guru

That’s All She Is

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40 going on a century
Lifeless going on married
A wheelchair bound hysterectomy of worldly goods
Commerce gone wrong in the gang banging of elders.
#missionaryposition
#missingpeople
revenge in the noble gaseous realms
potential in the mystical spin of quantum mechanics

menacing
frightening
a loser on the streets of Northfield while the negroes stalk me alone.
::>> Why can’t I have my own home?
Where is the easel for the greatest Art down below the heavenly line?
When is His time?
when will he cum again?

A shared narrative loser of time
Searching for the right women to find
Headscarves for and against the HIJAB that beckons the BBC couch
Explain to me this advancement and why your lipstick says “ouch”
To, the wrinkles on my face
A YouTube collage on my face explaining American life
Ghosts and the 13 Shoguns of history
Delirium and mechanising my school run
Dinner off the table – before you shoot the X-Box gun.

When the Guru comes?
Will he outshine the Christ?
Is his yellow skin still white?
What is the cost of his repetitive strain?

Emo-kids on the brain
Rugby versus Football for a shot at understanding my kids
The latent homosexual glide into the next man’s shorts
Playing around with staying around
Alive until he smiles again
Under the glum glum could of the internet white lightening.
Flashes of orgasmic sex in the underwear of some dressing down from his mate’s of his
Listing the virtues of putting down a woman
Good for nothing but economic ruin
Ruining the runes
Blowing the cocks
Rinsing the Rabbis
Spending the day in a daze while the numbers and statistics spin around the business stories…
You don’t say this about me
All we need is LGBT
Loyalty to the Rupee
Dissent against the Dollar
Yang to the Japanese Yen
China –

  • Lost China
  • A World Within a Spiral
  • Dynamics in the Universities
  • Specialness in the Kung Fu Mastery of binary opposition to the now
  • Meditations for machinery generation of the mind for enlightenment
  • Communist State Power versus Socialist/ Capitalist gay conspiracies
  • Novel things for a non Novel-writing spasm on the great cosmic ripple of time that is earth
  • Giving birth in the hospital room
  • “you are like me” (NHS Solicitor)

Back down
650 laws
600+ British Politician sex
The Jew in his home in Israel
Asks the blessed Angel Schmuel for help.

The Englishman raged again
The tiny island
Treasure to some
Tired supermarkets on Saturday afternoons to others
cars
brothers
war mongerers

distant lonely longing for a day of peace with National Geographic
An evidence of the black mirror
Watching the watched
Hanuman is glossing over the Chalisas again
All that praise for Raam’s Emmanuelle strain.

There it is (strain) again

-29/07/2023

Wired

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Can’t see the man waiting for some change
It seems all things have changed
Transience is on the tale of infinity
There are all things within me:
Gone too far down the Transcendence Lane
Things won’t ever be the same again.

People are wired for exchanges
The enemy is waiting for me to mince my words
This would be absurd
Life is not all rhyming and slang
What about the fellows that hang?
Can’t I be a viral noose around their necks on some mornings?

Skipping down the steps of the Gurdwara
Silent amongst the pews of the Churches inside their own minds
This is the fallow soil that is human kind
Not always about Guru legislation all throughout the lonely land of tomorrow’s children
Corn, collapsibility and corroboration
These are the warning notes for the forts and the nations.

Don’t erect a Guru where an Avatar once stood
Telling me the world is my root problem with the self in your neighbourhood
I have things to say and places to go
I have my human rights too
Don’t you think I want to watch the human zoo?

Pieces are smashed and the range is exterior and extempore for the seeing to be enhanced
It seems that the Universe is on hand to catch all including 22 lest anything be left to chance.

Good Dancers

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.