift like steam
from the mugs in our hands.

And I sit there,
not a a fragmented hybrid anything,
not as a mythic figure,
not as a seeker breathing in the world’s sorrow –
but simply as Rohan,
arriving,
present,
held in the gentle ordinariness
of a Saturday afternoon
at a friend’s house.

A small moment,
yet it settles in me
like a stone in a riverbed –
quiet, grounding,
part of a long story
I continue to walk
one step,
one breath,
one visit at a time.

Fake Stunts

The action man arises
The subtle boy descends
They are unkempt teen trends

From and up and away
Lockdown days have their ultimate untimely say.
What do you think they take to get over?
Years and tears
Slow to come to terms with the inward eyes turned on my fears
_Slow lost
Some financial cost
Health at what zesty realisation
How can I serve this great nation
SPIN.
SPIN.
SPIN.

{I’m in}

These are commercial trends.

And irony and sarcasm dance
Flares fringing Hollywood to make it Hell-He-Would
The Sundance Festival
Carnival and comical
Terence Stamp
Drugs that leave you in a trance.

Medical ethics
Regulatory health statistics
Bodies
Organisations
A world without Panels
reading me blind
covering up it’s eyes
to spy on my Mother and what she still means to my Father
who aren’t in Heaven

Action hero mates
Soldiers of fortune besides The Fates
A police service outside of The Thames
Famous women who think to excess
The men from the U.K. more different to the U.S.A.
When the need fits the outcome it’s something you’ll know
So jokes and some blanket shots can be a good throw.

Die For Me

Waiting for the exceptional revelation
Of my knowledge born of College elevation
Renders me stuck Art and darkness rebounding
Floundering
Debut
The news in you is the Good News in me
I am neo-Colonial Hindu advertised history.
Save me
Let me be
Just don’t tell me
What the schools needed to know:
An English throw, to wake me up
After I was jammed, in the photocopier room.

The International Mama

There are times in the solid room
There is a okay Heraldry in the plastic tomb
Here and there is a fractured glass of a sonic boom

When the ships in the night are frightening.
These are the times when my teeth need whitening
And the lazy Sunday deserves an extra half hour in bed
After a week of working and washing the clothes
So far and so long that the measurements are not dead.

Something for me and something for them
The next thing they ask for is going to be too much.
There is not a bedroom that couldn’t do without a Rabbit Hutch
And more life for my kids stuck in a rut in England on a couch.

Married or unmarried it has to be the way
That Islam is Brick Lane when Hindus like Stoney Lane:
This eases the paths so that wires can be their heads
As Darth Vaders playing Space Invaders when I am gone and dead.

Halo boys on the angelic tip looking for some ink wells to laugh and dip
Their erectile problems fathoming centuries of God,
Because of schools and computers
That told of Blake’s Thel and her encounter with a Clod.

Something for me and something for them,
At least I will be back here again!
With their rotten spoilt karma to wile away the time
And think of good demons who give Satan all their crimes.

Nothing
Everything
Commanding things
Washing things again
These are the ways
Those are not the ways
DO this
DON’T DO that
What a prat
My son is a part prat
Because of Rat a Tat Tat
And all the stocks went splat
Breasts that are flat
Moments that I say “Drat!”
Who says “Drat!”?

When the movies are over after 96 minutes, some Nachos and some cheese.
pLeAsE
AcCePt : My Sons without regret
And let them finish some sand, sex and some sandwiches
So that Sanghrias could help them forget,

The war of Mahabharata 78004
Or whatever is at the door,
When I am not separate from you
Like the Heavenly liar and the Holy Jew.

Albion’s Wheel of Suffering and Liberation

I. The Turning of the Wheel

The pilgrim walks with all who spin,
Bound by craving, loss and sin,
The wheel revolves, desire and fear,
~ Estrangement whispers, ever near.

II. Brigid’s Hearth – Ignorance to Flame

From childhood’s school, the fire is lit,
Ignorance breaks as wisdom sits,
Her Celtic hearth, a spark of sight,
The wheel turns slowly into light.

III. Lima’s Lantern – Aversion to Calm

Where sorrow bends, her lantern glows,
Aversion yields, compassion flows,
The pilgrim learns through Lima’s hand,
The wheel turns turns gently, makes a stand.

IV. Burial Grounds – Desire to Release

Among the graves, desire is stilled,
The pilgrim sees what time has killed,
Yet every name, a seed of peace,
The wheel turns onward, chains release.

V. Cathedrals and Castles – Pride to Humility

High articles fall to humble knees,
Grey towers bow to Albion’s seas,
The pilgrim learns that pride must fade,
The wheel turns soft, the path is made.

VI. Shree Geeta Bhawan – Dharma’s Song

Krishna’s chant, the mantra flows,
The pilgrim hears what Dharma knows,
The wheel turns true, the song is one,
Albion shines with India’s sun.

VII. Gabriels’s Door – Confession to Renewal

Estrangement hurled, a bitter stain,
Yet thresholds break, and doors can gain,
Confession seeds the pilgrim’s song,
The wheel turns right, estrangement gone.

VIII. The Djinn – Shadow to Insight

The Djinn may haunt with dear and night
But chanting breaks their shadow’s bite,
The pilgrim sees through darkness thin,
The wheel turns clear, the light within.

IX. Buddhist Dharma – Suffering Shared

The Buddha’s light turns Albion’s wheel,
Through suffering’s fire, the wounds can heal,
Estrangement bends, yet Dharma sings,
And Albion walks with liberated kings.

X. EnlightenNext – Evolutionary Awakening

Not mine alone, the path is shared,
A future calls, a world prepared,
Collective chant, the soul’s ascent,
The wheel turns forward, EnlightenNext.

XI. Liberation – Albion’s Chant

Through suffering’s fire, compassion grows
Through emptiness, the river flows,
The pilgrim walks, the wheel turns still,
Albion chants: the Dharma’s will.

XII. The Masters in English – Knowledge to Vision

Through Oxford’s halls the pilgrim read,
Texts of fire, words of bread,
The Masters’ ink, the scholar’s page,
Turned estrangement into sage.

XIII. The PhD – Depth to Circle

The wheel descended, deeper still,
Research carved by patient will,
Yet every thesis, every line,
Was Albion’s soil, a mythic sign.

XIV. The Return – Autobiographer’s Song

From scholar’s desk to pilgrim’s stage,
The circle closed, the mythic page,
No longer study, but living lore,
Albion speaks – estranged no more.

Our Lady of St Lima

In Northfield’s quiet heart she stands,
A lantern in the Midlands air,
Our Lady of St Lima calls
The weary pilgrim into prayer.

Her walls are stitched with whispered hymns,
Her alter breathes the green of spring,
And every candle lit within
Becomes a star, a living wing.

She gathers silence, folds it whole,
And offers it as healing balm,
Her voice is liturgy of soul,
Her presence is a steady calm.

O Lima, mother, saint, and guide,
You root the mythic soil of land,
Through you the estranged are sanctified,
Through you the broken learn to stand.

Pilgrimage Poem

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.