Mixed Storm

Mixed Storm, the subtitle of this latest bunch being: Spontaneous Songs from the Signless Land. Guess that pretty much sums them up really, a rough and ready collection of I don't know what from a rough and ready guy who thinks two ounces of meditation experience is the same as a ride in a space balloon. Oh well...

Brain Drain

the brain drain
who is to blame
seeker flame
begins to wane

lookin’ back
over shoulder
what do i see?
ghost movies
tree breezes
cryin’ babies

time to find
the right climb
to go higher
re-energize

loose juice
bowls you out
squash dreams rob puff
churn indulgence
accelerates
to grace no more

- from Mixed Storm

Flag Fly Days

sleepin’ on the dream stretch
nuthin’ better than these
flag fly days
as the trees sway in the breeze
and the radio plays
sweet songs from out of the land
of i don’t remember
that make my body stretch
awake from slumber
but not for long
turn around
simply ground
kickin’ up a little dust
these are the days
the flag fly days
that i never wanna forget
even though i know
i won’t remember

- from Mixed Storm

Rollin' Away

parallel bars
strengthen you
muscle build
in the midday sun
but remember too
the earth is rollin’
away from that sun
when in daylight
it’s rollin’ away
back to the night
to open space
where stars divide
multiply
and replicate

- from Mixed Storm

Shallows

you can only dig as deep
as your equipment allows you to
and equipment comes from
rollin’ thru’ the past ages in –
meditation
contemplation
sittin’ stone deepening within

head hollow means heart
small to the point of tiny
try to prize it open
without the means will only bring
those pinprick victories
steeped in illusion
that send you to the lands
of the elephant
in future times to come

standin’ in the shallows
sometimes has to be
always hidden in the shallows
is a depth of glory
not immediately apparent
and contempt for the shallows
will never send you to the deep
understand that man
u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d

- from Mixed Storm

100,000s

trace to the face
finger stroke place
back of the hand
in a trackless land...

the great impositor is here
sittin’ right in front of me
i just have to disintegrate
in order to see,
sit in the flames of invisibility
where a 100,000 dawns have broken,
not easy to perform this
hand clap paradox,
to conjure out of thin air
a new construction
in which to abide
for another 100,000 sunsets at least

- from Mixed Storm

Memory Dust

shiny black skull
on a forgotten table
in the hollow sockets
fires shine faintly
mementos from another time
when a man held up his hand
tried to read the signs
and only later discovered
it simply was not his vocation
he never tried to voice those signs
which was just as well –
they were upside down
inside out
the sad result of unseen
provocations
never tried to verbalize
never got physical
but it is still a fact
that he got trapped

- from Mixed Storm

See the Signs

seen above the parapet
i can almost read those signs
when those signs were signless
and i had planted mines
born out of a mixed up time
when moisture was mistaken
for rain
when the pelting sun
fried my brains
made me walk the tightrope
that i was never supposed to walk
funny how things change
i dug within and found only echoes
from a resonance
of times gone by
under different skies
and different names

- from Mixed Storm

On the Trail

meditation
snuffs out
weave the wizard
space in tricks
keep honest
rise to food
and eat well
remember smell
is gold to those
we cannot see
spirit trail
lonely roads
of fascination
conglomerations
crossed in strangeness
ride the weather
wipe my brow
read the signs
if i know how

- from Mixed Storm

Signless Hand

caught my ear
to the ground
roamed on the plains
saw the ranges
bumps from times
incredible
still visible
at least for now

a 1000 fires
burn across the land
special plants
lie beside them
into which they get
thrown into

a gust of wind
can make you jump
and jump you might
with the kinda shake
yer mind is mixed with

told you once
wrote it down
if you want to walk
in the signless land
you hold your hand
upon the dark
in which you see through

signless hand
before your eyes
means you’re blind
and the burning fires
might consume you

a cautious tread
for you to tramp
extreme caution
rules these rocks
at your peril
is this forgotten

perambulations
they continue
sun goes nowhere
only we do
curve to the swerve
spin at an angle
from day to night
ear to ground
stars and space await

- from Mixed Storm

Signless Slippin'

misinterpretation of signs
wobbles the rope
an’ slippin’ from the rope
gives a nasty burn
if when in the signless
clarity has to be
your only foundation
inappropriate words and actions
will twist that rope
an’ send you spinnin’
then you can only hold up
your hand
but your hand is hollow
your song is sung
and led to the desecration
of your throne

- from Mixed Storm

Eyes of Eternity

woke up with a head
like a carcrash symphony
dunno where they came from
those flecks of space junk
stuck in my eye
must have been the sun
but i dunno what to say
dunno what to do with them
except reflect those specs
of eternity come to me

- from Mixed Storm

Curseless Blessing

call it a blessing
call it collectin’
drops from the sky
of a curseless land
can’t call it dreams
‘coz dreams on this
particular bend of the curve
have been dustbowl dreams
backtrack dreams
dreams that don’t mean what
they seem dreams

no point rovin’ through
those times of the
extra curricular
so i don’t say nuthin’
just answer the birds
in a tweet tweet way
with the crows and others
sound on sound
reptile blessing

- from Mixed Storm

Land of the Wild Signals

so ya wanna go
to the land of the wild signals?
do you understand
the lay of that land?
think you don’t
think you don’t most certainly

wild signals of the hand
will make your brains boil
sending you too much heat
and into the lion’s den
where they will chew you up
make it complete
make the destruction complete

bones and bits of aching brain
will be all that remains
once the spirit will have flown
after letting out a mighty groan
of multiple disappointment
and defeat
that is bound to repeat
so understand if you can
the signless land
is wild, young, incomplete

- from Mixed Storm

Squash Dreams

race to the scene
dream disaster
the shinin’ moon
derides epiphanies
broken stones
and bones is what
you’ll soon become
burnt beyond
the face you love
blasted into unknown
territories
terra firma
how equipped are you
to suck the cactus
drink the juice
it has to give
for you to live?

- from Mixed Storm

Mystical Head-Chop

i can see signs
i can see pictures
multiplicity of fires
risin’ from the earth
call me mr mystical head chop
if you so wish
but i would be a fool
to jump into that
particular well
stay on the plains
love those hills
that stand on the land
astonishingly good
for meditation
and go nowhere near
any other kinda crap

- from Mixed Storm

Flashes Incredible

this is what i do
bend to the incredible
do you see it to?
i don’t mind
if you do or don’t
won’t affect
the paintings in my mind
sit in meditation
sit in heat
skeleton contemplation
really kinda neat
and most of the time
there is nothing to find
only the occasional
flash in the sky
a god walking down
the midday street
or the moon under the arm
of the universe
an’ other stuff
maybe a bit too far out to
remember
so i’ll keep it short
keep it sweet

- from Mixed Storm

Journey Pumps

raced to the places
of the sacred traces
mountains misted
before my eyes
all signs visible
in tastes metallic
pumpin’ out shakti
is imbecilic
when masters of the past
raised it to ride

- from Mixed Storm

Monsoon Scenery

stuck where we are
destination
lost in the dust storm
so many suns
and so many moons
to try to understand
- but no
same old story
chicken shack songs
of the heart
are all i can sing
sometimes hear
the bell tollin’
but quickly forget
and go back to the
mish-mash
of unrealistic
expectations
that could kick up
a shitstorm
and wreck me

- from Mixed Storm

Sacks of Signs

i couldn’t buy these words
for a million dollars
just stepped into the periphery
of a diamond sweep
after a very sweaty climb
when i believed in the signless
held my hand up
and believed i saw all kinds
of things
that were never there
funny how i can believe
my mind
when it is right behind my eyes
creatin’ heat
that i don’t know what to do with
i kinda sat through it
or at least i think i did
now i walk with an open sack
and pick up whatever i can find

- from Mixed Storm

Dust Prophecy

man builds roads man builds bridges
and like power mountains
risin’ up from outta the dust
an’ breathin fire
man can build cities too

but man is man is man
too replication
got him by the balls
too much um big heap hiawatha
business trickery
means man is mincemeat
in the face of eternity

- from Mixed Storm

Shakti Papayas

read the signs of the hand
from the signless land
walk the razor’s edge
and rest my head upon
the ultimate papaya
rest my head in layers
of smoke unseen
and smoke risin’ means
the thread is read
lost abandoned
let’s swing this baby
to the days of the graze
an’ raisin’ shakti
to hide collide
in her milky rivers
is ecstasy
magnificent really
if dug out properly

- from Mixed Storm

Solar Foam

from behind the eyes
space junk flies
flashes of quakes
from upon the sun
spat through space
in fiery hurtles
and caught by some
the prophet punks
eternity licks
upon their lips
fires desires
upon the spires
of wasted life
when wisdom
fails to bite
spirit pasted
accumulated
weep they might

- from Mixed Storm

Ghost Eternal 2: Note

So there you have it. An archive of all the stuff I chose to call poems that I have written since the early 80s. Well clearly not everything as even a ghost, a punk like me with his head full of planet, has some material deemed not good enough to make the cut. As for all the others, you can read them as below. For the record, I love them all in their own particular ways and puttin' them on here has been a real blast, like meeting old friends. The work has been mainly done at night with the candles burnin', and the fantastic music of The Orb pulsin' away in the background on heavy Bose rotation.

The process of diggin' out this stuff from the realm of the who knows where has been done thru' late Dec 10 / early Jan 11; and now it lies nailed to this blog, Ghost Eternal 2. There will be updates in the future if I happen to find myself in the right space at the right time to pull down another bunch of gorilla nuts from the collapsed inversion trees which belong to the forests of infinity, but until then the book is closed and the following collections as found here stand complete -

Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991
Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups
Poems from the 90s
Poems from India 2002
London Works
Excavations Around the Sun
Nullabor Song

Time now to move on.

Spirit Tracks

meditated contemplated
thoroughly excavated

trampin’ on the plains
under the shade of a sun hat
looking for the remains
of those who reigned
but they were traceless cats,
masters of the understated,
invisible initial kings
they didn’t deign to frame
any uninitiated gains

no excavated contemplated
meditated spirit tracks

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Yak

old yak of the mountains
sits with crippled antlers
whilst he sings
from the last staggered trade post
to clouds of bluffing willow,
just Everest’s lonely pillows
in a vast and empty parish

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Push the Button

eyes closed
cheeks drawn in
with attentive
breath meditate
avoid bending
concentration
teachers say
so diligence
is needed for
here there is no
entertainment
other than the
penetrated
circulation
of recent
experience
identified
and decorated
now with new
attention
gone nuclear

- from London Works

Teatime Buddhas

monks eat bread
as a teatime snack,
hot from the kitchen
with swabs of butter,
Tibetan style
they wash it back
in a salty brew
that makes ‘em buddhas

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Hell's Angels

harbour no happy hopes crap
with your precious existence
just do what has to be done
for the ownerless love of all

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Monk

down to earth
humble in speech
many prayers
and vows to keep

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Cryin' Butterflies

butterflies
scrape against
a blue sky
their enigmatic
high collides
so difficult
to fathom

sittin’ back
in a non-attack
monastic settin’
all the gabber
in Tibetan
passes me by

so this is the
life ridden
hidin’ from cryin’
wilfully thrilled
to deny the lies
still inside
my reflections

- from Excavations Around the Sun

On the Block

sitting there with pen in hand
you never make a stand
for a great spread of words,
instead you’re always stabbing
at the thoughts inside your head
unable to ride the river of constant flow,
it’s a common problem I know
for people full of dreams,
but for once I really wish you
could cut the guff
and pull down from the tree
a decent bunch of gorilla nuts

- from Poems from India 2002

Punch the Meditator's Creator Hunches

do my mantras everyday
i really dunno
what good they do
maybe save me from
many sticky situations
confrontations
useless perambulations
around invisible suns
of misinterpretation
it is difficult to say

so there is the buddha
sittin’ in meditation
across the cool, cool river
and here is me
with incense burnin’
in the tray at my feet
flowers of observance
held in my hands
just waitin’ for the nod

the fear that all this
is not just some crazy
blown up mental
conflaguration
destined to end
in devastation
rebounds in my mind
an’ punches me back
a billion years to
the day of creation

- from London Works

Cut Up

pocket pasteboard
inner secret little slip
finger and thumb particulars
quite by the case
quite innocent
quite we haven’t the faintest
faint or premonition
squarely
huskily
the very word

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Ghost Eternal

i rise
i try
i tire
i cry -
i close my eyes.
it is all over
before it has begun.
holding a handful of nothing
i can smell the incense burning,
prayers for my soul are said
by someone in the distance,
and i am grateful
but I have no soul so
the ghost eternal is open,
a cloud of substance
on the two-worlds border
is washed in darkness,
it is time to move on...


- from London Works

Barbarous

secret state killing
scratched on a pane of
commemorated prison,
sufficiently bleak
to be bound with heavy
brooding
from the sort of death
that stained

Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Nullabor Song (Excerpt 1)

land of the empty bowls
on a curve side track
unknown hills of the once holy
days of the graze
how did this land ever get to be?
ancient perplexity
perplexity of the ancients
in the settin’ sun
sandy soil
multi-coloured earth foil
bush scrub blue
in a church less land
no religion
no junk

settlements
habitations
not much in the way
of complication
slate wiped clean
different journeyin’
expectin’ to arrive in cities
but the cities aren’t there
land too old land too young
in a cross conglomeration
of strangeness
for us to ever be
more than
window watchin’
for people humans
but there are no people
to see –
skeleton invisibility

slowly gettin’ used
to this way of writin’
dreamtracks
that follow no pattern
no obvious pathways
as the words just come to be
do they make sense?
read easy?
jus’ dunno
will have to see...
words held up to my face
just disintegrate

highways on their way
to somewhere
but the somewhere is just a speck
just a spec headin’ east
on a curve beat swing way
where we just wanna see
the usual vocabulary faded
pipeline roadways –
either the end of the world
or the birth of
a superior humanity
what is it gonna be?

- from Nullabor Song

Swollen

her floating tunics
of pregnancy
heartily communicated
with titular adieu
lawful onto the bed

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Wishful Thinking

give me the power
of invisible light
and let there be no more
grey stalk withering,
plant in my hand
the tree of perfection
to be always nourished
by my honesty
and meditations

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Pulsin'

pulsin’ like a prince
in our galactic ¼,
if we could see
it’s true size,
arise in line
an’ comprehend
the majestic
ascension
of pulse without =
we would shut up
an’ melt within
a second,
hiccupity
hiccity hup!

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Flash in the Sky

sack racketed shoulder
wrapped out of pattern,
frantic slamming anti-flash
blasted open ransacked
animal shoulder clatter

- Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Stunt Dreamer

maybe I fantasize too much
about sittin' on the shore
of a distant planet
watchin' an incredible sun
sittin' like a great ball in the sky
inspiration for millions

kaleidescopic points of light
blazin' in my consciousness
takin' me to the green fields
in the years of my early life
when hope was always round
the next bend on the road

where the mystery of bein'
intoxicated with existence
meant the world never end
jus' go on for ever an' ever
and no stunts were necessary
to justify my continuation

now back to my place and
stunts aplenty litter the floor
exhaust me frankly they do
more stunts to come for sure
with more exhaustion too
before this confusion is complete

- from London Works

Lost Love

when i heard that she was going
i thought that i would die,
in stranded hopelessness
i ran to my room and cried,
the reality struck hard
she wasn’t the one for me,
all my bad dreams had come true
that was plain enough to see

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Life

shades of emotion
waves on the ocean
deeper you dive
stillness resides,
dust bandanas
fresh bananas,
prepare yourself for
a helluva ride

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Broken Timber

broken timber weak and fickle
as a half remembered childhood fable
where the queen ate the dragon
and became a thousand mice

- Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Stoned

spoken in sport
hysterical jests
from stoned lands
shaken to the core,
and on the wind
plays the scent of
weeping roses
weakening me

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Trade Leaf

simple trade leaf
branch sat, before it falls
to lie on the ground
without any tree grief,
part of nature’s contract

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Childhood Inventories

a red satin petticoat furred with
a striking clock box
velvet pins and box of sweetmeats
boxes of sweets
and a little blue box of
storm blew scatter crossed,
seasick and shaken
wind-blown flotilla veterans
up the dark sedge of reeds
inventories hidden

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Bodhgaya

a town in the middle of nowhere
alive because a long time ago
something happened there to give us hope,
a man sat under a tree

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Dust Cloud Gazin'

dust cloud gazin’
try to find meaning
in the shapes of yer life
ending up with just the
breeze for company

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Who the Teacher Is

he who teaches
is he who is greatest
whether it be a coconut boy
or an urban female
tested in the trenches of the big city,
and if it is she
then of course we speak of
she who teaches
and respect the sage
with flags of disobedience
lowered to the ground

wiping the sweat from our brows
we know we need it -
the wisdom of the wise,
fresh fields of flowers
are where their words can take us,
not to mention lands of crystal snow
where the mountains are vast
and revolve in circles
like hidden planets in retrograde

- from Poems from India 2002

London Spirits

walkin' along the road
with my merry head full
so easy to see a sight
that takes my breath away,
who thought of doing that
and where did they get the
skills to accomplish it from?

ever circling mysteries
of speculation burrow into
the ground till hittin’
foundations of structures that
lived, breathed an' reached
to the sky so many years ago
it is difficult to appreciate

to fully understand the dawns
those people must have seen when
it was a fine day and the flags
were flyin' sweetly in the air
is now simply impossible,
their expectations that for some
transformed into expeditions

contemplations of navigation
the mighty risks of sailing out
upon great seas and not returnin’
were born into brave crews
from this city place and time,
half tasting their elevation
in the shadows I now walk

- from London Works

Roamin'

those configured
centurion eyes
blasted into skull
an’ bone
sent by Rome
rank unbeatable
eagle throned
shields an’ spears
for 500 years
astonished the world
made it home

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Atmosphere of Plot

a sword conference
man to man
innuendoes of violence
treachery and revenge,
true consummation
of black intentions
pistol plotter
crack language
soaping the technical
horror

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Life Trails

bendin' down to pick up
a piece o' thought
mornin' sun blazin'
over my left shoulder
sun light, star light
twinkles bright
food for my lungs
an' inner longings...

we all go, you know
we all go,
men women standing as one
tryin' to make sense
of the tracks we make
on this unknowable planet,
rockin' in the depths of space
miles away from anyone

we drink on down our
mortality
whether we like it or not
whether we embrace
those fate wheels,
awaken to the karmic
puffa puffa,
or struggle like nine pins
waitin' for the last shot

in the end none of it matters
no, really not, when the body lies
straight as a plate
and your eyes are open
in paramount wonder of
the extinguishment

- from London Works

Karnataka Rocks

many incredible people
many wonders still to be seen
stump my toe it that isn’t true
on northern Karnataka rocks,
the dreadlock woman enchants
to go up river and sleep out open
on the necks of ancient temples
stump my toe if that isn’t true
on northern Karnataka rocks,
and we the sons of opium say
“OK, one last time before the desert
and the camel ride of our dreams,
chasing the dragon with love”
stump my toe if that isn’t true
on northern Karnataka rocks

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Squat Jacks

we are spirits we dance
contort our shapes
like trees
in the wind blowin'
only with much less
by way of beauty
or dignity
than those trees,
we are spirits
we dance out of tune
and dance possessed
excommunicated
to lands configured
by the psychic blind
in bursting vistas,
of the dangers
stacking up
for future days of
treasure gone bust
we know little
more than squat jacks

- from London Works

Mighty Ball

crouchin’ on
the dust tracks
takin’ shade from
the mighty ball

cosmological
metallurgical
aftershocks
too vast to
understand
within the single
span of man
bake the rocks
tattoo snake backs
crack geology
easy as eggs

squintin' my eye
too bright to see
from tiny spaceboy
to fragile man


- from Excavations Around the Sun

Soul of the East

winds from the river
blown in from another century
of fortune and elephants
with old prosperity buildings,
waiting like Victoria
for the death of Calcutta

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Basics

stripped down
run about
went to places
never thought
possible
under my
own steam

funk spitin’
outta me
left my lyin’
on the plains
levelled

spaced out
eye poppin’
eventually
incredible
after the pain
the struggle
the cryin’

- from London Works

Electrical Charisma Moves

never was one to open my mouth too often,
never had the patience to walk into a room
and pull off those electrical charisma moves
like some people are able to do as if they were
popes just waiting to be elected

guess i preferred the sunshine roads of solitude
to the smoke and fire of company
charged with vocal abundance and the rough edged
crackle of spiritual invisibility,
s’pose i took the lonely path,
the black hole of the status quo
the no get up and go
in the never to be seen again

- from Poems from the 90s

Colour of Mourning

the stain of bastardy
incapable of inheriting
murder and war imagined
of how physically to
attack the arms of England,
emblazoned in purple
the death of the king
actually dreamt of,
extremely predicted
by the church of extreme gloom

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Doom Balloon

wrong place wrong time
suddenly feels like
circumstances of life
can overtake you
the island of safety
you stand upon
gets ever smaller
until there is no room
to move freely
everything suffocates
and behind it all
lies anger and despair
over what has become

maybe time to take
the doom balloon
pop it up high
upper atmosphere
where the air is thin
and random chats
with the unbelievable
entirely possible
give the nod to this
then we torch the sail
an’ fall to earth
in 1000 mile an hour
splat explosion

- from London Works

On the Roof

on the roof
old Tibetans
spinnin’ prayers
from wooden beads
in boundless
application,
as the blue sky
fades to darken
into dusk
stars arise,
twinkle beamers
trillions
no, make that
squillions
of earth miles
away from us,
galactic pals
if you can
conceive it
of our own solar
immensity

what lies between?
hidden planets maybe,
infinitesimal
obscurity
way beyond Apollo
is theirs,
habitations
we will never see
from Zonk
to Ulbarine;
makes you wonder,
makes you squat,
makes you wanna
find the plot

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Peculiar

summer-house mountains
scientifically knotted
humbly waiting the pang pang
hard and beady black,
black as stormy grapes
in a sea of propaganda

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Spiritual Fred Austin

he wanted to be a spiritual man
but oh dear oh dear
he didn’t know how to meditate

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Nullabor Song (Excerpt 2)

tree shapes unfamiliar
a cross reference into a
big fat nuthin’
forkin’ outwards
to a split horizon
circuits in symphony
multiplied into nuthin’
birds flyin’ free
to the rumble of appearances
i never expected to see

tree dotted plains
earth red
song circuits
song circuits on
twisted river tracks
dry as the sky is blue
dream deeper
go further still
into this earth
of no reference
to say it is beautiful
is not to even begin to describe it
never gonna be able to catch it
earth it
escape it
so i will just roll along
submerged in the scenery
outer tree stations
on cut shape horizons
signals of the haze trick
deity incredible
from an order of imagination
in all that is perfect

light – like a bird flyin’
from off a pole
beyond the pale
swingin’ along
above the grassland scrub
rust farm homes
of the few and hardy
come back to it
again and again
there is no disturbance
all past experiences
have the feelin’ of centuries
freed into outer space
implanted upon them

familiar country
but the landscape here
is not like that
there is the ancient
now fused with the new
ancient land
where nuthin’ has changed
for millions of years
now suddenly
in the space of just a couple
of centuries
undergone huge transformations
contradiction?
not really, story of humanity
man to man
dog eat dog if you like
but the basic quest for survival
food in the belly
is fused in the belly
fused together in the light of day
spear to gun
gun to pop and the land won
cities will later rise
outta the dust here
of that you can be sure
future cities
come back in 1000 yrs
count the populations
dust risen
swingin’ along

ever changin’
always perfect
open immensity
sheep an’ trees
red soil
sandy dry rivers
and salt pools
all under sweeps of blue
unbroken
sun rusted fences
demarcations of property
in a continuous land
of seeming nuthin’
overwhelmingly empty
anyway seems so to me
an opportunity
to paint the standin’ stations
and go trail river ridin’
in the land before god
any gods
thank god

- from Nullabor Song

Moon Power of London

moon shines blue light
over shadowed buildings
turn the corner see the river
palms clasped together
in awe of silent majesty,
the sacred indistinguishable,
all wrapped in supersonic light
time rolls on, we all roll on,
that unfathomable incredible
turnin' on this tender spot
of earth crust that is London

all praise to the ghosts eternal
who years ago made this city
dealers in the pretty no
more like the power magical
a specific underarm throb
of mystical pulse drum
beaten on the luminous
experience of mother plasma
in sunlight conversation
with father galaxy gods on the
weight of her spun hurtles

- from London Works

Exit from the Echo Chamber

grinnin' like a Cheshire cat
I dream of dogs an' ponies,
walkin' around thinking
I'm enlightened
when I'm only talkin' to ghosts
is the stuff of heartbreak

bells ringin' in the distance
like a roll call of the dead
leave me dry mouthed
and in need of tea,
think I'll sleep early tonight
with the window open

- from London Works

Bright Centre

the bright centre
behind my left shoulder,
to hazard a guess
it’s over a thousand
trillion miles from here,
but that doesn’t matter
I can feel the light,
I can see the smoky rising
of sights too unbelievable
to belong to a single planet
this is the big stuff –
the bright centre

- from Poems from India 2002

Astral Strike

it was sickening -
a black face smashed
astral wagon of warning,
striking deep the fleshy ground
of beating bloody heart rib,
and outrageously singing
my next world entry song

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Tibetan Restaurant

the restaurant served momos and thukpa
Tibetan meat dishes from the land of snows,
but the Tibetans had left there long ago
all thanks to the Chinese who took their land,
so there they were down in south India
living their lives and making a living.

a group of Tamils came in and sat down
big strong men, dark as the greatest,
they travelled all over the land
to wherever work took them,
and they were much in demand
nominally Hindu they had the smiles of free men
in command of their own nature,
so it was no big deal for them to order dinner
and eat their god with plenty of chillies,
washing it down with hot sweet tea

- from Poems from India 2002

Foot of the Mountain

head for the back roads
take in the wonder of a faint yellow sun
green hills and snow
gently rolling thunder
passive triangular monuments
and the beauty of a town
bathed in studded pinnacles

all so far away now
like a memory from a century
300 years in the past,
when the country was host
to feudal provinces
and brutal warlords
who ruled the lives of everyone
under a quasi-unificatory banner,
like a huge forest
at the foot of a mountain

- from Poems from the 90s

Old Man Namkha

he can wear a long black coat
in the midday sun
a baseball cap shields his eyes,
he walked out of his country
over 50 years ago,
simply left that life behind him,
all the mountains
the indescribable glory of the
vast open plains,
the name of the family
the fame of his wealth,
walked out of Tibet into India

he will never be surprised at what
life might bring to him
he has truly been to the other side,
worked his fingers to the bone
in the unrelenting heat of Bharat,
now he keeps his station
watchin’ over his youngers
taking stock of the breeze
and the distant hum
of his adopted nation,
maybe he thinks of the Land of Snows
but if he does he never shows it

- from Excavations Around the Sun

Secret Police

a crushed packet of
resultant haze
delegating bare-headed trespass,
passing the sheets of information
signed triplicate statements
caught and sort of run amok,
officer
appeared to have struck a blow
and lashed out savagely,
cuffed and gave a surging yell
a glancing crack blow,
darted glance loaded with hiss
that collided with baton

in the doorway a trifle crestfallen went a far abortive venom

- from Revised Rudeness: Cut Ups

Prayin'

wake up in the mornin’
pray to the buddhas
fill my head with all kinds
of spiritual gumpf
buy into the illusion
they will somehow
protect me from the
inconceivably
unimaginable
universal spin
of the great unknown...

- from London Works

Hills of Nowhere

from out of the hills of nowhere
comes a laughing cow
followed by one berserk cow after another,
something heavy must have happened up there
like a coup against Daddy Cow
probably by his infamous brother –
Sir Cedric Udder

- from Revised Rudeness: Poems 1983 - 1991

Nullabor Song (Excerpt 3)

no man in sight
railroad highway
straight dissection
single track
destination
an awesome whack
solitary trees
bunches of trees
scrub hunches
bunched symphonies
in immensity bowls
of radio light

take it or leave it
must fall steady
or ya jus’ ain’t ready
the urge to write
hand combined
in the show of no force
so important
rollin’ along
that is all there is to it
all there has to be
cuttin’ out shapes
different directions
against trajectory
not best to do when
too far out of station
to create the right kinda
communication...
turn yer head around
try to describe
is tragedy overdrive
scrub pile bakin’
like meditatin’ inside out
on the road to ruin
without a doubt

faith
faith is what you need
faith an’ prayers
glidin’ through this land
before god
solar illumination
expounds sun giant
profound grounds
of proper contemplation
where observation
is not some infestation
by the right an’ wrongs
of babble boys
and babble girls
dressed in their
burkha bible brained
bomb belts
fear smelted
by the graceless hand
of old time man -
what do you say
when all that is swept away?

red soil
map hanging down
directions to where?
land curved plain flat
at the same time
sleepin’
breakin’
weepin’
like ya jus’ have to
carry on with this
railroad writin’
doesn’t have to make sense does it?
rise and fall, comes an’ goes
words on the page
thoughts outta my head tumble...
clear blue sea sky
slowly fadin’ light
red earth illuminates
takes us to a different station

- from Nullabor Song