Archive for category Further back

Level opposites

As matter is energy that coalesces
To form the universe we know,
So is thought that sees the same
And yet by virtue
Of some power called choice
Makes division.

We’re pulled together and forced apart
By opposing thought and instinct,
Like a centrifugal force, opposing unity.
And as we seek a common goal,
A flat green field where all can play,
So more the world just tips away.

There’s some division
Between a man’s ideal
And a man’s ideal
That’s a sure consequence
Of trying to level opposites.

The bigger one side of the coin,
The bigger the other.

And circles within circles at every scale
Manifest the same tension,

The more complex we make our fine machine,
The more complex becomes the resistance.

The resistant inertia that draws us back
To make a more natural state.

And like a centrifuge the parts
Spin out and find their own place.
Like oil and water,
They’ll make their own space.

So it is that as we see
The world more as one,
So each of us tries to run and hide
And find the place that’s theirs.

The proxy spirit that is man
Must love itself and won’t give sway.

As each ourselves will always know
To stand up proud and say
That our own path is the only true way.


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It’s all coming to a grinding halt.
All those years of making
And trying and playing.
It hasn’t worked and its stopping now.

And a sense of failing grows
Like a vine though my mind.
What road next? What turn or twist?
What way to go to stay

Sure as rock and solid,
That I might hold my head
In cocksure certainty
And hope to be a winner.

I’m on a raft and bouncing down
This torrent of white water,
Carrying me off rocks and dying.
Only the pace seems important.

How long will this last?
It just goes on.
But some friends smile
And a gentle word makes it all worthwhile.

This form is strange stuff
That makes such a trial.
I don’t know how to manage this
But maybe that’s the problem.

I try too hard to make it work
To fit some silly idea
Of what should be. But this is luxury.
To think like this.

Necessary planning on a route
To self sufficiency perhaps.
But there’s no such thing.
We have a world that is no softer

Than that hard bed that Christ was born to.
And the harder we work
The further it moves and we build
A wall of fire before us.

Do I give up?
Do I really know?
What is mood and what’s to see?
What is the real me?

And what is my circumstance?
It isn’t what I think,
You know,
It’s something deep inside

Some non existent existence that
Preceded all I know.
I’ll die one day.
Maybe too soon.

And then I’ll know I was deluded
And time’s much longer
Than even I imagined.

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Broken branch

A broken branch crunched underfoot
Next to the bole of a massive tree
That rose like a sign from the sodden earth,
Alive and being and strong and true.

And I knew in a flash something deep that slid
Away from my grasp as I moved on.
Einstein said that energy and matter
Are all the same and are one another.

Some smooth and seamless confluence then,
Of all existence like endless ocean
That drew that tree to be growing there.

But if its stuff was the same as light
Then what was that which was its life?

Is life just coincidence of energy as form?
Or is it something beyond that source?

Is life independent and something else?
Or are light and life and the motion we see
The same seamless singularity?

You, me and the tree
That blossoms and bubbles and forms on a whim.
Some chaotic prompting that just happens to be.

Are our pain and love and the suffering we see,
The same stuff as stars and infinite space
All happening at once in the same only moment?

I saw real truth in that moment then.
That life-force arises like anything else.
It’s part of the same seamless energy state.

We’re all one thing as we see ourselves
Alone and frantic and striving to make
The small universes we see as our own.
Foolish illusions that make us our pain.

We’re just meant to be and the energy
That sits like a god doesn’t know,

He sits and he farts and he pleasures himself
By causing the trees and the galaxies
And laughing aloud at the curious thought
Of mankind being made in his image.

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I’ll fly too

You gracious bird that flies and swoops
Through clear ways that give such view
Of all our lives down here on solid ground.

You cry so loud as you dive and take
The lives of lesser folk living their way
In quiet certitude.

Is it glee that makes you shriek triumphantly?
Perhaps the lives of us earthbound sorts
Are worth less than your kind that soar

And see and know every move we make
To escape your shrewd eye.
You defy and spy our every move.

But I still believe that my life
Is more to me than yours to you.
So let me be and let me fly my way

And add to the world that man may be
And sigh in awe
And in harmony.

Except true union needs that you must kill
Me and my kind and I’m condemned to move
And hide in my slow way.

To try and live another short day.
For I am small and you have grace,
Size and understanding.

Let everyone know that the world we know
Belongs to you birds who see
Our great pretence of being what we’re not.

You Greek gods that float so languid
And smirk at our slow squirm down here.
Please see that we are part of a brotherhood.

As I die for you please give me thanks
That I play my part in your sweet life.

As I become you,
I’ll fly there through
Those careless clouds too.


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Common souls

Where is there a place that suits my intensity?
Some gathering place of similar souls
Who consider the universe as part of themselves
And wonder the why of hanging apples
Left waiting to drop after long summers warmth.

Similar souls weep
And laugh as one
And gain strength and
Solace from the other.

Strong one perceived
As they receive
Some unspoken wisdom
From each other
Like rain from clouds.


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There’s joy

There’s joy in each new day
That greets us new and laughs with
Bright abandoned gaiety and shouts loud
Of all those new things that it’s brought us.

Just for us these gifts.
But then we turn away
And cry into our pillows.
How rude.

That we should be so honoured
By warm sun or roiling raincloud
And should still turn and say
That this is not enough for us.

As warm light spills across our poor dreams,
We still can’t see how lucky we are
To taste things so rich

Beyond our wildest dreams,
Never mind
Those we imagine to be our fantasy.


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And so I ponder

And so I ponder the why of my life
And I talk to theirs and cry with them
And it comes clear that we don’t know.
To provide for our children is an oft heard cause
But why I ask should I devote my life
To helping them see the same questions?

Round and round this would go if I don’t find a way
To break away free and see
A way that answers questions.
It’s not my children’s duty. They look to me.
I have one life like a passing storm,
Full of wind and thunder and great events on my scale,

That should bend me like a tree to learn something.
I live only now like a flower that opens to the sun
And accepts the rain when it happens.

A thing of the moment that should acquire the weight
Of the scales of experience.
But not be weighed down.

Rather grow in substance and know.
As the life that we see pops into existence
On the whim of some collective mind.

As a drop of water forms part of an ocean
And screams its own identity as it dies
In some greater collective power that is God.

We should see this phenomenon in our everyday lives
And know the illusions for what they are.

The nature of us is as all else.
Ephemeral and transient.

Some whim of the mind of a God that wants us to know him
As the whole needs the knowing and the love of it’s constituent parts.

As we move on through thundercloud shadows
And glowing green growth that shimmers with life,
We play a part in a kaleidoscope of playful
Particulate fantasy of the moment
That is mostly of our own making.

And when we die we move back down
To that that sallow sea of parts that seeks to rejoin
Our ego with the main flow of life that is always.
Then hopefully we will have learned something
To add to the general pool.

One day we’ll rise as the one that we are
In one crystal harmonious note that sings
At the right frequency
And resonates with all that is.


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Great Baboon

In a dream draped with dripping palm leaves
I saw Great Baboon combing his golden hair.
He paused and returned my stare with an air
Of authority that didn’t invite a challenge.

He laid down his comb and sat down there
In the damp dawn grass in his jungle lair
And considered me as a refugee
From something he knew nothing of.

He saw a pink beast that looked at him
With unseeing eyes that hoped for nothing
From this mere ape in my arrogance.

And the Hoopoe howled and the elephant screamed
Laughing at my preposterous intrusion.
Pompous fool with glowstick jewellery.

Then all went quiet and drip drip went the drips
And I squirmed in the silence as a row of bees
As still as full stops considered me.

They spoke together in buzzing song
Then turned as one to Great Baboon
And he smiled and laughed the ripe rich laugh

Of the wiser man I really knew him to be.
And the Hoopoe shrilled a gleeful sound
And I became known as the one who watched

With no comprehension of the world I saw
As I chose to stand and to stake my place
In the hierarchy that shall not be spoken of.

I knew that place would always be
As a fraud and usurper of the real beauty
Of that night of the Great King Baboon.
The god that was to die as my kind and I

Moved to take all for our own.
His laughter still rumbles in storms in the night,
Residual echo of a more natural might
Than our filthy uncaring machines.

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Ripe apple

What’s a ripe apple
Hanging true red and firm
And plump full of promise?

The fruit of a summers sun
And the labour
Of natures effort,

That then falls and rots
Like dreams unfulfilled
In uncaring earth.

Decomposing to become
Damp soil that feeds
The next generation

That dies in a similar way.
And feeds the ones to come
In endless cycle.

Hope and love and procreation
Share this process
And give us perspective.

Life’s not what we are.
We’re more by far.
Some greater thing that

Looks down and sees
The simple machine
That whirls in agony

And joy and energy
And mystery.
To be alive is just a phase

And an opportunity
To see what we are
From a unique and sensual view

That may hurt sometimes
But which will help us to see
Our sweet vulnerability.



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Relative value

In shimmering sun splashed green today
I saw a sultry purpose rise rebellious
And quietly loud in a sexy way.
Blossom that sought to outplay
The general green lushness of everything else.

And then a bouncing robin plied its way through
The increasing volume of life
Just making some goal of the moment
But playing its part in making
The most magnificent of paintings.

Worth nothing apparently.
And the crows cawed their silly noise
And the trees moved in sympathy.
I lay there and watched and wondered
What part I played.

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As I’m pushed

As I’m pushed and shoved
Through the heaving crowded chaos
Of life’s fast race to somewhere,
I look upwards and see reality,
The tumbling clouds white against blue,
And am carried by some knowing that all will be well
If I stay my course and see from above
To gain a true view of where I am.
To stop the screaming confusion of words
And views and things thought
That make life so fraught and full of indecision.
Instead to listen more quietly to that voice
That comes from a deeper self.
A part of some wider whole that knows better.
That voice with no words that lets me be calm.

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That sound force that keeps us bound
To agreeable ground does so by being
In graceful balance with that centrifugal opposite
That would have us fly away to meet
In some grand collision
Where we’d greet each other and say hello
Before bouncing back to our small place
To momentarily rest
At gravity’s sweet breast
Before bouncing back out again
In constant percussive brain bashing rhythm
In tune to the dance of the stars.

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Make yourself

That still and stagnant puddle you call your life,
that you sit and stare at watching reflections
that wobble and shake.
Isn’t your bum sore sitting there?

Just throw some causal random into that mirror
and make waves and see what happens.
See your slime smeared emotional vehicle
that drags itself oh so slowly through the mud of life.

It could be a soaring plane that dips and dives
through a sparkling sky of alternatives.
One small move is just enough to break the scum
and show the clear water beneath.

I know this is true. I’ve done it.
Laugh at despondency. It’s all illusion.
Shape your own vision of the universe.
It’s yours. You are it.

Howl back at the demigods and half dead.
Don’t take excuses or make them.
Grab the damn thing by the balls
And scream your own opera.

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Sharp rock people

Across my sharp edged crags
Flows smooth silent breath of God
Like languorous flowing unction.

An unperturbed and solid seeming thing
That greases the pain of small
Anxieties and flows seamless,

Showing the lies
That are the sorry stresses
Of our everyday lives.

Unnoticed thing with tickling feet
Like many mindful millipedes
That crawl their way across our sighs

Like spiked treacle.
Indulgent this is as perceived
By frantic sharp rock people
Living their frantic lives.


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I would have risen

One sweet morning I saw your
Shining smile rising through the grey
Cloud of an average day
And I was lifted and believed in you.

Twinkling eyes and such a way
To paradise through
That mere movement of your lips.
I fell wounded as a warrior proud

Laid low by such simple things.
But as time went by that smile came to be
A sinister thing that drove me
To the way of the damned.

And had I known that you were just
Some poor reflection of a poor side of me
And not the way through
That I thought you to be,

I would have risen strong and
Made the case for my life as was justified.
And I’d have risen like the sun over you
Then warmed your damp soul and calmed

Us both that we might have seen
The sad futility of our sorry conflict,
Cringing weak in the glare
Of the bright universal light
That I could have become.

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The moon tonight

I saw the moon tonight.
Large and low and weeping
Through damp air.

Glowing and knowing and omnipresent
Until clouds like fields of doubt
Passed over it.

The land was silver and shining
With reflected wisdom,
Then fell into shadow.

Clouds that obscure our light
And make our wisdom grow dim.
But we’re more than some grey half truth.

We are the only crossover between
The profound and the apparent.

It’s our mission and purpose
To see and live by this.

Or our lives lose meaning.
Truth filtered through distractions.

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The path to hell

The path to hell is slippery smooth
And gleaming with promise of easy path
Whilst the way to heaven is lined
With broken glass and pain of proving

That what we know is worth more
Than the oil that helps us glide serenely
In blissful ignorance of our own choosing
As we slip down well meaning.


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These things we become attached to

These things we become attached to.
Like our children’s gifts and imagined futures
That are our own desires,
Not theirs.

Like the scent and smoothness of a woman,
Or the hard sensuality of a man,
That are our own desires
And only maybe theirs.

So what is a desire?
Like waking in the morning
And looking out at dripping grey
And therefore wanting?
Or rather knowing some hardcore
Need that can’t be cleanly declared?

We spend so much time wanting,
The wet warmth of a woman,
Or the firm guidance of a man,
The better thing that is theirs,

But so we miss the gentle happening all around us
That by its neglect declares the true nature
Of our real desires
As it all tries quietly to satisfy in a taken for granted way.

This area is supposed to be personal.
Yet it isn’t.
We all know this as we share
The same warts and wants
And shames and doubts,
And cry quietly into our pillows at night.

Desire reigns in three kingdoms,
That of the flesh
And that of the heart
And that of the mind.
Pulled three ways thus we’re bound
Always to be trying to find
Some utopian compromise that
By cold mathematical law
Is unlikely to come our way.
Like some small slippery thing wending through
An always changing liquid sea world
That shifts and carries us whatever way.

Some small times we cross a coincidence
Of circumstance that makes our heart leap
And our minds to find some rhythm
In the otherwise inscrutable chaos
That we swim through.

Good luck my friend
And I hope to see your light
Shimmering through my dark,
As I wend my way and maybe
We’ll find some coincident desire
That blends our paths.

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She was just a passing storm

She was just a passing storm
That’s remembered but nothing more.
Some scudding cloud that dropped its rain
And blew it’s wind
And ruffled my life
And is gone now.

Smooth shiny waters now sparkle
At my bow and I know
That all things come and go.
And I’m calm,
And in being so,
Make my sea so.

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I feel suddenly sad

I feel suddenly sad
And I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s because I find it hard
To believe it’s possible
To ally ones nature with consistency
Of feeling.

How can it be possible to promise oneself
To another person in perpetuity
When the spinning world that is unique
To each of us keeps wobbling and gyrating so?

Assuming that we draw some sense
Of our own identity
From the way we see the world about us,
And how we relate to the changing void,
How are we able to define our changing selves
Such that we know we are of one value?

Especially to another. Even to ourselves.
I think perhaps it’s in our nature,
Rather than confining ourselves to any given mold,
To flit like butterflies from one flower to another,

Afraid to stay ‘lest we starve
As we suck at any given small flower
That wants so much to give forever in that moment.
But we’re always curious as to what lies next
As we live alive and sensual and seeking,
Human beings in this current phase

That allows us to saturate ourselves
In silky liquid feeling
Like no other time that we’ll know.
This life is a reward and a lesson also.

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Life lights

Broken shard of gleaming mirror
Lies dusty in the grit,
Coloured with flickering life lights
That bounce and live around it.

Like mine that passed over once.
If only I’d been quick enough
To see my brief reflection.

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Single man

I switched the engine off and sat and watched
Across the raindrop pearled roofs of cars at the door
Of the supermarket as that fat woman with four kids
Emerged laden with bags.

Frowning face and sour grimace determined
With a copy of the Sun folded under her arm.
Knowing it all and knowing nothing at all.
But determinedly so.

Switching my car to quiet I opened the door and walked
Towards her and sought some kind of small smiling connection
But she looked through me to some trial beyond
And I stayed my way towards the groceries.

Baked beans, bread, pasta, some cake or other.
Then the checkout with the others in line.
Some boy who’d left school too soon
Looking bored.

Watching the rain dribble down the pane
As the goods went through. And the woman behind
Scanned my buys and drew a picture of me.
And looked away quietly.

Then the walk back through the puddles,
And the relief of closing the car door on it all
And driving away hopeful of something better,
But drawing nearer to my empty home.


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Ha ha

Ha ha I laugh and look upwards at the spitting clouds
Garnering their stupid gloom to drench me wet.
What do I care what they do.
I saw through the folly of wondering
A long time ago.

And so I move on my way
Trusting quietly in my small torch
And the small pool of wisdom it throws
That shows up the dark for what it is.
A peace that knows nothing.

But out there would I dare
To ask questions?
To consider my lot
And to shout at the heavens?

The bloody grime of real life
Lies in those shadows.
So what is revealed
By my poor glimmering thought?

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Seeing circumstance

This is a small house
And if I stand at the back end
Of the kitchen,

I can see right through the lounge
To the window where I’m silhouetted,

Watching the small world
Go by at such a slow pace.

Then I saw myself
Turn away from it,
And walk back towards me.

And when we melded
We knew what to do.

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Country pub

Down country lanes shining with rain
To the pub, where all was bubbly laughter,
I bought my first pint of excellent ale
And turned to join the fray.

And then went quiet and watching
As my friends acted out their evening together.
I felt distant and observing
And not a participant.

Watching mouths opening and closing,
Private jokes at the expense of others,
And laughter that sat ill with
Self conscious eyes.

The elderly couple at their table
In the corner. Children of the sixties.
She glancing askance at our bad language.
Not such a rebel now.

The silent, strong man at the end of the bar.
Farm worker, alienated by middle class guffaws
And choosing to stay in his world.
A force field hanging between us.

Jocular barman, making his jokes
Straddling divides and hearing all
And saying nothing
That might offend.

A group of people together
In a small building surrounded by fields
In the dark and the rain
And not seeing each other.
Not even seeing themselves.


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I looked at the night sky and I wondered why
The sphere of human experience only reaches out so far.

That star that I’m seeing
Is being what it was

Hundreds of years ago.
And then I saw that

Each thing lives in its own time.


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What are you doing?

This is all bollocks isn’t it?
All crap and bullshit.
I mean, you’re not telling me you take it seriously?

Do you?

The mortgage and the bank balance,
The terribly so dinner parties,
The right sort of suit.
The right badge of car.


This is your life?

Or are you perhaps more earthy?
Your domain is nuts and bolts and things that work,
For other people.

Earn a wage,
Don’t make money.

More honour in that perhaps.

Yet still…
As those sparkling stars turn slowly overhead,
And small birds sing their small part
On quiet, still misty mornings,
And all creatures wake and do their thing
So naturally,
Is your contrived vision really worth their beauty?

What are you doing? And why?
I don’t think you know,
And if you did, you’d surely cry
If you had any awareness of the place of your soul
In the many dimensional universe
That you think you know.

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Other space

Somewhere I know
There’s another universe.
Where all is happening the way
I want it to.

So all I have
To do
Is to shift my mind
A bit that way,
Over there.

Then the view will be new.
And a whole new load of problems
Will seem to be important.

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Hang on.

If the universe does swing through
Overlapping circles that reflect, actor like,

The rhythm of mathematics,
And Z really does equal
Z squared plus a constant,

Why does no one ask
What the constant is?

I am the constant.
My awareness.

The constant is arhythmic.
Sometimes it’s a minus.
Sometimes it’s a plus.

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Tonight I sat with some friends of mine,
And drank beer and talked bollocks.

And someone sold me some dope
And it was suggested that I get a dog.

They then went home and I moved to the bar.
I spoke to the barmaid and watched her.

And then I went home too. And smoked some
Of this excellent dope. And wrote this bullshit.

But the music was good.

It’s always going to be this way.
But that’s OK because I know it could be worse.


I’m going to fly across a desert,
And sail across an ocean
And see the moon watching me
From amidst a billion bright stars.

I promise you.

And one day,
I might even make love again.

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