Tag Archives: poetry

No point sitting around, waiting for things to change

Tonight, 2am, misty rain and Efa Supertramp in my ears. Recreate the future, recreate your future.

I walk barefoot. I stopped walking barefoot when I got my motorbike, over two years ago.

Through the feet we root ourselves, contact vayu with prithvī. It’s like things are suddenly real again, and I feel the energy flowing down into the ground, this is what I’ve needed all along.

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He that sows thorns should never go barefoot.

I read in a diary I kept in 2012 of life being so different. There was no need for work. There was optimism. There was so, so much energy, and it was just there. It didn’t need to come from anywhere. It was just there.

Now I live my days by the next day. When it rains, it halts my flow of watching the sunset on the downs. It keeps me inside, and when my mum comes home I’m living the story of years ago when I would feel guilty of not having done anything much in the day. Forgetting all the time that the day begins at night for me here, now. It is when I have energy for everything. I explain that I’m so affected by energies, and it’s only at night when I feel so natural. And it’s true, but partly because I don’t have a backbone yet.

I could be free.

My bank balance went down to my last £35. My phone, which I use for internet and music and as camera, and for work, got water damaged and developed a serious fault. But it’s all repairable. But if it weren’t so repairable, I think I would happily go and live a simple life again, for a while.

The Swamis were keen to urge that I need to focus on what I want in life. I told them I couldn’t be a monk because I see myself having family in the future sometime. They tried to get me to focus on that as immediate, that my life should centre itself around that. But that’s not why I didn’t become a monk. It’s not what I decided. And yet, it seems to be how I’m living my life. I wanted to go to gigs again, and I wanted to get to a place where I could thrive again.

So I now compose this poem to the girl that stays with me mystically through everything. And it’s written in Scandinavian languages, because they’re beautiful, and it needs to be beautiful, which cannot be done in English or German languages. She wants to dance and to thrive in life.

Let’s dance until the morning light
Stand on the streets, stand up for our rights
We’ll paint this city bright tonight
We sing from our hearts and they call this a fight.

Well I don’t believe in your lies
And I don’t believe in your money
And I don’t believe in the way
That you make us work till we can’t smile
And I cannot understand why you do anything for money
And you cannot understand why I do anything to be freeeeeeeeee.

And this makes getting a job very difficult.

Barefoot bloody tree-hugger.

But thaaaat’s liiiiiiiifeeeeeee!!!!

An effigy to energy (or, The Shiner)

I can write you a poem, I can sing you a song, I don’t know if that’s important, might not pay the bills for long.

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Home mountain

Since leaving the mountains, I’ve noticed am incredible receptiveness within me to people, situations, everything. Lots of people call it energy – so I’d be very receptive at this time to the energy.

It’s really fun to make use of it. Everything becomes extremely personal when I’m responding to my internal feelings about the energy. I walk down one path instead of another because the energy in the other path isn’t right for me, at least not now.
But also with people – there are people I don’t want to even catch the eyes of, at particular times. I understand some of the people that keep their eyes to themselves all the time. But that’s way restrictive to do that all the time. People all have divinity within them, but sometimes you will not see that divinity until all the crap covering it up is dispelled for a moment. And, those moments are truly significant.

Last night, I went to Southsea, across the sea from my fair isle, to see one of the bands that made up my teenage years. The King Blues, they first came into my life through Jass playing Under The Fog on his CD hi-fi, their reggae and folky sounds a new side to his music collection. I found them catchy, and saw them more and more. But they split shortly after I last saw them, as inadvertent headliners of Greenbelt Festival 2010.
A few weeks back I had a wonderful experience up on Brading Downs of listening to King Blues and Far From Finished, it being such an energy-filling experience,

like an overflowing waterfall finding its way through the middle of my heart before landing deep into the ground.

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Overflowing

When I got back to the house, I explained my experiences to mum who wasn’t interested as she was ready to go to bed. I looked up on the internet what was happening with King Blues, if anything, and it turned out they’d got back together last year and would be touring this month, first show of which in Southsea. It was like all the Gurus, all the devas and gods, the universe and everything, had combined together to offer me this gift. I felt absolutely ecstatic about it all, the synchronicity and everything.

So I treated myself to a Bangladeshi meal in Southsea, really good vibes. £60 to my name becoming £48. But it was essential.

I get myself to the venue, and there’s this young guy playing solo going on about being 21 years old all through his set. But quite nice. And a guy in the audience marvels over my woollen jumper. It’s the first time I’d really talked to anyone new in a long time. It was my first time let free on a night out in years. I went a bit further forward to enjoy the music more, then got a little bored and got a beer. Several people empathised for me getting ID’d at 27. More interactions that I wasn’t quite used to experiencing, but feeling good.

Then during the second band, an all-female screaming punk band that I didn’t like so much, I went to get myself another drink and met a guy who didn’t want his beer his friend had bought him, saying he only drinks cider. I bought him a cider and drank his beer, and we talked about everything, I said about the mountains and even showed photos of the mountains, we talked about the beauty of the fog, he told me what his kids are doing, that they’re not punks despite him being a punk. He was the friend of the jumper guy.

So King Blues come on, and we start a jumpy pit straight away. It’s easy going, but I’m a little wobbly on my feet after a few pints, but really really enjoying being thrown around, falling a lot and just stretching my arms up waiting for someone to pull me back up. This feeling of unity is getting stronger and stronger on the dancefloor. A lot of people seemed a bit like stones only wanting to move so much to begin with, and seemed quite confused by the conception of a pit. It was my first pit in years, and I realise that I’m now one of the toughest guys in the pit, if not the toughest, as there aren’t any really big guys in there and I have age over everyone else it seems. I remember 10 years ago being always one of the smallest, having to watch myself, but here, partly because of the general feeling, I feel more or less completely free to just flow with the music.

There were one or two guys that I noticed getting a bit feisty – they stick out like a sore thumb at a gig like this. Their energy is one of turbulence, not working towards the same as everyone else. I often patted one of them on his back, and physically said to him a few times about the vibes.

About halfway through the set, I can’t remember which song was playing (possibly one of the new ones they played that haven’t been recorded yet) I was thrown to one side of the pit and must’ve been halfway through turning to fall backwards into the wall of the pit when a fist struck me cleanly to the side of my right eye. I don’t know what kind of a punch it was, but it was deliberate, and probably hard enough to knock some people out. I staggered back, caught by others, and stammered that I’d been hit, face in my hands, and I pointed the direction it had come from. I didn’t know who it was, because there were a few it could’ve been from.

I met the guy a few minutes later – I don’t know what made him bring it up, but he explained something like beer being spilt into his eyes. I can’t remember what my reaction was. But I remember pretty much hugging him, and even jumping up and down singing one of the songs with him soon after.

These things happen. People react with anger to things. But if we’re going to react with anger to anger we’re never going to get anywhere.

I am incredibly blessed to have had my life changed so much in recent years, and now to be carrying this energy of Soma Skanda, and of Lord Shiva. As well as the energy of love in different forms. And so it felt very natural to kind of shrug off the hit, and then work immediately on transcending the energy of that. I didn’t feel even a moment’s upset at what had happened.

You pick yourself up and continue where you left off.

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Continuations

We were working on something awesome in that pit, and the hit just gave me more energy towards that. It kind of made things more lucid, and the power of converting that energy into love…..damn, it was like the most immense of pujas.

I’m not going to say that this is what we should all be doing. Not many people are going to fly themselves around a dance floor, into everyone, as a part of working with the energies, and not many are going to be up for the possibility of what happened to me.

I wore Shirdi Sai around my neck, and am not sure yet of his link with it all, but I’m on the path that Sai asked me to be on now. I go with what feels right, and know that Sai is at the middle of it all. What he’s doing bringing me to punk gigs I’m not quite sure, but I did feel really like a punk veteran now.

Epitaph to Juggling Jim, King’s Lynn Superhero

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Juggling Jim King's Lynn superhero

You were chanting the whole time,
Seeing through all those blank stares.
Love and compassion and endless empathy
Always, through everything.

I saw you come out of the supermarket one time,
It was a momentous occasion
You suddenly appeared slightly mortal
Rather than the demigod
I assumed you were.

But even demigods need food sometimes
And need a bed to sleep in
And need appreciation
And someone to love them.

I imagine your send-off to be full of fireworks
And cheers
And hands raised in unity
Celebrating that you helped us all through
Hard times in our lives
Just by being there
Just by strumming quietly
And murmuring your prayers
And always
Always
Having time.

I hope you know
How much you’ve affected everyone
Who has set foot in the town.

I hope you know
That, whilst you may have been mocked,
Underlying was a deep respect
From the entire community
That you stuck to your principles
To be there no matter what.

May angels lead you in.
May angels lead you in.
May angels lead you in.

Three mists and the fire that ignited the sky

Seventy million stars shattering
And a breath creating crystals
And jellyfish inside an octopus
And the most majestic cliffs inside dungeons
And grass blowing out from your eyes
And thoughts about sleep
And letters written on computers
And swimming dressed as the ocean
And sunrises above the cloudline
And fires with rainbows shooting out
And mountain girls
And children playing poker
And staying home on a Saturday night
And badgers living in fox dens
And foxes living in rabbit burrows
And rabbits living in garden hutches
And skies without aeroplanes
And feeling emotions and not giving them names
And going to sleep every night cuddling the girl I love in the form of a teddy bear
And cobbled streets
And walking barefoot in the pissing rain
And loving life without money or friends or a job
And wanting to be a dad
And looking for shooting stars
And thinking and feeling love for one girl every single day for months without questioning it
And feeling happy
And crystal bowl soup
And croutons on toast
And dreaming of stars
And chasing squirrels across trees
And catching your lips in mine
And waking up again
And chanting to Sai Baba
And sleeping in the snow and waking buried in snow but you in my arms and warm
And singing lullabies in folk clubs
And hitching lifts in tractors
And drinking homemade scrumpy made out of rotten apples and water
And leaving the doors unlocked
And driving motorbikes naked
And making a wish upon Mars
And sharing lunch with tramps
And screaming in the streets at nighttime
And keeping the party going constantly
And breathing for the sake of breathing
And worshipping my love with a wildflower garland
And beer hymns
And flying whilst running
And singing on trains
And placing a policeman under citizens arrest
And declaring oneself free
And cuddling foxes
And going where the wind blows
And singing like kingfishers
And wishing for no more wishes
Just to enjoy
What is here.