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.

Hitch

Hitch up your skirt and tap twice if you have seen it
The scene of the century and the wire tapping authority
To monitor a lizard as if the Kimono were a dragon’s lair
And like an Iguana for it’s chameleon changling spotting affair.

Some say that learning is here and learning is there
For you have to know what to know about when you read WiFi air
After 2012 and the Autobots leave the Psychologists some news
For their own demons to dance to and a lunch in the blue room for reviews.

There it is! The after show, the great escapologist we all knew once
Twenty minutes when his grandma died to leave his passport for a bonce
To measure the measure of Shakespeare typing his speeches for a clue
If his fan club come home winning like a dirty man’s magazine for a few.

What is this but a showman who speaks and does nothing to calm the crowds
Who gather in the parking lots to wake up Drs to go home black and proud
About their winnings at the slot machine when they do not play with whites
For the goal of having one king when The Economist said “Alright”,
… mate,
Let me have a go:
I’ve started COVID for your #RememberingVietnam ego
>… let it go
>>> Error Code: Get some Blow!

Jobs for me and not for them, Drs in love with racist membranes
Indian Rembrandts and Krishna Consciousness photos of men on thrones
For Rishi Poetry to shit out The Daily Show “too self conscious” Slam
From Andrew-The Spy Man-Cohen >>>::: Have you got a blog for me
– see it’s Satan and not Obama who’s going for World War Three.

                                                                                              SomebodY
                                                                       by Depeche Mode YnO.T. Ernie van Woerkhom said SWOT Drs What SWOT 11/04.2022

Boomerang

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

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.

The Unemployed Ball

Ideology is the word that makes me mind my movement
It stood taller than Leningrad in school for self-improvement.
Quality Street balanced the roses and some TV Times kept me busy
But I could not escape the great fire within more for all those pocket full of posies.

Poesy is not free. It is the settlement of eternity.
Rising in the morning is the depression of another warning:
Only two or three oblong white forms of L.E.D. criticised for no parched Hieroglyphs
Set me free from the Caliphate and the Islamic debate about R.E.M. and Papyrus tapestries.

Moods are about now the soul’ed have clout to out the gay
And mastery has made no choices after Krishnamurti told of freedom.
The wrong way has been spoken and pacts have been broken,
The new age is an old age full of dull adages to me.

Nazi history and the quality over quantity argument from gargoyles
In the new school rules of who belongs with the right tie and brogues –
Whatever they mean – chords on the scene for crying from wanking too hard:
St Giles and the empty streets looking for liking about porn from the playground.

Yardy in the café, still is not a gaffa. But the mention gets me far
When they watch me drive my car. Road ragers, page turners, old oil burners
And girls in shirt sleeve order. Order! Order! Drink is rising the RPI
The policy have class for “the evil eye”. One day a Hindu. Next two.

What is a Jew to do, with the camaraderie in you about Section 2.
In the mental health of my youth I spoke of Absinthe and alcohol proof,
But when I wrote to Formal Hall, you gave me a dirty phone call
So here is your retribution from R. is for ‘Repeats’: Fuck All is remov’Ed.

What is the Op.Ed in the New York Times for your Wall Street Journal
Dirty Colonels and General Spastics for those remembered ladders
in tights without pubes for the rights of a £100 jumper;
Can I jump off the roof of The Mail Box or is their proof of Harvey Nichols at Christmas?

That is how to spell a drink, I think, with a mask on my face
Brown after the 9/11 disgrace of No. 10 Bus Bombing
For all that science vs God debate: Islamophobia won’t win for God’s calling
When the rhyme is in the time for less than a million Dawkins dollars in retirement.

What was meant, Socialist, about the fashion of no money.
What was meant, Russian about the England when Trotsky was funny.
Do I need a mark next to my new face to question the human race:
Or is it that if you steal from Bhaktin you already killed my Ego?

So give it a go, the New Enlightenment and get some kicks on Route 66
But it won’t be long, the DWP song and some healed headlines for the blondes you do lines for
Working Class is no more!

It Makes Me Look Back

It makes me look back
The track record of vinyl Birmingham
The lessons from school and skipped songs
Veritable fashions in rationed book cupboards
I don’t know what to see
All that music is about me
The times I listened the times I tried
Some of it even reminded me of when I cried.
TDK cassettes and a hairy CD Walkman
Items for the rarity shelf today if ever there was one
Unicorns of delight and sea nymphs of error
All sorts of enjoyment when the music was high school terror.

Ingrained

Stencilled connection
The distance between poet and reader opened wide
The estuary of likeness that travels beyond time
To the ocean of universes elliptically wasting
Cataclysms possessing heavens and those down below
On true tribunes to the tryst with destiny that India
Had with Nehru long ago…

Galaxies and an earnest wanting,
A noble quest
Something unfathomed between you and me
Like a quality under the garment of jacket and cloak.
Take me to the place where daggers are not spent
And guardians will do the rest…
Quality, quantity, absinthe
Coil with me in a confused wrangling on the roof of cellular dismay
One day at a time for all the years of colonial fineries
Sharing a canopy of stars is fine
From nations without bars of rhyme
Reasoned like pepper spray and Salt Lake City for Thyme, Oregano and fault free Basil.

The notion to do best will wrestle with the dampening stars
That cannot travel far for the foot soldier sodomized by the smog
Suffocating with his Warthog and Angelic retribution:
Cost, Halo Wars, Statistics and U.N. Delegation.
The waters of Mars are mine again
And the envy of imagination is distressed
For the best dressed camaraderie to be or not to be,
In a city close to Delhi named after Buddha
For Maitreya to party with the Oracle of Delphi.
Go Miami Dolphins! Go!
The jacket is on you now
Scholar, mon amie, whore
The mirror’s by the door
If you don’t want me no more.

All was apparition and nothing was frilly
The nuanced receipts from Lakshmi were printed rather silly
Simple me, wallowing in the willow tree
Next to the best and the truest holy saree
Incapable of honesty
Before the river Styx of Saraswati
And the unending tyranny of an unearned Brahmin whose mentions were not few or far between
When the Indians were on the scene
Legacy and title showing the glory for put downs and
SLAM! It’s not 1993 – D’ya get me?
Quality, quantity, titular title is not for me.
The Queen is the Empress lately and I have a sadness upon me,
That I want the home away from home treatment
When school ends after something like a wannabe of a quarter past three,
Four,
Hum Paunch IMDb: <Sancho Panchez & Three Amigos> It always goes the same
A referent, time and the Inshallah brain.

They will never let me be in the salt marched city
Until he does it twice. Modernist Machiavellian
Cleverer than _
Undotted unto the last clasp of technology
Upon a city holidaying until his return and some shabbily dressed revoked soul
On recall from the pride of the Gods to be debutante before that which is known,
That which is unknown and that which is acted.
It is in fact, in-facted: Exactly!

Squalor, quality, factions and the quantity of threesomes, foursomes, fives in the school court
Blasé about the interpreted consort for the rhythm of Symphonies
And how does your music grow?
I don’t know the interpretation city
That cannot be outsourced from the centrality of bestiality and make shift down
For some Watership Down and the microchip that ran the rat race
All of this?

Is some of this
And the listless
drift.
Make believe and belong love did not last long
Unlike the Delhi song
And some bagels to down that depression
In an economic recession that cannot outshine well sprung mattress wars
Up against the doors for the fluff of it and outshone academies of bullet proof
Deadly certainties that all is well.
All is not well
When the pen is not like the quill
And the entrance holds me chill
For the effect of your lament on the children,
Stencil.