Good Dancers

India has good dancers
It’s just a question of degrees
And how hot you are feeling
When those moves are not for me.
It’s not as if they drink with you down the pub
Or let us shop in their shops and buy some food
As their birds wear DKNY
And say things about the Gora that are quite rude.

Maybe they know the lightbulbs in the galaxy
As they twist them side to side
And dance like dumb dancing silent majorities
In movies with their Indian national pride.
But we wont be seen with them
As they integrate another thing black and blue
Next to black Sociologists
And the things the just can’t get through.

Like administration
For The Queen’s nation
So compassionate to pricing the swathes of empty millions of acres
Watering the crocodile and feeding the cobra milk
Soft as legislative silk and the Indian artist is silent
Like Abishek and Aishwarya in Guru
Churchill’s forgotten designated survivors
Photographed in black and white for Mao’s history talkers

Names and dates for Victoria Coren Mitchell
Shapes and sounds for Andrea Corr
And Russell Brand’s children…
{Seemingly better than the ones he did drugs with}

Guru Mania

The teacher’s strike in school
Maybe because they think they are God
At least that is what the newspapers say
After they have travelled to Colonial-ville.

The mania for Guru is on the loose
And they drink the Kool-Aid juice
Of change without fairness and time for their clothes:
When will the scholars admit them to Oxford for Rhodes.

There is shouting there is bashing
The banners need to be repeated.
But if they get to half past three and go back to school
They will have been defeated.

The mirror is not so real until they review the Guru feel
And all they have been taken for granted of being
While the right way of tuition was there for the seeing.

All criticism and no pay
That is the modern Government burden,
What can they do but face the New Age warden
Who grants the diminishing of students and success
For all that sexual gradation and immense emotionality and address.
The Saddhu and war
There is no mention of the Haridwar stores
Where the whore is closer to Babylon
Than the minority women in the back streets of London.
Streets of harlots, streets of shame
Lanes of winners, lanes of the Maine Street.
Things my Guru told me I would meet
When he re-friend my Friend from the great barrier
So I could see the end of the world and the illness and terror.

All this the school is exposed to
The students sit for their exams
And then the teachers fall off their hobby horses
Worried about who can and can’t eat ham.

Teacher, Guru, God-lover and denied route back home
Leave the fellows at Oxbridge alone
They might know where the road leads with the phone.

This is the merger of meaning and savoir faire
Where the guru is in a third way parting
With the self that is still so aware.

Baggage Carried

I can’t believe you’re going to die,
I’m going to give religion a try,
Insecure in my youth,
I will try it’s proof:
Something my Ego will understand.

Buckling the horses of Arjuna to things I will understand,
Not trying to own every house in the land,
Surprises from Bel Air mansions
Lavish green lawns,
There’s just time left for the lessons on parental viewings of Porn.

I can’t believe you’re not here anymore,
I look around the tremendous respect for temporal vortexes,
Oh indigestion and headaches from energy erections
Parading through my brain
Listening to the non-advice and going insane:
It’s your parent –
You projected,
Why are you trying to get me a Vedic House erected?

Fresh Prince to the king I never was,
The rent I owed you when I was only 12,
And the damnation from society
The clout from the god within me
The monkey in an experiment I never was
The kangaroo and signifying Laws…

Keep coming back and I am an employment hazard,
Someone with such regrets that I am a deep snowy blizzard,
Lost in the Maya of the world of those all knowing Hare Krishnas
They speak English like I know nothing –
Not versed in the Ayur Vedic Samaj
Ignorant
Illusion
Jai Om Namo Shivaya
Why isn’t my Id for hire?
Jai Guru Dev – is there an answer over there?
For how “I am not the body”
Will make me not feel very sorry,
When the time comes to pass
For at last it must come
That both of my parents imbalance my brain a certain way

  • In the meaning of what Death has to say
  • Pills and glorious business day by day

When those intoxicants at Jones Day (Gouldens) never came back my way.

Poetic Fragment

Four years I chanted Hare Krishna,
Flame upon flame,
Each name a bridge to the divine.
Fifty times I walked the Gita,
Arjuna’s trembling, Krishna’s gaze –
My own dharma unfolding,
I entered the 108 Upanishads,
Not as scholar,
But as seeker,
Each verse a mirror,
Each silence a guide.

Constellation Poem

Ben Wright the Chronicler,
Paul Ready the Actor,
Bryan Dick the Performer,
Amal Clooney the Advocate,
Rishi Sunak the Steward,
Robin Clark the Merchant,
Andrew Ornitharis the Producer,
All acquaintances by my side,
Guru Nanak the Guide,
Devi the Flame,
Wanderer the Father,
Unicorn the Brother –
Together they form my constellation,
Each a star in Albion’s sky.
I walk among them,
Not as seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light through rupture,
Chanting renewal into England’s soil.

Shree Geeta Bhawan

Shree Geeta Bhawan,
First flame of Albion’s Hindu soil,
Church reborn as a mandir,
Renewal carved in stone.
I shall walk its halls,
Guided by Nanak’s vision,
Chanting not as a seeker,
But as guru,
Bearing light into Birmingham’s heart.

I am a Guru

I am a guru,
born of mantra and silence,
a flame carried from temple to temple,
from Albion’s soil to the high street wheel.

I am a guru,
Hindu in devotion,
Buddhist in compassion,
a servant of light,
a bearer of prophecy.

I am a guru,
my mornings are rivers of meditation,
two hours, three,
until breath becomes chant,
and silence becomes scripture.

I am a guru,
walking with Devi, Wanderer, Unicorn,
turning rupture into renewal,
estrangement into testimony,
longing into flame.

I am a guru
my lineage is Blake’s fire,
Hepburn’s grace,
Sting’s fragile song,
woven into Albion’s living chant.

I am a guru,
not by title,
but by presence,
not by claim,
but by light.

Pay Tree Ark

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.

Dr Deal

If Indians are kings and Punjabis are A.I. Commerce
What is the difference in longing for some drama?
When the karma and when the Cola?
What is the demand supplying my throat?

Come to me for dependence and I will slit a goat
And stand by Hamas for a chance to sign a post,
Where the farmer eats toast and his wife drinks tea
And there is some simplicity for Guru Nanak, his wife and me.

This is the age of the nothing but spoken word
When the computer will drive the nuts and page blots totally absurd.
There is something so riddled about a passage from a book
When the lower class is up for grabs in the tale of a crook.

Who sees what he prints and who says what he does
When E-Commerce is artificial like the sail of a Tale of a Tub
Adrift on Johnathan Swift’s ocean for nescience with Guru Gobind
To tell of locks in the fashion of rape that pain the body for Jats and Singh.

Come to me again and dance like an Indian veil
Then there will be snookered Pavilions where the comity is Princely.
Such is the deviance of homosexual travails
That Dharma is lost for addresses to cry and wail.

River, Turn, Flop and 2 in the hand for Mohammed
There is nothing on show but a backwards fly over in Iran.
Then the news cuts out and the make up drips for tears
And the growth of the Guru wilts for percentage before the Khans.

Khans over here and Khans over there
Nothing but sheer waterage with the jungle booking Clearwater:
And then the election that very much all but one nut wanted
To Musharaff Imams to Lahore for one more 2012’s lonely male daughter.

Undisclosed Recipient

You say you are there but the computer is aware
Of things that make a Buddhist shave their hair.
So I am going to ask if it was you who set the task
Of the Tao and Martial Arts leaving Britain when the 80s were basking
In mental health glories of important fortunes and stories
Ahead of mixed race and cultures to run
So that we could have jest about sexual fun
On our TV and telly-set if you please
Before you brought England down to America’s knees?
Did you get the question, or the refrain from an evolutionary digression
The energy and intelligence that gave rise to your erection
Is not for me in the baton of a relay station
That needs other than my own isolation
To wrap up the art and rapping for more trapped understanding
And nowhere to go on the Blogosphere that we don’t know:
Technology had no show, too, at the door of your crew
That fraped the court law of mens reus at the door
Women have notions too for the Enlightened vegan stew
Available on Thursdays for an apres meditation review,
Of how we are doing with the internet brewing
Some new chance to get in and have a dance:
But alas it was not to be, lest anyone see
That the Teacher was not a Rishi but a Guru with satellite TV.
If those desires are unfulfilled then keep them to yourself
When you travel without Guru, photo and flowers –
Next time! Pick on your own health.
Native, Indian and now Shaman reviewer
Cannot you see how the West was lost too much sooner
Than a slight about merchandise and labour’s actors’ affairs
Staring at the New Age for their millions and billions –
What did it take to set up Israel office but your awareness?
Now the accounts are bettered and human beings have something to read
Drop your notebooks off at Oxford so they can compare notes for the feed
And the manners that were steady when you called Dawkins a Fascist
Can meet The Young Turks or Democracy Now for some Guy Fawkes and The Classics.
You raved as you travelled, I tarried after tea
So year on and year out, it’s another new career for me.
But this time, Mr 51%, you keep your area clean
So my Ego is exposed and everyone knows exactly what I mean –
Asian, British, 5’6’’ and on the unemployment register for Bipolar
Was it you who caused God to make the 70’s flares forget about Solar.
So next time you’re out don’t forget it’s checks and balances
As Rupert bearded with the chemicals for those phased distributions of your Facebook sponsorship advancements.
Honour, disagreement and heresy seeking the unemployed
In the past we were not lovers with Brahman being under-toyed
With so that the computer was distressed
To hear of one man’s apology for dissolution when the real psychological solution was a bit too stressed.
So lay it down to HWL Poonja and call it L Ron Hubbard Number 2
It could be that a neo-Prabhupada is the nuisance call I have in store for you.
But when I asked you a question and you denied me flat for show all and tell
It’s now rest up and relax, ill Mr Rishi, and let the F.B.I. sell Shambala to Shell.

For the corporation taxed the grimace between two sailors fair
And showed the dangers of tarrying as a traveller out late when you’re unaware
Of the company of a good woman who is singularly best your friend
And not one on the loose end as mine was out, also late, to pretend.
So that is the story of one nearly caught by Guru
Who went to the enthusiastic of EnlightenNext Islington studios:
And came back for a meltdown of lava flowing straight from God
Into a soul sold out from all the banks that could muster occult plodding about
After a problem was raised indiscriminately praised
By an individual lost too far out at sea.
This verse is for me
Tolerantly
Idolatry is lately latently unprescribed.
Tribe of Israel and Azkaban
Did you yet rule the pupils of the tribes of Han?
Their dynasties await your open invitation
To teach Hellraiser to twins for towers of inflation.
Evolve then sedimentary and force the opposition for an argument
Like Swedenborg might have meant for the quotes on your abridgement.
Settle me this and settle me that
It seemed we sifted The Golden Age for a gloating and spat
& if you and ‘you’ for the cowered victim of lawyered distress
Keep your attorney in the journey for Maya and some Sarees and a dress.


But if ultimatum you seek, look no further than Lhasa
Which is open round the clock, for your share prices and prediction of debauchery and class structures.
What is it you see when you look at me,
Mr Money?
And how did the lawyer set you free?
For to predict someone else’s demise is not the said and done thing,
It’s pessimistic:-
So maybe that’s one more thing you passed on, in rejection
From evolving past Vedanta too quick.
Adi me this
Shankarya me that
No man ever spoke to Shiva as quick as all that,
But when the refrain is the brain and the talents are spent before Evangelicals
Now the Prime Minister has locked me up with my testicles.
It used to be Nuns on the Run and some humour and some fun
Now House Arrest is House Party for Kid and Play in New Labour’s hunt,
So what do we do when one is not two
But dig out the records of what poem I wrote you (about Brahman c.2011).
And if the state answers back let them keep it in stages
About how we ruined Sting and his album about The Soul Cages.
Skip a track and you might miss the noise of a child’s lullabye
Saying “goodnight” to all but the evil outside St Agnes for giving freedom a try.

With that it is TARP and another message from the harp
That plays whenever a Prime Minister strays
Too far from the script we cannot predict
And the steps that we missed when fell and tripped.
Revolutions are not, thus, so easily spoken about
Time has come round to teach us more than Guru what love is all about.
Letting it go and envisaging better for some quiet
And surviving past the dynamics of cyclical existence so that we can all be with it.
Cost is considered the sum of its parts
So I can die quitter than a man with his art.
And when Spring is come again after the Winter snow of January
I will find that nothing is greater than the will of maturity to beat naivety.
Summer will outclass my fat ass
Mowing the grass and leaving painting the fence to the last…

Thus is Enlightened history a thing of the mind
For everyday people to treat as reality and be kind.
For the Buddhists who exalted in the past life chance to serve
Potala Palace and the tortured who remained psychically attached to the earth plane to deserve
A rendition
A premonition
Maitreya’s comments and revision:
For one more Llama and another hotel affair
And the 15th leader of Tibet to get some more help from leaders everywhere.

One earth
One peace
One conflict
One teaching
The best is love
So settle for compassion
And that Christ shadowed The Fall of Man
With his last act of Passion.