And when the bombs fell
I made this fervent prayer
That if my mother die
I be also killed.
An infant whirld of fear
I built. Spelling my mind
To suffer useless impotence.
I needed her to live for me
And so I felt dependent to the core.
Dependent on her inner war
And under/mined because I could not be
Her source of warmth. Together
In the dark beneath the stairs
We shared the waiting, waiting. waiting
I'm rotten, wrong. No freshness steals my thought.
This self-made atmosphere has made me blind.
Can inspiration enter this stale mould
So that I'll feel life's brilliance light my mind?
No, no, I know the score I must not try
To turn confinement into thought serene;
I've painted on my walls a universe
And then I set about to sell my dreams.
I `ve ceased to feel the slavery I 'm still in.
My walls which formed my pleasure led to death;
Whilst safely insured with thought against their fall
I talked of freedom with a tortured breath.
And look! I've still not learnt what my sad soul has taught
For writing this defends my wall of thought.
It wasn't hard for you to go.
But hard it was for me to be alone.
I knew you really had to go,
I could have told you long ago
But here it's very hard to be alone.
So this is what I feared. The logs are burning.
The room is very quiet. Mind is still.
Yes this is what I feared. The wind is howling.
The stars are very quiet like our love.
Hardest was to see your warm brown eyes
Look at me with love, yet say goodbye.
It wasn't hard to feel and realise
That love abandons those afraid to die.
Now I'm glad I never told you not to go.
In this sadness of your absence hardness flows
Yes I'm grateful that you saw I'd soon unfold
When you left me by this mountain in the snow.
Buttercups embroider the old gun-carriage.
I'm sorry it's so difficult.
Keeps us all so alone.
Each little con-text
Keeps the engine ticking...........
But aren't there healing gaps
revealed in your mirror?
Gaps through which your secret breath
Carries you through the suffocating trellis
Of cherished thought where you're pulled
By an ancient decision
To be dead but decorated
With images of glory
And ordinary insanity.
Eyes which guess can't see.
So the immense vast whirld you drown in
Is a wee bowl of putrid emotion.
Rotting fruit neatly labelled
In the laboratory of advanced compromise
THE HOLY FROZEN DOOR
It only opens when you're no longer
afraid of being schizophrenic.
Phazed I fell!
The harsh truth
Revealing the mesh.
Then my chalk head
Drawn from all sides
Into the flickering blackboards
Used by `The Force'
To serve up their pus:-
(With their phantom rap
they'd patterned our brains
and trained us to be
Or scarecrows unable
To think for ourselves).
Graced I felt
A warm soft light
Eraze the mesh
Dawning on all sides
My soul broke
Free from the fear of extinction;
(Used by `The Force'
To manipulate millions
And thereby exploit
The brain of the globe).
Through Fear's calculating mesh
I pirouette ......a whirling cross.
Whilst their worm-eaten hands
Crack as they clap,
More energise hate
With a sawdust laugh,
Then mash up the earth
Their voodoo doll
A soft warm belly
They've punctured with steel:
Their victim the skull
Of the unborn child
They'll wire-up inside
To lie and to kill.
Graced I felt
The warm soft light
Transform my death.
In Truth's bright light love pirouettes
(Beyond the cross).
Strengthened I feel
Now's not too late:-
(A fear which stalked
My mesh-bound days).
Awakened to the living web
Love's silent empire grows.
It all ways goes this way
From raw energy
to neat form.
And those who are tamed
Lose all their real warmth.
And those who are tamed
Become cynics of warmth.
And men who are tamed
Stifle woman's real core.
And those who are tamed
Can't bear to be born.
And those who are tamed
Fear death's final storm.
It all ways goes this way
From fresh energy
to stale form.
And those who are stale
Talk a lot about storms.
It keeps going this way
From raw energy
to dead form
And now that you're trapped
You say you like warmth!
Don't say it's the flower
Of aspiration made workable.
The real life
Was too direct for liars wasn't it?
So you don't dare mention you're missing
Since you've framed your cowardice
In your stance
O MAN YOU'RE A FACTOR IN HELL
Now somewhere Pluto's policemen
are smashing someone's skull
Whilst archetypal cloud-gods
obscure the unborn sky.
Fuck feed fight
A baby cries
To keep their God alive
You must die.
Ego's manic racket
decorating rape and war.
Late-June-Mid-Wales-mire. Hay, cut. Smoke
Spilling from black roofed cottage chimney
Scrawls a vanishing elegy on original vision.
Glimpsed disappearing stooping hawk.
Withdrawn sky-a Western sneer. The greedy gob
Crammed with rasping aimless crow-blots
Identical couples reflecting the sepulchral atmosphere
In which love's song-birds die.
Demands the manic cuckoo. `It's alright Luvy',
Reply the pigeon preachers, settled on a rotting Elm.
In Pluto's conned-senses whirld
No artistic duende
ever flares to life.
No open heart can sing
no loving soul can dance.
No un-biased listeners welcome.
No real friendship grows.
Only suffocation prospers
in this status-seeded war.
All are driven to obey
or driven to rebel.
Driven inside, by hidden orders
to manufacture hell.
Which the singing heart sees through
And lights the distant hills.
Then crystal standing stones awake
Beneath the snowflake clouds.
The conned-senses whirlds
come and go
Eat like maggots
Who once shaped
on moon-drenched shores
Weaving silver rhythms
through the filigree of care.
For you who feel
Ripped off by the fall
Of all your illusions
Be glad you can now see
The nature of Cain's crop
Who murder murder murder murder murder murder
Then lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie
I didn't do it I didn't do it I didn't do it
Cover up cover up cover up
Pretending to CARE
for other's LIVES!
Now you can be FREE
To be who you really are
And get out of that noxious fog of thinking
There's nothing else
But endless HELL.
Real-Ise you can retire
From the past
And can't be forced
To stomach lies
For you who will not buy
for the future
But know your soul
heart and mind
Must be kept fertile, vital
By rooting out
Every damned demon of habit
Lurking in the karmic fog.
Not like rivers or winds
Or aimless gulls
But let life's inner quiet
Keep you clean
And free of all intellectual
Accounts of Being.
For you at the end
of your tether
Who imagine only death
I was a prisoner
In the fog
Of hierarchical language.
My "future" was designed
By blind demented screws......
Who didn't know there is a way
Not marked on their public maps
Find out what it's like to live
In your overlooked, indescribable
THE UBIQUITOUS PONGING MACHINE
Everywhere I go
the shit smells just the same.
That shit that's sprayed about
to numb the pain
Reeks even here
from every mind I meet.
The entire range
from enemies to friends
Camouflage their shit with verbal smiles.
Poor body. What cruel ventriloquists we are
Turning the growing crunch
Into a Punch and Judy racket
Forgetting that I am
not present in these fiending raps.
I am the one No Body can see
And this immortal gap
eats up the show
How can they miss it?
But begorra by death they do.
Begorra by death they do.
They polish their pride
and ache to strut
Into a whirld that's completely fucked
Requiring the body and brain to be shut
To the living eternal ecstatic mind
Which has no truck
with all the games which churn their guts.....
Scheming to get
place face fame
But I new-born on beauty, clear surprise
See life's not beautiful for many
and so I'll try
To guide love's freshness
through the fear-trained grasping brain
Into that place I'll call
O cursed! Cursed
by fairy tale abstractions
Which bar me from
the nature-poet's life
or Taoist contemplation.
O how I yearn
to shut the door
Blast them all
and shout Bye! Bye!
But I have no choice
but heal the whole!
O square whirld with tick-tock mind
Gobbling up the natural man
Why d'you avoid un-armed stillness?
Is it because you're afraid to feel
The hell your pride projects outside?
But now I feel like them embroiled in judgement
Which shows my mind's infested with the view
"I'm above it all
and know the Cosmic Truth!"
Bah! Bah! Bloody fool!
(And that's another Lord Muck hoot)
So what to do? So what to do?
Two Shiva Babas make my mind confused.
One says "Work is worship" "Fight for Truth"
The other says that "all we need to do
Is wash and eat, then question "what IS Truth"?"
Herakhan says "Inaction's poison leads to death."
But Puri insists that "Thinking deep's the God-blest
Way to God."
So what to do?
"Group action" says one "is what's required."
Puri says "Thinking alone's the fire
Which inspires the mind to find the Truth!"
So what to do? What to pursue?
Or stay still absorbing
the existential atmosphere?
'Cause who wants their major opus
Reviewed by Clever Dicks
Into the commodity shit
When love's innocence and mystery have been forgot
Clever Dicks spout their anal-eyes-sin rot.
Then, every perception is checked
Against a packaged programme
held in yer cells....
O can you see the heart
Abused, confused, contracted, withdrawn
Form the mind-possessing fucking
O love, love, heal this emptiness.
Love not hopes
(mere trinkets in the blare)....
the broken heart
the cheap rain
The curdling dark. All
To cycles of passion for waste
or fear-filled inertia.
And it's so BIG this MESS
This rampant mental cancer
Disguised as "PUBLIC ORDER"
and its dry
is our translated dreams
Projected through agreement's ghoul
Move the pivot
change the pace
Play the flute
feel the space
Hear the river roar in spate
past the house
All has been expressed
except the point
Caught in the noun-based adjectival whirlds
Which camouflage the fear of waking up
To whirlds far worse.
Beauty is the point
cringing in sleep
From the dark force
Blasted out all day
by every angled, heartless voice
by everyone concerned with face
By every governmental craze
Revolutionary or reactionary
The status number game remains the same.
And YOU feed this machine
To real-Ise these implications
to the core.....
The whirld's been all ways squared
'Gainst any person waking up
The children in fear's prison.
There are no Holy Wars. Only
Massacres and sanctioned murders.
The hip awakeners and their grateful friends
Never take up arms against the square
Fear-filled haters of love's heart-felt truth.
Nor are they respectable and NICE.
Awakening takes one far beyond that vice
Where shit is perfumed by the mind for gain.
This is not the nine o'clock news.
This is the truth. You people never fell
From a mythic state of grace. Cain
Your father was a killer, who started off this race,
And his blood is thumping through your veins
A fact you can't escape. Because
Your brain got bigger when with bones
You learnt to kill- first the animals on the plain
And then over the hill your neighbour tribes you laid
To waste, and so you've formed this state, which
Keeps the earth revolving inside a world of hate.
Yes, your world's a weapons factory
Thriving through the slump. You people dull as metal
Cringing from the crunch.
If you wonder WHY you're shallow, and WHY you can not feel
This planet is ONE BEING, and humanity its fool
Who's split himself in two, as cell against cell,
It's 'cause you've overlooked
What's happening to your soul.
Off course, it's being eaten at the bottom of the fault.
Devoured by that dragon, fed on privilege of course.
That well spoken dragon; the image of brute force.
Yes deep inside the dragon who's proud of his dead mind,
You're turning out distractions to cover up the lie.
Ideals are distraction, if your life's gone down the drain.
`Public order' is distraction, to cover up the pain
Of being who you are --a killer to the core,
A junkie hooked on war. But
I'm not saying you've no purpose
Since weapons are your LORD
Of course, must be ensured. (Though robots are advancing
Across your weapons board). So
If humanity's divided and still composed of tribes;
Disarmament's distraction, to fog the great divide
Between the man you say you are
And who you are inside;
A weapon wielding KILLER
Who never was man-KIND.
Falling down the stairs
I see my flashes fade
Inside the old machine
Ignoring real Being
Your propaganda leads
Me round and round
Your sapless voice
Going round the bend
The night's quiet grace
Protects me from the inner robot
Like you I've left to die
Rare taste exploded, the fire falling fell through the filming
Rare fragrance of knowing, as the hour fell into the horizon..
Leaving me to sail over the walls of anxious control.
Racing on unreasonable waves we exquisitely melted
In the unseen sun. Yes friends shone, but soon we saw
Those who would not burn, clutching the shadows
Of our warmth to give our movement shape.
O sparkling spirit of earth, bled.....
O river of life, poisoned with solutions.
O soothe the dead, the walking dead with your silver waves.
O dancing spirits of sun and air dissolve this nightmare.
O spirits come! Come! I call! I'll ride on the scoffers words.
O come, the earth needs warmth not answers.
O come, we are strangled by cynics.
O come, we are calling for soul-light.
O come take us into your astounding vision.
But many chose savagery,
Power trips and fear.
Many chose safety
Money and beer.
O depths of love, O deserts of betrayal.
How we suffer trying to tidy up the pain.
O pain pain. O frozen waves of warmth OPEN OPEN!
Let the pain flow and give birth
To your prayers for the dazzling serpent
To consume the Whirld.
Something came over me.
I started to notice
What was going on.
I'd been roped in
To being an agent
For the whirld of fear.
The whirld of Clever Dick,
Lord Muck and Doubting Thomas.
The whirld of Cowardy Custard
Bossy Boots Mum and Know-All
Dad. Their pre-judicial
Angles hammered home
I used as eyes.
Fear-full I built a box
Around my bruised life.
A strong room safe, and
Inside this dark image
Of my capacity, I
Decorated the walls
With conflicting advice
And stayed trapped imagining
That any picture which I enjoyed
Could lead me to freedom.
Whilst the ones which made me
Feel imprisoned, I saw as lies.
Then something came over me
And I woke up and saw
That these thoughts (pictures)
Do not move. I move
My attention round my prison walls
Like a blind man feeling braille.
And to each thought-picture
I'd re-act and call that `a feeling'.
The pictures which drew my attention
To feeling imprisoned, claustrophobic
In fact indicated accurately
My self-restricted condition. The others
Hypnotised me to believe I could eventually
Feel happy within that isolation.
So, Doubting Thomas, Pissed-off Pete
And Wise Owl were spot on.
I WAS imprisoned in my dark safe,
And dwelling on decoration
Will never bring anyone
Freedom of imagination
Freshness of feeling.
And so, I let all the pictures
Go. Fading, I ignored
The sub-titles, feeling instead
My stale atmosphere
Which gave me enthusiasm
To uncover my prison's structure
And find the weak points.
Gradually the light
Within my box
Grew warm and bright-her.
Yes, this light is feminine
Soft and like cosmic rays
Can penetrate one's walls.
That's what came over me
And then passed through me
When the social camouflage
I'd worn dissolved.
I could now hear
In every word
The self-committed prisoner's voice.
My safe box
Became a lightly drawn
In which I waited.
Yes, I waited. Waited.
Not knowing for what?
Then the light came into me
And I saw I'd been waiting
To arrive HERE
NOW. Now I have eyes
To see through
What's not here.
Then the real question arose
And I admitted it was time
To step out of conned-senses mind
Into feeling freely
Exactly what I feel.
Meanwhile, committed prisoners guess
There's nothing here
Or name the gap
I've left behind
Selfish ego madness.
The cultists dream of `space'
Or `Truth', the young
Of sex and `love'. The cynics
Say my path's unreal.
Whilst Eager Beavers leap and yell
For all to see
The old life in my restless heart persists
In clouding over now with dreams of then.
Begging me to fly to here or there;
Telling me that life is all revenge.
This unlife is my afterbirth, the cord.
The panic of old flesh which seeps to death.
The ghost which tells me stop before I leap,
The waste which drains the light from every breath.
But death to death, so let it die from me.
Now heights, the sky is singing in the trees.
Each bird is pouring love, the rain stands tall.
In dying somehow now, I start to grow.
The anatomy of death is when and how?
The lasting kiss of life is here and now.
Only on the bottom
In the basement
Of my self
Have I begun being
Who I am.
In this fetid morgue
Of my illusions
I found my true life
Why it was cold and dark and lifeless.
It was because I never lived here
But always `above'
On the upper floors of fantasy.
A desert of disguised angles
Pollutes the early morning sun.
The right hand stabs the left hand.
The sun is hammered to the cross.
Sphinx Head bursts into flames
Above her sea of riddles.
I wake covered in ash,
Which no-one seems to notice.
I tack through the squall
Of your bitter judgements
Awake as you feint
With the bayonet of your tongue.
Peel off your words
From the back of my mind
And watch your octopus
Drown in my mirror.
The Radiant Orient has left the quay.
The army shatters the door of belief.
The tinkling bell of light
Sails through the soft blue;
The real man has found his release
I want you to know
I still feel that stillness
Through which the world's madness
You wanted my mind to honour
Love. I honour you. Linked
By that silver thread
No geometry of convenience
Entertains my view. Beneath
The angles of the false I's speech
The real soul
Weeps to stay in tune
With what is true.
musing on the train after a legally arranged visit
to my four year old daughter
Being one of the bucks
I naturally swerved
Into your sensuous reputation
A buck gets so browned off with being
Turned over again and again
On the spit of a chick's indifference;
He'll not try to keep her
From eating obvious lies. So
Bitter, fearful, looking `ill'
Mum sucked you back, (you had no will);
And there our `private life' was grilled
Under her radio
But who can blame a trojan horse?
A P.R. front (your body) hid
A massive blight
which split our bed. (Mind parasites
On fear are fed). Your mum's an agent
For this alien force!
Being a buck, I was shot of course
Out of my cockpit. Whilst hurtling down
She snatched our child.
So I made Miss Takes
in the class struggle blues.
A miss married to mother
who knew what to do!
Medication and plans
she served with your food,
With her tongue in your mouth
you could hardly refuse
To swallow her yuk
you were deep in the blues.
Now you're back in your place
in her neck of the woods
And our child thinks she's KIND, and pretends to be good.
no geometry of convenience pacifies
My view. You always hankered for my mind
To honour this.......without you. The old train shaking
Retreats through the late July evening. Yachts
Dream on the crimson river. The carriage
Carries blood that's mostly blue.
I followed Clever Dick
Who led me to believe poetry
Could lead me to enlightenment.
Then suggested I choose the abandoned wild hill
Life. A remote highland harbour
Where he taught me how to practise
Hard to get. An obscure ruse which produced
Squalls of conflicting views
Engendering my controversial name.
Ah yes, armadas of hungry hulks came
But left, unawakened, full of blame.
It's not hard to see
The root of decay. Internal characters
Can never be alive. Here in that relentless rain
Which makes everywhere the same, it's hard to see
The painfully disguised (but chosen) sorrow
And not retreat into feeling hopeless
Whilst flotillas of haranguing bitter cripples
Demand better crutches.
When you really question
Compulsion, the urge to arrive,
To achieve, to gain recognition;
You understand why
Friends become public
Can't stay inside
In the real personal
But lust to become
Driven to find out
Where they lie
In the public eye
Endeavouring to gauge
What gains they've made
For the price of their suicide?
Yes you carry the weight
Of their name
What they wanted you to be.
Wrote you out baby.
A public tool
And no attitude
Can dismantle this machine.
Thinking your own thinking
Is the pass out from all whirdly pressure
To an unsuspected peace
Which feeds the real person.
The lodgers inside aren't keen to leave;
But once I'd discovered ecstasy in aloneness
The vast night's mysterious stillness began
Stripping me of all Dick's strategies
Leaving me alone
To leave all concepts
Who is free of future arrangements?
Who is able to be
Though illusions of fulfilment
Rage on like Highland storms?
Once you're tied up
All you seem to do is focus
Enforced focus being
The way they control
To have no plans!
To not HAVE TO DO anything
Those who are liberated
From that accepted soul-virus
Are very rare ..... or they're adepts
At hiding or I'm dead
Drunk on self-discovery
Deep aloneness is life's price
Neither caught in clocked focus
Or past performance variations
The clockers and shadow merchants
Seem quite indifferent
To their servitude
Drowning their spirit-less souls
In conned-senses noise