Poem (Today)

Glass balloon
Floats sparkling in the angle of these five surfaces
Unreal, in relief
An obvious set-piece
Too ridiculous to concieve
From niave reclining
Lime-tinged eyes deciding
The constitution of right and exact
Spillin gliquid over paper
Achieves something
The misss brings back the whir and tick
The end light machine,
The banal, coma inducing
Predictable elements of solitude
At this hour
The misunderstandings and kisses
The blinks and the numbers
The film within film
Within the theatre of farce and absurd opportunity
That takes the weekend off.

POEM- Today , July 2007

The mind is flesh
Every action is an idea
Waiting for the break-through
Waiting on the realisation
A child bereft of titles
Overflowing with dreams
Building her own myths
Conquering Kingoms
Storming citadels
Before the citadel becomes her chattel
Before the kingdom came to rest on her shoulders
8 Hours a day and more

Dreams and wishes
Are humanitie's gift to itself
No charity could ever provide
Gray Matter is inappropriate
Technicolor mind is what
Resides within her
and paints beautiful action
Infusing every second
Overflowing every first.

Poem- November 2006

Teach this
Centrifrugral
Centred
Past a matrix
Energy connected
Interwoven
Predated
High-Strung or Unified
Stoned or Crucified
Resurrected To address my people
Take ownership of our life
No timelimes
Clocks are mobeious
No correct data no erroneous
Got this bathos
as falsness
still takes over me
erosion conditioned
free radicals speed decay
Living
Past existence
Holistic
Ghosts spat forth from the unamused machine
What is this? Is this it?
Amind questioning itself goes mystic
Or mythic
Classical
Like Dead Cultures
Or tastes on sabbatical
Is it practical
Or is it visionary?
Visions cloud Visions and
Lucidity is temporary
Could you be the very
distillation of essence?
Smug in purity
Or is that projection
or reflection of a shallow corner of our unity
Pooled
leaching
reality drain
indecent
impeaching
false prophecy
we nuture seeds and attempt the impossible like venetians
These secretions adrenal trigger incidents sequential
No sequels
Just people
No Sequels
Just People.

The Vallejo Summit

Notes from a 1967 summit between Alan Watts. Timothy Leary, Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder on the Vallejo Houseboat. At the height of the psychadelic era, these hugely influential thinkers and artists shoot the breeze on the 'lesiure' society, population control, the divine roots of resistance and many other topics. A lot of ground is covered here, and, amongst the wayward ramblings and proclamations, some marvellous insights from genuine visionaries.

http://www.vallejo.to/articles/summit_pt1.htm

http://www.vallejo.to/articles/summit_pt2.htm

http://www.vallejo.to/articles/summit_pt3.htm

31st May 2007

Caffeine sweats and fevered imagination
Of a future not at the mercy of
The universe’s diminutive legislation
Subject to eternal vigilance
His pound of flesh, of self,
In exchange for fleshy gross returns, nightly
Is gladly given.

Pulse Pushes Blood
To its natural destinations
Enriching and depriving
Rushing through his extremities
To ebb ashamedly back.

Stimulants External and cognitive
Live together in the senses
Blood Pulse pushing ideas
Through his skin
Flooding out to give flesh life.

Poem (Written small hours of May 5th 2007)

A coming of age
No rituals
As far as we could see
Just gifts and tension
Anxiety and the largest small talk
Orbiting what rests snugly below
Rotating
And gently revealing itself through reflected
Luminescence
Your presence
Permanently tattoos the field

Paradigms are shifted
Belief Systems fall
The tattoo remains
Branded on our imprinted letterhead
Scorched onto our psyche
Stitched into the uniform of my grey matter

Bright, jagged
Kinetic energy purporting to stay static
The gesture emphatic
Majesterially splendid
And yet so modest in their
Lack of malice
No rituals
But raise a chalice
Raise a gourd
Break a barrel
Break Bread and grow

Another one (Sometime in Early February 2007)

Wallow in fantasy
Of precipitating confrontation
Bringin tension to a head
And leaking out the barely kept secret
Of my admiration
You are extraordinary
And were it simple it would be so
That I would show you
Just how I want to explore you
Beautiful simplicity
Reveals itself when least expected to reassert
Beautiful you.

Poem (Written small hours of May 13th 2007)

Beacons shine and sirens call
From Polished Minarets in muted off white hues
People shaped lies with children within
We congregate at the devotional call
Facing the universe with calmed smiles, damp hands
Shielding dagger rocks from approaching students

Dirty surf wets our ankles, feet flat on damp carpet
In a room with the door wide open
self-serving minutes in the name of higher learning
Dervish turning through the smallest hours
Touched by something truly divine
Head heavy clawing through fog
To martyr self on those daggers
Providing safe passage for unassuming prophets

Experience is inherently inclusive

Thinking is inherently exclusive. Experience, which comes before thinking, is inherently inclusive. Experience is complex consciousness of being, of self, co-existing with all the non-self.

Re-experienced consciousness is re-cognition. Recognitions generate identifications. Re-cognition of within self rhythms, of heart beatings or other identities, generate a matrix continuum of time consciousness upon which, like blank music lines, are superimposed all the observances by self of the non-self occurrences.

Experience is inherently discontinuous and islanded and each special experience represents a complex of generalized principles operative in special or limited size modulated realization.

Experience is finite; it can be stored, studied, directed; it can be turned, with conscious effort to human advantage. (This means that) evolution pivots on the conscious, selective use of cumulative human experience.
Universe is the coordinate integral of all experience."

Poem (written approx Feburary 2007)

I can see the convergence
Could it be inevitable that our paths,
Held at arms lentgh for so long and
Bridged by loans of culture
Will become one forward road?

Depressed by city realities;
Yours lifelong, mine adopted,
Cynical romantics with a hopeful eye
But what disillusion will result
After we lose delight in learning one another
Those curves, gaps and dead ends,
So fresh at first to explore?

What happens when all we see in one another's bare fleshy
Frames are familiar cul-de-sacs?

Poem (written autumn 2006)

There he stands
In thrall to objects beyond him
But not his imagination
The boy who couldn’t invent the courage to be a failure
Couldn’t hold the romance in his embrace
To create
So now his gaze follows satellites
In the ascendant and
By their light
Searches for tragic portals to youth and fear