poetry

I Don’t Feel Like a Poet

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I don’t understand my poetry
It makes me feel not good
I’m not a warrior in the market
I’m not a corporate woman being misunderstood.
This morning is some arising with the birds
The trees outside the window miss the one that looked like a Sea Horse
Who chopped it down in the distress of unsymphonied Arjunas walking around the place
Racing like the races of the ages down trodden roads of traders
Entrance of the imagination
Skilled scared readers of destriding
The manifestation of political rule
Peace with the over estimated merchandise of the mother rule
The chickens roosting proudly at home
Making a fool of time
The poet’s rhyme is predictable
And Thomas Hardy is the measure of a postgraduate’s rise to power
To emit the truth in verse of the corporate thieves
Their hearses are not insured in a legalease London illegal to the man with a Rambler’s walking stick
The man who’s fashion you can’t understand
Calls you unplanned
In John Lennon’s land
When his time is up on the remission cycle for a cancer in the ocean of bliss
And too many unkissed lips on the British TV.


Who are the celebrity reviewers of the fashion policy
So I can earn money
Jeff Bezzos
Steve Jobs
Microsoft Gates
And hate from the British mates who are mates to each other and not a Friend to Krishna.
Then I don’t want to diss ya
And your bad rhymes in London town
Mixing and warbling Techno Fucking all around
As you ruin my mate Sting with British American pop video VHS bling.
Remastered Soul Cages remixes is all in the Independent Press
This Cowboy Song is copyright
Not these uptight verses
Unnamed like a flame from the Rama’s bow where wisdom is the rectification of the past
Loving words from unvarnished Hindus at last
Like a frame to a painting that sits on the museum’s floor
Waiting for the fort of the adored.
What kind of symmetry is this
To be kissed by time to be mortal
When the Sufi is fantastic and the merriment is outside in the corporate rages of Colonial pages of contracts
That have nothing to do with my past 20 years
Of fears and fears and fears and fears
That transcend the shallow empty pitiful words of the hopeful Christian?
Why did that question mark go there> That is all Oxford wanted – The Computer.


I went to Crescendo heaven where Michael Jackson taught me odds and evens
A game of draughts on the floor of Billie Jean King
Singing and singing the song celestial with a wavelength too far from the crowds of appreciation
Ravaan’s adoration
Sita’s self examination
Who takes the old person out for some sandwiches from Handsworth hall
Just once in a blue moon is all that charity can implore
From a Mahatma Gandhi Centre from the kids off school
And the rush of a terrorists exit in London with Theresa May’s fool –
Pressure cooker on Soho Road
How long have you planned my Ego?


Who was the ruination of Colonial distress
When you referenced Bryan Blessed’s chest
Next to the unkind reference to Geoffrey of Monmouth
Politicians too stupid to not touch Academia
Streams of Guru Nanak hysteria
Crying for the English girl about to attack the Asian
Not speaking about her YouTube fashions…
Why don’t you like me?
What is better or worst?
How many likes is too many?
For a brockwurst with Laura Hambrook at a Christmas Market on Birmingham New Street
Live Cams everywhere
The phone is the TV we were
We never didn’t not want to see who our parents cannot not be in the now of their hollowed out stomachs
Frightened by the politicians who just don’t go out and hand out money
Rather than try to solve the Final Solution –
Employment Law with Adolf and Hitler’s white Nazi children.
No academy for me, please and English writing dens
For pillocks in Oxford City and their racist past lives again.


Why do you strain over simple things?
Why is writing not a career?
Why don’t you teach novel and poetry writing?
What are you afraid of?
Tupac and his drive by death?
What is that was not his last breat?
Then I was right before the tears of teasing Isabel Rivers
These forms are not for me
Idea City – that is where I shall retire
As my mum and dad don’t read properly either
And you throw tyre tracks around their wasted waists without sarees and Kurtha pyjamas in Hindu Mandirs
Their estates and esteem too old for corporate Christians and mad dog man named Christian at Elim Church
‘This concerns us’ – then medicate yourself properly
Fear can lead to illness and your Daily Papers are not self aware.


You program what makes me unfashionable
You hide your literary reviews
You stress me out with the ordinary man
And then say Hank Paulson is not for you.
You steal from my home and laptop
And pay for Andrea Leadsom’s lap dances,
You trash Bollywood’s billionaires lifestyles
And then want to whitewash China with Matt Damon riding on the chariots of fire in flames of heaven
For Stephen at Creative Support
Warbling like the smelly paki minicab driver in Lake House Mental Support unit fake hospital with Allah

  • The name of a God, once more
  • The name of a God, once more
  • Irony and Satire on the living room vacuumed floor

The corporate language of failure, lights and success
Ken Wilber in the Oval Office as a freemason
The Happiest Actor ever
At least Indian TV is real
SWOT
SWO(Loss)T #Feminists
The word of God leads to the hidden form of God
Some Bella Pasta super fantastic modelling secret societies
And nothing on my TV for me
As you tell me how to read
And what to think of my neighbour.


So what is the ultimate poem?!
Question who is the following Question who is the leader
Question when the Police became pigs on The Simpsons
Who was the reader of animal farm to those coffeespoon users in cool offices with extra sugar
Gibbs was a mutherfucker with his Ark in his basement
That’s what my depression and years of solidarity with Westminster meant
Sent for the imagined time
Who imagined Time?
Whosever answers this will steal the economy
The race for the next century
\.. \\\ lots and lots of space from me
Emptiness is begetting things too soon
Fashionable faces are in my room
I feel the need to talk out loud
The spies around the place are Weoley Castle proud
The mobile phone is so walkabout loud
Telling appalling people where I live
Far from my aunty’s inhabitants in the shires of Robin Hood’s glen
… silly men
Do you think I am revealing my quotations and references today?
What would you say?

AI Summary

The poem is a sprawling outcry against cultural pressure, literary gatekeeping, political hypocrisy, colonial memory, and the emotional exhaustion of trying to make sense of a world that constantly misreads, exploits, or overwhelms the speaker. It moves through fears about writing, identity, family, illness, fame, technology, racism, and the surveillance‑like feeling of modern life, weaving in references to Hardy, Sting, Gandhi, Lennon, Guru Nanak, Michael Jackson, terrorism, academia, and the machinery of capitalism. The voice oscillates between anger, vulnerability, satire, despair, and defiance, exposing how twenty years of fear, cultural conflict, and personal struggle have shaped the speaker’s sense of self. Beneath the torrent of references lies a single wound: the longing to be understood without being diminished, to write without being judged, to live without being watched, and to exist without being crushed by the expectations of nations, religions, families, and institutions.

Closets

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

The first was Adam answering Eve
The next was nothing to Steve
Because he was shy of the reprieve
That Satan gave the pail of water.
Why was she not God’s daughter?
Who needed her burned at the stake?
What is the raise on the hot bed of emotion
Of an ocean feeling spirits instead?
A heterosexual arrangement with Courts of Justice:
A homosexual tertiary commandment
The Ten Commandments respected ignorance in sinful times
For the merchant to pride the light in a seer’s eyes.
Don’t you know?
Didn’t you see?
My certainty.
The Book. The Book. His kingdom for my looks:
I want to look so certain again that I have regained his race.
Jews so common they displace
London to Nazi Town
Come down to the common man and surround me
With what it feels like to be brown.
I’m no Hindu, you sporty sporadic football kicking twat
Like a Governor who’s a Governor in ‘your’ school.
I sit out the next election
                                ‘he’s cool’
The white kid how played the mental health (charity tax) fool.

Christianity is not for this century
These leaders are left of the debacle and debate
They never went back to old man fella Jesus
And got lost instead in Bei, Jenga and white China hate.

There is new shipping for some travellers
Some trade for some merchants
Openness for the God Delusion in Hindustan
Where elongated language chants
Hare Krishna
Hare Rama
Om Nama Shiva
Welcome a door mat to an empire
The one me & Mum bought from the Eden Project
Things to product and protect
Items to ship in states of dejection
While the religious man means some State opportunity
For the politician knock knocking on a musician’s door.
Any food and drink?
What is in?
I think and I think.
I would like to know the sex on the show
When the barista is embarrassing the glow.

What once was of Church was shared with the FTSE
And then the demeaned played footsie with the Tutsi
So Shakespeare can’t close a verse with a computer penned name
That seeks of a  Rishi what it is to be famous again and again and ….

What is it to gain when the man is a frame
In the reindeer named politico who aims his archer well?
Let’s not dwell on Mahabharata for the weddings costing so much
But forget the show with Mark Wahlberg for the Christmases we can’t touch.

Hardy and Hardeep is not my soul concern
For the time left to play messiah for what Lionel asked to earn.
Give it back to the social employment of man seeking joy after mankind
Then there will be a promise and an upkeep
For things the lawyers did once find.

44

But like that I will be devoured by the fashion
Tonight with my lonely pen and quill
Playing Scrabble with mum in our small house
Lest the ghosts have a bigger pill to swill.

What was it you wanted for my thyroid?
From European Professor in F.M.B.s
What is it to direct you to your blow jobs
And how much you earn from closets

AI Summary

The poem revisits the mythic origins of humanity — Adam, Eve, Satan — to interrogate how identity, race, religion, and power have been distorted across centuries of judgement, colonialism, and cultural hierarchy. It moves through Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, and modern politics to expose how each system has been used to exclude, shame, or redefine people, especially those who are racialised or marginalised. The speaker confronts the violence of being misread — as brown, as Hindu, as outsider, as inferior — while watching institutions, politicians, and cultural elites twist faith, history, and art for their own gain. The poem blends satire, lament, and defiance, invoking chants, empires, markets, elections, and mythic epics to show how spiritual longing collides with political cynicism. Beneath the rage and the references lies a quieter truth: the fear of being devoured by fashion, forgotten by society, or dismissed by academia, and the longing to write, to think, to live, and to be seen without being reduced to stereotype or spectacle.

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.

Freehold

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

I’m sad
The deal is not on the table
The writing is on the computer
The wall is removed and elders have taken me home
Certainty is walking the stick route now and then
Incest
Invest
Ingest
The poor man is close to his car
The dreams go Hollywood far
A truck with the ethnic minority
The Asian is so close to the black man in me
What is the centricity?
What is the tower that the Professor got best?
When he takes his time to go home from black tie and undress
And nothing adds up in the make shift mazes
As amazing as it is that we were once children who believed in his ideals.
This is the age that the Greeks will steal
These are the speeches that blonde haired men will yield.
Nothing will compare to the failure they take for granted
Of a free education that paid forward when the land was standing.

AI Summary

The poem expresses a deep sadness at the loss of certainty, opportunity, and belonging, reflecting on how identity, race, class, and academic hierarchies have shaped the speaker’s sense of self. It moves through images of cars, professors, childhood ideals, and political speeches to show how the world has failed to deliver the fairness it once promised. The speaker feels caught between racial identities, abandoned by institutions, and disillusioned by the privileged who take their advantages for granted. Beneath the imagery lies a quiet grief: the sense that the “deal” of life — education, dignity, meaning — has been withdrawn, leaving only the memory of what might have been.

Alien Obs

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The reverse of me
Natural negative
Polaroid mind
Demonic finds
Stereotype kinds
Human kindness
Laying down
Back on ground
Astral rounds
I think I see a Kestral for a Knave.

Naïve idealism
Messianic saviourisms
Why would I control the future
That is not successful for me?
Distance between stars
Travelling far between nations
Craving the righteousness of stations
Where the light would be consistent
Safe grounds for the resit.
Take time for the coffee beans
Mayans used their nodes for their in-betweens
So say some of us
Grinding the roast on the Machu Pichu omnibus.

Safer where I have been
Sufi Healer and the leanest loan
Helping some people at home alone
So aloneness is balances
And checks have their balances
For the American media machine
Parents in control of giving something to complain about
Arjuna’s route
Can you say route? the Yankee Way
That is the way the Daoists say
Stuck learning English and the found first difference of explorers
To note the contention that people are stirrers.

The messages within are Clairaudience and hidden
From the Psychiatrist who judges me and leaves me bed ridden
Hearing here and far for the motion that is sickness
And nobody to talk to for all that hymen weakness.
Sexual depravity
Escapology and annuity
I look to mature my loan against time
So much lost time
To one day find I live, just right and fine.

AI Summary

The poem explores the shadow‑self — the negative image formed by fear, stereotype, psychiatric judgement, and spiritual longing — and the struggle to reconcile idealism with the painful realities of illness, loneliness, and lost time. It moves through mystical traditions, cultural references, and personal memories to show how the speaker has been misunderstood, pathologised, and spiritually displaced. Beneath the imagery lies a deep yearning for safety, clarity, and a life that feels whole: a desire to reclaim time, to find balance, and to live without the weight of shame or the distortions imposed by others.

University Banned

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Seen by the elite class
Undersold by the middle class
Decidedly working class,
I continue my journey to the earths of the newest things in England.
There is not such Royal imaginings
As native callings and truths beholden to time
When the right time strikes nine
When the schools continue to go out to play.
9 to 3 has so much say
As I avoid the traffic in my carless existence
Drop to Mercedes Benz in the dream channels
Keeping me awake at night in the passion of sexless light.
I’ll sleep when I am dead
And the book marking is well read.

AI Summary

The poem reflects on class identity, longing, and the quiet ache of being mis-seen by society. The speaker feels observed by elites, undervalued by the middle class, and aligned with the working class, yet continues searching for meaning in a changing England. Dreams of luxury and desire flicker through a life marked by rootlessness, insomnia, and a “sexless light,” while the poet’s commitment to writing becomes both burden and salvation. Beneath the imagery lies a deeper sadness: the sense of moving through a world that doesn’t quite know where to place him, even as he keeps writing, keeps dreaming, and keeps going.

Too Good

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My poetry books were too good
They hurt the open market
They were Communist when they were Western
And Capitalist as the Chinese paused for thought.
The British told the French to leave it alone
The Germans told the Londoners to socialise better.
The Indian prayer left Ganesh at the alter
To find out who my letters were addressed to
While Japanese asked 7 Samurai what the Bleep* Ken Wilber was to do..

So forth the ride is funny when the wise men are about to calm the rapid writing down
Then I can come home for money which the rich men will pay me for being a literary clown.

AI Summary

The poem reflects on how the speaker’s poetry defies ideological, national, and cultural categorisation, unsettling markets and confusing institutions that try to label it. Westerners see it as too radical, Easterners see it as too commercial, and every nation projects its own anxieties onto the work. Spiritual icons, cinematic heroes, and philosophical thinkers appear as bewildered spectators in this global misreading. Beneath the humour lies a deeper truth: the poet’s voice is too fluid, too hybrid, too alive to be owned by any system, and so he becomes the “literary clown” — the one who exposes the absurdity of cultural gatekeeping while waiting for the world to finally recognise his worth.

That’s What They’re All Like

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That’s what they are all like
The actors and the politicians
The same culture devolving the ground it’s merit
Worsening the clay earth for a lack of manners
Rudely protruding mountains as mouths to feed Allah
Fisting the sky to triumph the winnings of God
In Complaint
In Obedience
… In
Me.

Only Death

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Only death can accomplice the accomplice
To the greatest theft of all time
Settlers of the sting of the century
All money in the Cloud with Rishi’s rhyme.
Who is Sunak when the lights go out next year
No conscience and no wife to insult the Queen?
Who is Sai Baba hiding his life
,
When Chris Cornell is where the idol worshippers have been?

How will England grow without her own staff?
Enrique Moses bowls crap compared to the past.
Why do you smoke weed with Bill Gates?
To measure one long generation only to caste?
It is because of the sadism and the masochistic mum
The actress who taught Mrs and Mr to Radha Krishna
Then the moon turns and the tide draws near
When centuries are counted and not scored in India.

Click.
Click.
Slog.
Boom!

AI Summary

The poem confronts the corruption of political power, the collapse of spiritual authority, and the long shadow of colonial and caste histories, weaving together figures like Rishi Sunak, Sai Baba, and Chris Cornell to show how modern culture blends money, worship, and identity into a chaotic spectacle. The speaker exposes the hypocrisy of elites, the confusion of spiritual seekers, and the generational wounds inherited from both family and nation. Beneath the satire and anger lies a deeper grief: the sense that centuries of history have been mishandled by those in power, leaving ordinary people to carry the emotional and cultural fallout. The poem ends with a sharp, explosive rhythm — a refusal to soften the truth or pretend that the world’s contradictions can be neatly resolved.

Common Parent

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

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.