POETRY - HISTORY


Sixties London Star:

Was where the focus was, during my adolescence, Wembley & Carnaby Street,
World Cup winners and fashion trend centre, for the flower power world.
As I sat perched on a front garden wall, watching England’s finest sporting hour,
An underage paperboy stand in, on this momentous afternoon in English history.
The star that had first heralded it’s arrival, with the Busby Babes in the late fifties,
That floundered so tragically in the Bavarian snow, to rob England of two world cups.
Perhaps, we shall never know, for I never saw, before my time,
But a glimpse I had, of Nick’s Blanchflower Spurs, that Europe did conquer.
As in history of old, without the blood and savagery, the sex by mutual consent.
Then the Hammers of east London, the magic trio, that would the world conquer,
First Europe in ’65, a Wembley spectacle rehearsal, for the big one very soon.
The unofficial English football academy, of the post war 20th century,
Were any of this team, not to become supreme coaches, a mark of pedigree,
Set by the golden master of British football, Bobby Moore.
A hero, in the most British traditional way, utilized but not fully recognized,
Or repaid for glorious leadership, that in reality was never cultivated.
A general who stayed a captain, class echoing colonial stigma,
That haunts and plagues us to this day, hinders and delays us, in retrograde narcissism,
The mirror in which we can see, the tragic reality of blatant snobbery, or worse.
All I knew as a boy, is that when I saw that blonde Adonis, leading England,
It never occurred to my young mind, that England might not win, this home field world cup,
As east London’s finest trio, traveled linked to the world cup stage.
The general, the guile and the executioner, Bobby, Martin and Geoff,
The omniscient poise and control, the shadowy guile & creativity, the explosive power and finishing,
All personified in the last minute of frenetic defence, from which,
The golden master controls, feints, looks up & strokes the most sublime sixty metre pass,
“And they think it’s all over, well it is now.”

POETRY - HISTORY


Anglo Deutch:

What a contest, myriad repeated conflicts, colossal confrontations,
Awesome in scale, world history in the balance, decided in the detail,
Heroism and darkness, genius and arrogance, fanaticism and camaraderie.
Was history sealed and divided, by the U.S. Supreme Court decision,
To officially adopt the English language, as the American mother tongue.
If so, one man’s vote decided, the World’s 20th century path of history.
German royalty, jealous of Britain’s empire, power & prestige,
Built an awesome navy, to challenge Britannica’s hegemony of the seas.
So thus, Jutland became the rolling arena venue, for giant head to head confrontation,
A truly unique epic & unheralded titanic struggle, whose scale and proportions, peaked that day,
Signalling the end, of the era of the battleship.
The next arena, the now poppy fields of Europe, where American logistic assistance,
Turned the tide to drive, the Germans to a last frenetic endeavour,
That only the British could withstand, until exhaustion slowed the German war machine.
Inducing starving Germany to anarchy and chaos, a budding Bolshevik revolutionary field,
In conjunction with Tsarist Russia’s collapse, for Lenin’s proletariat revolution,
That precipitated the nazi fascist rise, that would engulf the world.
So the arena aloft, witnessed the next supreme trial and test,
The spitfire and hurricane, against messersmitch for world domination,
Again stalled by the dogged humorous Brits, whose allies,
Flocking from the four corners of the world, to defend the motherland against the old mighty foe,
Turned the tide again, to liberate Europe and the world, for the coming of a new age.
Wembley stadium ’66, world cup final venue and arena, for competing northern European genius,
So the titans clash again, with Britannica triumphant to rule again.
But the tide is about to turn, in Mexico ’70, Wembley ’72,
With the long awaited world domination, achieved in Munich ’74.
Collossal rolling victories in Spain ’82, Italy ’90 & Wembley ’96,
Relenting to the long awaited mirror echo, of new age English, devastating Munich victory 2002.
This amazing clash of cultures, where even the Romans feared to tread.
Where toilets, door handles, brushes, shovels, cars, roads, football & armies,
Are conceived of and utilized, in diametrically opposed manners.
Truly a strange development, of close Anglo Saxon rivals.
So near, but so far apart, whose opposition shaped world history and sport.

POETRY - SPIRITUAL


Feel Change:

A first officer of an organization, professed to be legacy,
Of repression from the Vatican, the true harbingers of the sacred knowledge.
Who boasts of a regretted missed calling, in the Jesuit priesthood college,
Which from my perspective, shadows the dark hooded Dominican, opeis dei inquisitore,
Who blocks my way, necessitating a decision, concerning choices clear and not so clear.
Is this purely a healing crisis, an evocation exercise to be resolved,
Or is this now, at this time a sign, indicating hidden aspects to be revealed.
Awaiting the catalyst for change, a new beginning afresh in enriched pastures,
That alas I never see, long gone to where next needed and useful.
In the silent vanguard solitaire role, to prepare the path
For change, a metamorphous of choice, for those with eyes and ears,
Ready and prepared for poignant innuendos, that light the ascension way.
In true selfless service, as best samscaraed suited, for this production
Of the great leela duality game, for our classroom edification.

POETRY - SPIRITUAL


Karmic Spies:

Well it must be, when you discover that even your so called spiritual master,
Is having you enquired upon, but oh how it popped out so unexpectedly,
To reveal the laughable conspiracy, of light in subterfuge fear.
Be careful I’m warned, other people feel like what you have said,
But are too fearful to express it, is this for real I thought,
Is this energy without love I wondered, as I faced this apparent victimization.
A test was right, for as my antipathy to this behaviour arose,
I now have the techniques and knowledge, to release and cleanse this.
But a second time is a mistake I feel, for there is no reaction,
Troubling these mistakes, with apparent negative emotions, such as
Anger and intolerance, laced with a small modicum of paranoia and fear, mechanism
Control techniques, that seem incongruous, to a group consciousness of light,
Enforced by a declared Jesuit, inquisitorial purity officer.
Who eagerly compiles blacklists of dissidents, labeled as dogs of darkness,
Whose main concern and criteria, for further advancement and conviviality,
Is material and financial, not service, intent or experience, but affluence.
Quoting the ephemeral but perennial truth, that when you are ready,
God will provide, for which perhaps, one must struggle to achieve,
To pass spiritual tests, in prepared readiness and ethical worthiness.
Removing outstanding issues, by clearing and balancing discordant energies,
Manifested as negative emotions, in reaction to triggering incidents.
But total selfless service without regular income, disqualifies one from further advancement.
While buried stagnant, material accumulations without question,
Is instant code qualifier with open arms, an incongruous anomaly for sure,
Whose imbalance manifests, in what I experience as true devotee.
Adios !!!

POETRY - SPIRITUAL


Bored With The Game:

Afraid is what it is, where once your game was efficacious, in it’s resultant effect,
This repetition is now rather tediously restrictive, in the career aspect of my life.
Where once my vocation was my work, my unfruitful workshop presentation,
Forced my seeking other employment, to finance my humble lifestyle.
A retrograde step I feel, with my waking time spent, with macho assertiveness,
With my body weakening and sagging, to eventual imbalance and pain.
All in consequence of prioritized service, to finance lame response seminars,
Blocked from further learning and scolded, for misunderstood acts of assistance,
The object of psychological plays, that smell stale and obsolete.
What are my options, for how long must I endure in blind faith,
These actions and verbal onslaughts, that ride against my nature and experience.
No longer it seems, the dye is finally cast and I am free,
To move on and further explore, to learn whilst serving the best I can.
No more strange strictures to endure, for my faith was not matched, by my respect
That was not duly earnt, so I pass as my imput lies, on stony ground.

POETRY - LOVE


Skipped Reappear:

Pier pressure conceived impression, in desire for feline visual perfection,
Any blemish, a vulnerable spot for ridicule and derision, in the macho arena.
Therein I ignored, nay not even noticed, this unasked for procession of beauty,
That was so ever eager to thrust itself, upon me in adoration and glee.
But now that I begin to see and appreciate the beauty in all women, I begin to realize
What I missed, is it now when I’m entering the autumn of this journey,
Evidenced in greying thatch, that is now halting this ignored procession,
And deflating my ego and confidence, in disturbing ease and depression.
Leaving me in melancholy reflection, about youthful arrogance and lost opportunities,
Lowering my expectations, to look deeper and longer, to appreciate all beauty,
While wondering what beauties had I passed, that I would now drool and pant for.
That I now find that the intro courtship patter, now so obviously required,
Is a subject of which I have no knowledge, a legacy of alpha male fame and exploits.
So now I must struggle and think, listen and watch, to learn basic sociological lessons
Previously skipped, thus evoking deep shadows of emotive experience.
All so uncomfortable and strange, but now ready to be absolved,
Enabling forward free movement, to fulfilled experience in joy and happiness.

POETRY - LOVE


False Start:

When one gets in a car and your date, breathing stale garlic aroma
Into your face, as she babbles about how, immediately after the movie,
She has to bla bla bla, in nervous excitation and apparent discomfort.
I reflect on exactly why she has bothered, to come in such disease,
To then insist on giving the ticket teller, money for her ticket when already bought,
Even disconcerting and annoying him, in ignorant and offensive rejection.
With my every word contradicted, forcing me into reflective and non combative silence,
That was misconstrued I suspect, into moodiness or some negative attribute.
For the pawn and target of ill informed, inappropriate and unhelpful advice,
That I could only really greet with silence, to this misplaced matriarchal guidance.
Amazing that such a first total symbiotic meeting, could enter a second
Such as this, total antithesis of the former, a mystery and a sign,
Of what will and should not be, a relationship that will never be.
A further exercise in my emotional cleansing, that actually showed no reaction,
To this rejection, hence this blesson is passed, hopefully preparing me,
For the real thing !