Late Home From The Party

Call me a skeptic
but I was untouched
by your dramatic performance.
Untouched too
by the toxic bile
masquerading as truth
you disengorged
from that grotesque crevice
between your bitter lips...
...lips that once softened hardness
and ravaged mortal dreams.
Call me a skeptic,
but I was never aware
that nagging vanities
are cause for an affair.

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One Two Three

I was annoyed, mostly, I realized, because I was impressed.
His reputation, even among his few remaining supporters...
..Immune! Christ, somehow there was enough money floating
To give away a shilling or to do a good action.
Provoke him and he will buckle to a shark,
Appear, to survey, to bless, to command; dominus and domaine.
Always intrudes and imposes his views,
His face, 'Take a look.' All at once he grabbed it back.
This attitude lifted the I Ching above the level of an ordinary.....
..Reputation was so damaged, it was an easy matter.
From the heart of Vajra Sattva the white light path of the mirror like wisdom,
Took a grotesque form
And told me to cut everything into little pieces.

Warm Air Above, Dew Point Below.

Watching fog's first veil rising timidly
From grassy paddock's patches
Sweeping surreptitiously around the shy valley,
I am reminded of smokers, sitting outside cafes
Trying to hide their guilty secrets
In awkward, downturned, downwind hands,
Novice gambler's hands.

I am reminded that the Milky Way
Once wafted over the Southern Cross
Before being stolen by city lights.

How I long to see smokers standing proud
Animated extroverted and oblivious
Shining social magnets, blazing,
....wherever shooting stars go

Time To Plant Trees

High in the hills
Thoughts come slowly
Clouds rush by.

Ambling drifts of nameless days
Roll nature's kaleidoscope
Then rumble into town
An avalanche of need.

Soft Geometry

Today, rain's grey monologue
Tucks me sweetly, gently
Under Morphia's fleecy billow.

Today, work can wait
The bellbirds are quiet as
Earth and sky are truced.

Soft the grey
Soft the grey
Soft the grey.

The Lab Rat and The Mad Professor

In Mamaku
Verdant perspecacity
Warmed by honey tea
City sickness leaving me;
Time pinched cluttered brain
Battery housing
Moving metal things
Temples pulsing neighbour's thoughts
Pickled lungs particulate matter
The droning droning drone
Surreal fields of malls
Shop forest paths
Food eating halls
How strange, trained
Two legged rats
Driving in mazes
Racing their wheels.

Fat Hairy Man At The Beach

Hefting my carriage
From the seas salt laden sanctuary
My Dayself as exposed
As the eternal shadows
Cast on Hiroshima's walls
I know I am not enlightened.

My Nightself - my eyes
Bow uncomfortably
'Neath beauty's harsh light
Seeking Bolle-yellow relief.

How many comments, and looks,
Slid over me
Before I began to care
Blinded and bound by conformity's rack.

Under night's majesty and grace
I forget myself
Dancing with naked joy
My phoenix risen
I taste the stars
Letting the universe breathe me in.

O Dayself, forget the light.
O Universe, breathe me in.
Breathe me in.
Universe.
Breathe

Dreaming Of Photographs - The Miraculous Truth.

The congealed despair
Of amputees' prayer
Staining the collection plate
A bowl in the rain
Under umbrella's train.
White coated doctors
Armed with syringes
Loaded with miracles
Battling the scourges
Exorcising, healing
Not wielding or yielding
Cloth bound superstition.
The lone man who missed his flight
Ringed by 357 flaming remains
Of those who didn't.
Concentric waves of stillborn
Diseased famined and fateful
Accidents
Bullseyes beneath
Question marks
Aimed at the heart of the
Miracle breathing tongue speaking
Faithful.

Resurrection Of A Warholian Banana

The incident was incidental
The result resultant
On a roundabout
Taking her out
On you.
Initialised by her eyes
Hair there and everywhere
My mishmash headlong crash
Solved unresolved
Taking you out
On her.

Clowns On Wheels

Big cogs, little cogs
Unbroken karmic cycles
High wire through fire
Free wheelin horn tootin
Bell ringin crowd pleasin
High fivin harlequinian
Clowns on wheels.

The Quantum Mechanic Falls Head Over Heels.

Gleefully
she spins profusely
diffusing energy
randomly
in a bounded space
never to cross paths.

Her partner
in this magnetic moment
tumbles synchronously
minds melded fast-
er than light.

Distance shared-sheared
distance shed
a tear for the laws
of minds
blind to the heart
of this matter.

Arterialsclerosis In the Heart of the City

Apartment blocks shoulder to shoulder
craning necks for better glimpses
listening to strenuous motorways
articulating anger and aggression
carrying auto corpuscular mobiles.
The city's pacemaker disgorges
clogging congested arterials
feeding suburban organs
infusing tissues and viscera -
a land long stripped
of lush.

Robogenesis 1 v.27

Man created robots after his own image,
in his divine image he created them.

And all the robots
Were in communion.

And those looking
for love
sat on the left
in rows.

And those seeking
identity
sat in the middle
attentive.

And those googling
reason
sat on the right
reflecting.

And the losers
stood at the rear
with the program
maladapts.

And how the midi enabled
did manifest
their unison
in heavenly chorus.

And how the high
priest of A.I.
did sway
and collect.

Man looked at everything he had made
and he found it very good.
Evening came
And morning followed...
The sixth day.

Here is a tune about robots manifesting their heavenly midi enabled chorus

Late Home From The Party.

Call me a skeptic
but I was untouched
by your dramatic performance.

Untouched too
by the toxic bile
masquerading as truth
you disengorged
from that grotesque crevice
between your bitter lips...

...lips that once softened hardness
and ravaged mortal dreams.

Call me a skeptic,
but I was never aware
that nagging vanities
are cause for an affair.



(Poem had to include the words toxic, aware, ravaged, dramatic and skeptic)

Wearing Altruist Jeans.

Is it karma
that begets beggars
for faults deserved.

Is it expectation
that given is got
for good deeds done
in triple wicca fashion
or orange robes wound
round rotund non-desires.

Is it desire to be loved
insisting assistance
upon others less loved
or less able.

Aren't you the dear
attracting lion eyes
exposing your rump
is it your turn to jump.

Are you the centre
where universal love
drops in and out
because thats all there is.

Are you so bad
You compensate
and over contemplate
your dishonesty
and differences.

Does your god
make you guilty
or promise plenty
speaking sweetly
of sufferings mystery
and the lions misery
due slaughters destiny.

Perhaps you just hear
a voice
that isn't yours.

Believabubble.

Sensation
Perception
Conception
Comparison
Acception/Rejection
Transmission
Acception/Rejection
Social condition
Science/religion
Struck by lightning
God did it/electrocution
Dead
Like all my pretty bubbles.

Muriwai and the Crystal Ray Sky.

Sulfur crowned gannets
Raining like brimstone
Having sown wild oats
Two thousand km away
Honing their flints
With pearlers and bounders
Return to fight, for a
Place in purgatory
Their mere centimetres square
Of guano-coated bedrock
Spearhead since '95...

...Muriwai...

... one of those sugary crystal ray days
On a roll, you stroll down the beach
To the praise of the waves
Where they overtake the island
With sun-drenched clarity, you continue
Onwards with Moses' authority, and
The waves recede, as you knew they would
Further back than they possibly should
You continue, to the western outreach
Entering the cave through rocky teeth
Somehow still dry, now sharply aware;
Brain keening dangers, the value of air
The fact that blind faith has found you
In here...

..shining with light, no turning back
Stuck to the fate of your one minded track
Waves returning, hailing rebirth,
A final distraction, lies there on the earth
A friend's body - The cost of this tour
(You stupid stupid bastard!!!) (adrenalin surge)
Fortunately though, a fleeting apparition
A warning against mission's repetition...

Coming full circle, feet still dry
You smile to yourself
And the crystal ray sky
And the sparkling black sands
Along Muriwai
Where sulfur crowned gannets
Continue to reign
And the praise of the waves
Will always remain.

Heart String Theory

Dimension 0: From the void , the point of my existence.

Dimension 1: The line - the big I. I am.

Dimension 2: Fragments of being. My mind is split, my heart is broken. Continents drifting apart on a map

Dimension 3: Turning in space. Your image frozen. A collection of movie stills.

Dimension 4: The life I lead. My tube connects with yours, intersecting at stations.

Dimension 5: Choices made. Or not. I married you. I never met you - I turned to pick a flower as you picked another.

Dimension 6: Hairs on an anemone's tentacle. In this life I say hello as I walk past you, arm in arm with Jimi, Albert, Marilyn and Mary.

Dimension 7: The doors of my first infinity shrink to a dot. I don't always find you. The timing is all wrong on most paths in this universe. I die in so many ways.

Dimension 8: Different beginnings, different endings, different infinities, different universes. Mysteriously we are still connected.

Dimension 9: As I lower myself to search for you I crumple and fold, falling from one eighth dimensional infinity to another, forever.

Dimension 10: Nowhere else to go. All our possible possibilities and impossible impossibilities become the dot above the i in time and infinity. Our heartstrings vibrating in the tenth dimension create our subatomic existence.

In the mirror of your eyes I see me.

The Unknown version


Crunchy Weta Version


A fantastic animated overview of the eleven dimensions

The Man Who Wasn't There

For Ashraf and family

I remember walking, then nothing, then
a crack thud cacophony and unholy heat
flesh rent and welded, yielding
macabre meat mash sculptures
carelessy flung upon adze edged mounds
ex-spaces ex-homes ex-lives ex-posed.
With nacrous eyes and metallic mouth I rose.
I noted my legs moved - but not for long.
I collapsed, grateful for the advice to lie down,
and the warm blanket offered.
In the dust, I found myself lost.

What can be named that doesn't exist?

A soft fog dissolves first the edges
then the material of my matter
I am haunted by dim bells and Gregorian chants
A faint scent of dew-bound Magnolia
sweetens my breath and slowly numbs my nose
My hands gently folded,
I rest in peace.

When Words Are Not Enough - Warning:Graphic Reality 1 2 3 4



Save Lebanon

In Dependence Of Mass Destruction And Mass Production.

You were a petulant child
When you cut your mother's apron strings
On July 4th.
Free at last
To carve your way
To riches and glory
Through native lands
Yanking God's bells
With chains of black men:
Mass production
And mass destruction.

Now look at you.







Liberty:
Free to bear arms and kill
In your own country
Or any other of your choosing.
Free to ignore the United Nations
And global warming.
Free to consume
Forty percent of the world's resources.
Free trade peddlers behind protectionist doors.

Fraternity:
A brotherhood of multinationals
And arms dealers touting WOMADS
And more rounds of ammunition
Than there are human beings
Per Annum.

Equality:
You have so many kinds
And not so kinds.

Now look at you.

In dependence
On oil
Laws and Lawyers (Oh how you value liberty)
Nuclear weapons for security
Nuclear electricity
Current deficits and alien immigrantry.

WAKE UP America.
Smell the thermonuclear coffee.
Your PRESIDENT'S a bad JOKE.
Get off your LAZY burger buns
And show the world
What a true MAJORITY of AMERICANS
THINK. Mass action.

(VOTE!)