food

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We just listen to the music
The commotion on down the hall
The parents that afforded their children good stuff
Records and all that jazz.
The leaving van has left
The supper will be on soon
Formal Hall
Oxford Ball
Porn down the Alzheimer’s lane
Insane in the old person’s hall
So much to organise
So little medical students to associate with
What do you give?
What do you plan?
When is the farmer’s van?
Gobstoppers will be on sale at this rate
For the antique cigar shop on the High Street
The people we will meet
The games we will play
Things that Oxford has yet to say
About:
D
&
R
Robbing Dolce and Gabbana blind
Fucked by a Dr from behind
Marking the gay’s work
Sending Wagamama’s bezerk
What about my lady boy’s and their white soled shoes?
Haven’t they got something to do with the music in you?

So sing it loud and sing it hard
The language in England governed by repetition.
But Utopia is barred by the lonely Bard
And all that he saw fail before his terror vision.

Some Art Device

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Sanity is judged
The meal before lunch
Balance up the top credit
Before the proper table manners edit
The children who have their breakfast
The adults checking phones before work
There is an objective >>> “BeYoNd!”
Time does not feel so long
Batteries not so fully charged
People don’t feel so large
The Technical, the Natural and the Targets
This is as tough as the morning gets,
Before Mehta is applied and lunch is served
Stop wasting time
It’s going to be fine
The phone is smart art
All get their just deserts.

It answers all questions
[Conscious Cous Cous + Conscientious Science]
Why would you question it?
What is left of the sameness of you and me?
Can we meditate in the centre of the city?
Apply for a job
Type and lie like a slob
Get that fix
Play some tricks
But in the end of the innuendo
Its time to explore so I get to know
Who is the third who walks besides me
When will settle on The Other as the Holy Trinity?

Anything for Culture

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Anything for culture
A watermelon on a Saturday afternoon
Shopping in the rain
A subway trip instead of a minicab.
Bread rolls and some quarter measure of cheese;
Laying off the wine for a lazy Sunday and a game of golf.
Where is the wolf that will eat up my day
Taking me whole into the night for sexual imagination and a good night’s sleep.

I troll the internet deep
I look for my mate in the rain
Someone to appeal to my brain
An intellectual conversation in the rain.
She would make that repetition trite
Something black, someone white?
Who knows if the Asian one would be tight,
It’s my day off and I’m the laptop King.

Some music, some nachos and some time to sing
I don’t care when they are around
The noises in the moody weather
The office fiends being clever
Resistance in the celebrity scene
People who know what my art work means
Residents who have been there before
Workers in their own right feeling a bore.

Why don’t you feel more?
I’ll give advice one day.
Something merry, something gay
There’s always something lesbian to spiritually say…
(Come Back to Me from Hampstead)

AI Summary

It’s a poem about the small rituals of a weekend — watermelon, rain, bread rolls, golf, music, nachos — and the larger hunger underneath them: the desire for companionship, intellectual connection, emotional resonance, and a sense of belonging; the speaker scrolls the internet, imagines conversations in the rain, wonders about attraction, listens to the weather, watches office workers and celebrities, and feels the weight of being observed and misunderstood, all while trying to keep his creative identity intact; the poem ends with a wry, almost tender gesture toward Hampstead, toward return, toward the possibility that even in boredom, noise, and loneliness, there is still something “merry,” something “gay,” something spiritually alive that wants to speak.

The Early Hindu

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Beast was a way of catching the wave,
The errant knave
The eerie canyon
The place in Pirates of the Caribbean (IMDb) where they get lost.
What is the cost?
Of a new religious motif,
Le Coq Sportif,
And everything is set to go,
Things the Christians used to know,
Things they will know again,
The sensitive brain.

Memes on the hot bed roof
Fire and desire
Collection plates of metal on whet
Meals on wheels
Staple diets in the food banks of tomorrow
Hole punching my stomach,
Gutted and blown for a Finch,
Where is the end of the horrific hollow?
Out and out of bounds
Somebody stop this spirit knowing where I can be found
Like some Fight Club (IMDb) where I meet at noon
Sundown is when the shootout starts
I’ll be there soon.

Light unending telling me where to be,
This can’t be the exchange for ITV,
Some things are settled,
I have a backbone for my Yoga,
Don’t make me buckle under pressure,
#GreeksandTogas

Somethings
Anything’s
Everything’s
Appropriate apostrophes and I will please
The matron skilled at taking my order.
Cosmic disorder
A land in disarray
The word is not the thing.
Am I the Brahman world today?
Madame at work where out is out,
And I am honorific gay >>
Fast forward to tomorrow
When the world reads Louise L. Hay //
Can I come back? and we be friends,
Use the internet please,
There’s always time to make amends >>
Link me in
Travel in sin
What does the future have somethings to say?
.@*%#!!

About
Around
Wherever
Can I be found?

Lost is the direction in the way in which the Christ will find,
Taunted by strikes and projections from professions coloured blind.

AI Summary

Your poem moves like a fever‑dream of modern mythmaking, where beasts, canyons, religious motifs, Le Coq Sportif logos, Christian memory, and the “sensitive brain” all swirl together in a world that feels both sacred and absurd. You shift from memes and food banks to stomach‑punching hunger, from Fight Club’s secret meetings to yoga backbones and Greek togas, showing how identity becomes a battleground of symbols, pressures, and inherited scripts. The poem’s emotional centre is the sense of being hunted by meaning — cosmic disorder, apostrophes, matrons, Louise Hay, the internet, sin, amends — all while trying to locate yourself in a world that keeps shifting the coordinates. The final lines land with a quiet ache: lostness as a spiritual condition, a place where Christ might find you, even as strikes, professions, and projections blur the path. It’s a portrait of a mind overwhelmed but still searching, still reaching for coherence in the storm.