oxford

Enlightened Yoga

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Do I fear you if the crude fact is exact
In the exactitude of being rude about attitude
When the lyric and the ode is so small
To the point of meaning at the end of my nose?

Did you follow me there to care about the hairs and bristles
Now waxed with a Turks’ fine thistle and weeds
Of a tortured inept feed of employed luck and di-granteur
That deepens mans health for the wealth of the Minotaur.

Go with him! Settle your debt with the crossbows that tale the affair.
The journey is of an over-ness too quickly and ‘these days’ does not descend,
To my male friend to make amends for the political discrepancy
Of how I was Lemurian first and he grew up with Gulliver’s worst?

Tolls are on bridges for the talk of a long marathon of wife and child
Redressing the imbalance of Disney in Paris for the eagle eyed mildness
Of temperate investment in a European affair of not being One Money
always spending, always shopping, always love and drink some (More?)

There was a show on the dancefloor and the market moved to freedom
Hours were spending time with children for extra examination
But nothing moved their French and German to Herman Munster
And a friendly smile for the American crocodile that grew up unrhyming ‘Alligator’.

See the confusion? Spot the protrusion. Aeons from now: It’s a beaten cow.
There is there and that is that, so this is this for them to be them.
Sociology and Weather Reports do not respect my evening escorts
So why do I repeat myself to time that does not love me?

Love me now, again, awhile & let’s sing of Krishna and lonely dancing styles
For he is learned of the Nigger and a race so profound
To have conditioned Indian women for romance that is not brown.

Again. To the step. Let’s have one more from Spike Lee:
What is the perfect Fall for a sonagram from Thee?
Your God gave you a Father and your sons are gangs with delinquents:
Let me catch up on some demographic bliss with Theresa May
About how Amal knew St Hugh’s with her equivalent.

Is this what was meant when the 1980s got spent, one day at a time,
Eckhart Tolle’s crime – Now is when I say Gibraltor –
Tomorrow is when my friend’s wife’s client enlightens a halter neck?
What the heck? And can you inspect a reject of John Singleton’s assured fashion?

See that now, 7 years in tow, like a Tibetan film & Heinrich chillin’
What is the Master, who is the student, DPhil Potential and an O.T. ruin
British Mental Health, 4 hospital acquittals, my arse and your face
More Colonial than you can shit on.

Please sit on the mat. Questions that. I’m a minority report
Before I am a law in Tort. Your children know you before a clue
About the Crown in Courts that I paid to resort to for a career
And my fears of economic disaster when you the black became my (Psychiatric) master.

Boss. Man. Lonely friend. Do that again when I am worth my end.
Yours is not the Christian or the NHS: Jesus gave us his best.
What is a Pharoah but a holiday to an equipped man
And where is the Socrates but some bytes in your M&S land.

Was it my Degree and loss of millionaire ambition
Or was it your S.P. and wife with her child’s A-Level revision.
In such darkness made up like the colour of your face
How much Satanism is coming for the end of your disgrace?

So dunk with Jordan at 92, this is not a time for the Buddha in you
You don’t like The Bhagavad Gita and Krishna is a clown
So raise your first fists again with opposable thumbs to keep The Olympics down,
Quick runner, unopposable leader, what is the land mass of Christian true?

If it’s more than a Muslim will you take the Jew on with it:
And as for the homosexual Dr in the office, can I get a clue for his Clooney revisionist?
Is this man into The Monuments Men for some dope art?
And does he want Depakote to raise Acidity and Ph for knowledge of fart?

> PJ Harvey >>>>

This is the time of CoVid and wisdom
So lend me some fears and lyrics to dis them?
What is option when China is not Africa
And who started the disease when all I heard was black laughter?

Checkers

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On the way to the word spiritual
Is a typical retrospective ritual
To find out all that you don’t know
About who is not you certainly.

Then the definite article can be found
And the usual suspects will be brown,
So don’t complain of the masterplan
To wait for the overshadow and Africa land.

For, if man is not known after 1980,
And the Nobel Prize going Tibet’s way
Then how can human numb more than Sci Fi
When volition is evil for evolution to try a drive by?

Masters and servants are now my table merchants
I eat the vocabulary like potters clay with Islamic love:
Maybe that’s Ishmail anymore on the oceans
And a courtesan is lost in the past with The Kite Runner’s sequel trove.

Mentions are few and far between for what means something to me
Hidden from the dens of Oxford’s dense forests
Where the legacy of litanies was humanism resolved
To court the jester who opened his mouth with problem solving.

That was the opening act of a poet lost in the towers of knowing it
Like a Babylonian Prince of deceit and chasing darkness
Facing hardship for the throws on the internet affair
Where the awareness does not sit well with 19-1000s-Millenniums.

The English land is so betrothed to sand that travellers come and go
With merry love on their hand. Show me again the Titan’s strain
To rove where the Martian knows American music with Holz.
Then the comeuppance can dance with the ordinary and culture can cope.

So on the way to the bank for literary thanks
With my books on the open and not so free market:
Is a word to the Heal who is no show stealer
That today is no Black Friday with such a hearkening.

Stay alive like John Travolta and revolve unlike Revolver
Don’t sell all for an out with the Beatles version of Twist and Shout:
There was more to Jack Lemmon than dancing (white) like John Lennon
So send hoops to Jordan for a brighter affair.

One day we will get there to a bright affair
It just needs speaking again.
Then the table cloth is rinsed and the colour runs out
So the negro is not Chubby or Checkers to cost what it’s all about.

If I was Middle Eastern then maybe my midrift would matter
For the psycho-somatic distress of a Hindu who is fatter
For all the care from the Drs about the nurse who saw
A beef eater love chickens more than Arjuna at the door.

AI Summary

The poem explores the difficulty of pursuing a spiritual identity in a world shaped by racialisation, colonial memory, religious confusion, and cultural commodification. The speaker moves through Africa, Tibet, Islam, Hinduism, Oxford, Babylon, and American pop culture, showing how every tradition has been distorted by history and power. He critiques the way brown bodies are stereotyped, how spiritual language is misused, and how literature and religion have been turned into markets. Beneath the satire and cultural references lies a deeper ache: the longing for a spiritual path that is authentic, uncolonised, uncommodified, and unburdened by the expectations placed on him as an Asian man in England. The poem ends with a raw reflection on the body, shame, and the desire to be understood without being reduced to stereotype.

Callum and High

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Seen is the reflected
Wanted is the defected
But if hated is the refracted
Then lately will be the de-compacted.
Hate the original thinker
And you will be one too:
Love the first called blinker
And there will be one girl left for you.
How was it you were hollow to remember my name
When the halls knew your latent fame?
Did you think I would blink when your arse did his think
And the paper was not a Horatio bidet –
Do you know my (new) day,
Or is it to untimely for this to be the one fashion poem too say?
Lady, girl, friend
Chip out some wood with that tiger and the Ludhiana food
It looks good on you
Leave some for two
And there will be some for three
Seer, quality, streets for Lafeyette to regret the imparting of some stretched marks
Too far, too soon
Too much, too soon
Intense like a open corpse and area 51 Scorpio library
There is always Gary after the shoe show
Boots and all.
Boot.
What a waa waa boot “for you”,
There could have been four for your dad at the door,
Driving Miss Daisy past the worn out Newspapers looking for in drain spite and nations.
What does it mean to be like you – Hugh, St Hugh’s, Jew and Colonel before the time?
Palestinian crimes and Darfur rhymes long before the Durr account.
Were you a scout with the cleaners?
Could it be you have fallen from Fight Club gloves?
Almonds under the bed
Some changed sheets instead
And nothing after the used up hack
Spack-attack! Nothing can save that. Fallen soul.
Pope’s channeled goal. Are you into Akaashic fields now too?
There is football in India now for you.
They play in blue
With the Chelsea boys
And fake injury fairly
Unlike my heart when you broke it
For the cost of a token
Like a moment in the luxury limelight (and how a burger cost £20)

Jivan

Modest are the lanes of Broad Street
Long before the times of closet homosexuals
Who take Broads to ways out West
When the wildest and wettest t-shirt does best
For a six marriage Hollywood set piece
Over brightest Blighty’s divorce law crest and craving:
Buddha is raving for some more boys on the beach
Reading a book called ‘Reach’.
Smoke
Served
Vote and anthem again
But bear in mind if there is nothing in an E.C.T. brain
Then what is the strain
Psychiatric trainer
Look alike no-brainer
Come again
See the truth
Nobody likes you – without you in the room
Broom.
Cinderella
Go find a clever fella
With his rocks and bells and whistles
Who needs polished policed public brushed bristles.
Admire
Turn
Shoot again –
The Afghans are not yet out of naughties and grapes
Trapsing through the photo album of time
In the loose lasoos of the investors who cannot help others to make money
God! Your funny. Laugh for me like a tree
Knowledge lady
Have you seen any skeletons lately?
Cups get bored when you’re the Queen in the room
And heroes are hard when the goal is your Sewa for some cooperative ‘shrooms.
Glisten like The Glimmer Man and send up The Wayans Family
And life will know the moustache again
So the Punjabi can bowl the Goatee away again-
Sell it to me
Bell it to me
Text me
And don’t hesitate to page me.
The rage might me late
Tandems are at the gate
And laughter is a Mile High late.

waste

In time there was quorum on the forum of time
To have sent the earth some special photos of finders
Who met in the right place at the right time
To know that poetry was wrong.
They asked, what is it?
They asked, what was it?
They asked:
They asked:
They asked:
_____________________

Now is now
Put that in a package Mr Levis
And get some roots
Showing off was not so successful
When the clown was accompanied by school proof.

AI Summary

The poem confronts a figure from the speaker’s past — someone privileged, admired, institutionally protected — who once judged, dismissed, or misunderstood him. Through a mix of satire, memory, cultural references, and emotional intensity, the speaker exposes the hypocrisy, class privilege, and emotional carelessness of this person and the institutions that shaped them. The poem moves through Oxford, India, Hollywood, politics, sexuality, and spiritual imagery to show how deeply the speaker was affected by this relationship and how long he has carried its wounds. Beneath the humour and rage lies a deeper truth: the desire to reclaim dignity, to rewrite the story, and to refuse the role of “clown” or “outsider” that others tried to impose. The poem ends with a stark recognition that institutions ask questions without understanding — and that the poet’s truth exists outside their frameworks.

Chief

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I used to ground the chief
Searching high and low
Relaxing on the cricket pitch
Things in hell for bad people down below.
I wanted to know the answer
Beyond heaven’s mere innocent representation –
People spent in movies and Apocalypse
Versions on armies on TV in their nations.
What is the meaning of life,
From Royal Patrons to a lonely boy at school?
Taking life too seriously
For economics with the women at Uni – a lonely fool.
Where is the answer going to come from
In the texts of the English literary canon?
The wisest men and sometime women consenting
To examination in Final Honours School.
Lusting after the listed virtues of fame and honour
Consequenting the frequencies of despair
Prompting me to sometime grow it long
Otherwise I was off to shave my hair.
They called it the ineffable and made it into Christianity
Things I could do and things I cannot see.
Now it is moved to the popular population
So some may dance with it in the flame of Spirituality.

So I am undone and found out – merchandised to the futures of the investment class
Sometimes they think of me running the race and finding out things last
A computer for him and every child one day they will say
Until the time has come forth for this merriment to dry up and go away.

AI Summary

The poem reflects on a lifelong search for meaning — from childhood imaginings of heaven and hell to the intellectual rigour of the English literary canon — and the disappointment of discovering that neither religion, academia, nor society offers the clarity they once promised. The speaker recalls taking life too seriously, feeling lonely at university, and chasing wisdom through books and spiritual traditions, only to find these systems increasingly commercialised and hollow. The poem mourns the loss of innocence and the realisation that modern life has turned spirituality, education, and even the self into commodities for the investment class. Beneath the reflection lies a quiet grief: the sense of being “found out,” used, and left behind by a world that values technology and profit more than wisdom, humanity, or truth.

Common Parent

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How much he takes out on us
Riding the bus like a common parent
Things that he meant to say but left in clues
Something for me and the politician’s cold cold hearts.
Blowing the socialist world wide apart
When the Wiley Coyote shit is ugly like a bird pooing on the alligators down by the African stream,
As friendly as an Oxford hall
When the men were nice and the problems were small.
Oh how the ages have been unkind to the mind
Stained glass windows with the gaul to show up in my house
Chasing the rat to beat the scientific mouse
When the culture fades into an LSD spin
And the naughty mouse wins to epic the story for the Djinns.

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

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.

Until the Daffodils Yearn

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I went to pay for the food
But Fate was being rude
To intrude on my inner dwelling
With the outer foil of a garden well laid.

There they were, betrayed to the surface
Above the water of my drowning soul
And the thoughts that are so deep
Daffodils in the supermarket are needed to excavate them.

So I am unearthed.
Like them I a trick of the trade
Waiting for payment of my death
And the memories that accompanied the digger’s breath.

What is in a rhyme, but the time of meeting another
Unlike you, who are gone and would have liked the irony
Of nature ironing out the money due in the self service till
Where the flowers balanced on top, left alone.

Nobody was there to take their measure
And I was awash with grief about my greedy handful
Delicate emotions spread out on the market stall of life
Amassing a fortune for the savings account and pension.

This was not the mention, I was looking for an easy way out
But you accompanied me like a bad smell
The old smell of rotting fart to celebrate my triumph over the grave
As if that was something else I was going to succeed at.

Failure to the seed, the life giving emotion of yellow piercing above green
And the scene of my demise as I scanned my items
Do you think of me still when I am not there to harass you
Like and as: My metaphor is a mega bore from the 1980s.

These are times that are not for me, but keep you alive
The memory is screeching and the ghosts are warning me
The same is not for you, in your lonely crew
Who will remember you when you are one effort from a cemented cemetery.

Take this notice of nature’s entry and seek refuge in the rhyming Buddha
The slang of the cow’s udder under Krishna who can see my fears,
The turning years and all that is to come
The escapade of my life before Maya.

No more of your driving tires, and lifts to the supermarket
Where I would lean on your purse, the mother in the hearse
And the father who left me in Summertown, down undergraduate lane
Things will never be the same again.

They medicated the brain to ensure the insurer and change the bliss
Where is the wedding with the merger of Christ to secure the last kiss?
How will I know what is known when the final wishes are blown
And the gardening is what you have bequeathed me in my working man’s probate.

It’s time to test the prostate, and prostrate on the ground before Allah
Lest I have anything left in the cellar of my heart and you surprise me again
And again for the foremost thoughts about what is stalking us all –
The final call from the One seeking The Fall.

Pick and Choose

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Pick
The puzzle
The optimal start up speed
The world is spinning around
The why is so pertinent
The where is so evident
These are the things we know
So I went down below
I mediated the earth’s core
I asked the time travellers for more
The culture we adore
Those who adore the messages from the past of VHS
The best man’s hairy chest
The father in your arms doing his best
These are the things I tested
To see if I could stay seated when the violence was no more pacifist
Clench
Yogic retention
Imbalance and detention
Partition of special relationship
Llamas in the Whore House
Green Berets through the front door.
I reaped the remeberance of an Oxford Degree
I forgot my mother (again) to avoid misreading the Church as S.P.

Choose
And I am undone
The choice is too fast for thought that is ruined
It’s the same for us all
Special people being strange in a normal world broken by Buddha’s mirrors
Mental health adrift the tides of life lived by fine people
Directors dealing with the ladders some people don’t climb
Most people don’t climb these corporate ladders.

Then
How? I asked [poetically]…
Are we supposed to talk?

AI Summary

It’s a poem about the difficulty of choosing a path in a world that spins too fast, where the speaker dives into transcendence, memory, VHS nostalgia, family echoes, yogic strain, and the weight of spiritual and cultural expectations, only to find himself overwhelmed by the speed of thought and the strangeness of being “special” in a world built for ordinary ladders; the poem moves from earth’s core to Oxford, from Gurdwaras to gurus, from violence to pacifism, from identity to exhaustion, ending with the simple, human question of how people are meant to speak to one another when the inner world is so dense and the outer world so unforgiving.

Chinese Poet Star

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Separating the wood from the boys
Metal Gnosis and erotic string theory
Fellows of the Dao at St Hugh’s crowds
A Chinese Centre {for Harold and Kumar}.
With love,
From the Bhakti boys
Something from Queen (IMDb)
How about the scene with those sex toys.
Did you think they came to see you?
The Bollywood crew
What about those Delhi bellies?
Have they seen the Buddha too?
2 Live Crew
Something for the Casino man in you
Come and see our central vase
Find your way out of your celebrity maze
Thy will be blonde
Amazon wonga
There’s no room my Inn
Things the saviours see in their diners.
Mick Jaggers gone Peaky Blinders
Chinatown and the Pagoda down the road
Lessons from monarchs
Leave without saying anything about Toad
Wind in the Hollows
Why didn’t you say so sooner
Abigail Crooner
There’s so much we can agree on
Solid ground
Milk drinks to be found
Coffee made us proud
Manifested from the Sacred Ground
1990-Web Ology
B.P.S. for Mum is not for me
CV developers in every city
New Age knowledge to climb over
High states to climb down
Get over the state of being brown
Yoga is all over town
Penniless crew
Travelling is not so important for the Brahmana in you
Driving Licence test
{Facebook would be best}

AI Summary

It’s a playful, chaotic, culturally overloaded poem where the speaker moves through Daoist fellows, Bhakti boys, Bollywood crews, Chinatown pagodas, Peaky Blinders, monarchs, yoga studios, CV factories, and New Age knowledge, all while poking fun at celebrity culture, racial anxieties, spiritual branding, and the pressure to reinvent oneself; the poem blends humour, satire, and self‑reflection as it jumps from sacred ground to sex toys, from Amazon money to Wind in the Willows, from coffee pride to caste jokes, ending with a wry acknowledgement of how identity, ambition, and spirituality get tangled in a world where everyone is hustling for meaning — even the Brahmana trying to pass a driving test.

Crime and Punishment

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Crime never pays
So say the echelons of the echos around Formal Hall
It is evening time and the randy Dons are doing fine
Minding fashion with their economic rations
Camel toes all the way as they espy the noblest hand me downs of the gays.
People that say too much
Poets with the handiest touch
The rules of the game exampled on a phone
See! Even they fear being alone.

Moody waves travelled the wide oceans
Searching for space to engulf an academics brain
Researching this, researching that
Bound by the formal paintings of the architects of the 9/11 attacks
Muslim v Christian ex parte spiritual worlds
How is this for no more lecture for the boys and girls
Hundreds next to thousands all eating with Harry Potter
I need a break from my self
To the imagination’s squatter.

So what for these young youths
And their open hand before the legal system?
How will they reform the reformers
When they adjust from the Don’s ancestry
Television
Exam revision
Lonely            She was derided.
The ghosts of Christmas past can’t come every day.

If you search for a fight, you will find one
The fried fat disappoints the ideal visionary
But the flame in the fire of the digestive system
Eats up the discussion over dinner in a very good way.

There are things these Dons could have had to say
But they capitulated over night and day
The moon controlled their oceans and waved goodbye to the dissent
Needed over time of the cornered students on the floor.

They will rebut the military command one day
People trained not to hear what pain was to say
About a million monks and a thought from Siddhartha
About the way the world worked when Mao was not off the rack.

Keep the markets back until retail sings again
The business studies graduate and the bullies drinking again
Telling all and selling small
Keeping it all in the all and all

  • Reviewing poetry

E-Commerce is for me
Then they will allow Reiki to get away from their gear and staff.

Let the children have a laugh!
It is time to go home to your room after a full stomach
Then the aching pains of missing your parents
Will be your father and mother again – no matter what their name,
When they have drifted apart again
Buying and selling
Travelling and holidaying.
See the Tibetan mill saw dust
Tell about the eyes of the Shaman lost in lust:
#And you will anoint the dirty past of fighting spiritual people
Of #And along the way…

… the things the children will say
As they go back upstairs to their rooms
Is behind you as you clean up
Dinner ladies (like Shashi) who have so much left to do.

AI Summary

It’s a sweeping meditation on elite academic life, where Dons posture through decadence and fear, students drown in inherited systems, and global traumas become intellectual currency, all while the spiritual, political, and economic worlds collide in satire and sorrow; beneath the institutional noise runs a quieter human truth — the loneliness of youth, the longing for parents, the exhaustion of those who serve in the background, and the sense that despite all the grand narratives, it is the small, unseen figures like the dinner ladies who carry the real weight of the world.