poetry

Healing

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

The energy is not calling me
I am not there
Tomorrow is so corporate
The shops are so self aware.
The office blocks have Maya in them
The oceans are so pertinent with religious history
They have been sailed by navigators and Navigant Consultancy
When I am unemployed and arrived at so self aware.

What is meant by repetition?
How is woman to shake the disease?
The emerging markets of South America know nothing of Peruvian coffee
Traded in Aldi for the competition scarcity and poverty trader’s delight.

These are thus fights and I am astrologically bereft
The man in the café is joking with my reputation
The Queen knows me better than myself
All is so obvious to them.

(Stealing Old English again)
Robin Hood strains in my navigated market place
I can see the futility of travelling alone
Talks
Walks
Speaking in a café
Welling up at the wishing well – looking for some pride and happiness
The search for human values shall not be in vain
In spite of the United States nuclear missile declarations and the gains that have been costed.

I’m off to Costa tomorrow for some latte and millionaire shortbread
Thinking of my winnings banned from the horses stables at Amazon CEO’s backyard animal farm with Amal
The amazing woman who stole my economy
And her friend Karma who does like my ride now.

Is this the eternal questions?
Poet’s riddled as Kings denied their cross.
Tomorrow is the boss for the lilies in the field of the man
Who stationed his wagon for the American plans.
Delhi can’t delegate again
The dead need waking up again
The ego is about to blow
The Drs never got sent down below
The writer is despondent
The family is poor that supports him
Paul Ready is quota
The nurses need milk floats
And Ferris Bueller is shaking it crazy for the war between thee BMA, the DTI and EQUITY.

“He who comes to Equity must come with clean hands”
So shake your dick off well in the urinals for the lands of by elections at Kingstanding
And whatever judgements are merriment to the sick and puke in the school toilets
When they and their transferred parents are too young for such legalities.

These economics are free
This ALCS is for me
The servant is quarter the height of the negro with attitude who nearly punched me today
And there is more reason to increase the poor prat’s pay
Selling coffee
Serving bread
Counting the computation of the cost of a pint of milk
Politicians lose the word of God to raise the wages of sin
Slick like an average RnB dancer without some good place to go
The negro
The negro
What is the heart of darkness of the negro?
Compassion for the BBC again and again and wasted energy about which they cannot be you and see the I in the me and not sell medication for to not be The Complain.

Complan.

The Travelling Man

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Life moves forward like a light shade in winter
When the snow knows the neighbours alarm
That the doors might be open in the lounge next door…
Letting all the heat travel throughout the house
Warming the fictional dormouse in the child’s homework
As the parent’s go bezerk at their choice of Christmas toys.
Something for the girls something for the boys
An ebullient sexual chemistry set from the chimney sweeping imagination
Of a top down economics in Industrialised England
About what the wealthy need when the poor man has spent
All his money on the kitchen table pies and cakes.

Is the caravan worth it this year?
Or do I need to cut down on the rudimentary beer?
Laughing on the phone about his personal performance all alone
When he has come home from travelling to the office in downtown Montreal.
That is where the American man knows his autumn from the fall
And the conservative consummate professional addresses Churches differently.
There is so much to see in life, why wait outside a Church
For the Fall of Man to pull you in and leave your office life in the lurch.

What would it profit you to gain your soul and lose the world?
In a world where the presence is felt at some point for Eve, the (new) girl.

Its Not Ours

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The method followed the madness
The Prince was in the library
The plotter was asking him some questions
The writing was on the wall again.

There was a strain in a writer’s imagination
He wanted to get on the mortgage ladder
But he fell off each time he put his foot on a rung
The wash basin was only full of cold water.

This is the time of revenge of God’s daughters
They face rebuke for the laments of the past
The 1980s casting and 1990s torrent ripping
Where is the dripping wet pussy in the orgy of vanity fair?

Success is staring me in the face!
That was all it mistook.
Some chardonnay reference and lingering lingerie on the floor
Dresses of link and camouflage

  • I’m releasing and relaxing again, now I’m a poet!

In Your Face

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Interfacing
Rialto submission
Terrors in the inner vision
Lost in derision
I am having a cup of tea again,
Sipping the lipped conclusion
Of a sugarless concoction
Some potion for my motions
And a good shit in the afternoon, instead.

These are the days of the well read
There is less time to stay in bed
Some duties and rudeness to the government with attitude
Lesbians and gays and old men and women
Trust in the news so the data is so abusive
Mental dementia and alzehimers prevention
When will I be healthy to spend money again.

Travelling is the strain
Saying no to the City Slickers (IMDb)
Something crystal clear
Like the arrangement with old dears
To quote a film star and recommend some culture
For the work of legal vultures
And risk a good example of the temporal nature of time.

Generalisms

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If it’s not in it is out
What is it?
If it is out it is in
Who are they?
The lady in the library
Meets the man in the gym
After the orgy of time-tastic travelling
In the after affair of chocolate eating Lent.
This is what the cool guy meant
When he walked past the LGBT headline
Telling what is his and what is mine
Sharing the space on the supermarket floor
With the crowded till next door
And some variance for the science of journalism and what Mike Pence meant
When he spoke about negating White Supremacy
So the burden of proving responsibility and respect
Would fall on the Oval Office floor once again.
It took some time to train those dragons
And some money spent in the wrong direction of Allah
Where man spoke and Angel’s dreamed
And G_d was not a Shaman down the Native American Indian quarry.
That is not for me and where I ended up in 2013
Weed on the brain and silly men stealing my energy again,
Saying it all so for them as it for me
“You are like me” he said from Leicester at the NHS in 2013.
So that is the sexuality scene
Something wrong the poetic stream, next.
Too much of this and not enough of that
And no support from the academic prat.

Fur Casts

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Fur Cast
The last is first
First caste
The Brahmin knows the worst.
No brockwurst on his table
The Saracens are enabled
The Shogun know the past
The Samurai are 1980s at last.
Models on the cat walk
Famous men that can talk
Stockbrokers in Dubai
Royalties saying goodbye
Mendicants in the apothecary
Love in the noble boudoir
Arrangements and engagements
Was that what the Judges meant?
Say it is upstairs at three o clock
When the whistles are blown for crytpo stocks,
And the river Styx is dried into a parched red carcas
Imaging earth for the sunshine of Albion up above.
Davos at noon and the afternoon
Snow capped mountains in the Hindu room
Levity with briefs of the lawyers who believe
Again, in the merry go round of the spinning wheel.
Political correctness gone wild.

Control

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From I to we
In the mode of us
Where the autonomous
Are leaking information to the Press.
Nobody gets undressed
There’s a no sex please they are British sign on the door
The whores are not designated
The Bible is repatriated.
It’s tomb table tambourine man time
The cymbals and the high hats
Jazz on the mainline leading into town
For some negro with a saxophone and maybe some others with a double bass,
Spreading unemployment conscientiously studied by the Monarch –
He’s all over the place!
One for the money
Two for the hot wheels
How can there be a joke between us
When the culture is killed by the contract men who steal?
You crane kick me in the face
Like a Karate Kid lying Russian flying all over the place
Dragon Yoga is revived
Shantideva’s A.D., B.C. is survived.
Staying alive like a greased monkey fixing an automobile in the workshop garage down the road from Montpellier Avenue
After the carwash has cleaned the face of the writer worried about his funeral pyre and some good old adage in a sitting duck blue review.

Women Sell Handbags

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Women sell handbags
They walk down the lane
They trade in their penny lifestyles
To start with rebirth again.
They fashion the reminiscence
They market the free distress
They trend the social media
They find out about our mess.

The merchandise flies off the shelves
The shop keeper is smiling, he is happy
But when she gets home from her shopping
She won’t forget to change her husband’s son’s nappy.
This way keeps the retail turning over
Far from the man-exec with all his balance sheets
Profit and loss for The Prophet Muhammed
And the fine mind of an impartial Jew on Baker Street.

These are some of the people we meet
When the med let into their secrets away from home.
So get me down the garden without my wallet
And let’s go back upstairs to trade online for Garden Gnomes.

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.

Window Pane

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I did not sign on the dotted line
To stare out of the square window.
I stay at home all week long,
It is a long time to wait for experiences.

I don’t go to work like an ordinary man
I tried to turn my bedroom into an office.
It does not really work in my mother’s tidy and strict house
As I water my small garden plants every day.

I have so many things to say in these poems
I write all the time and make shift the dizzy heights
Of visions and lucid dreaming in the open air outside my house
Where the shed visits me with bigger dreams about success and wealth from my pen.

This is the writer’s den
The haven away from the world I enjoy
There I am at peace from the gearing of finance and economies
So I can play out smaller things to work hard at and enjoy.