And when the bombs fell

I made this fervent prayer

That if my mother die

I be also killed.

An infant whirld of fear

I built. Spelling my mind

To suffer useless impotence.

I needed her to live for me

And so I felt dependent to the core.

Dependent on her inner war

And under/mined because I could not be

Her source of warmth. Together

In the dark beneath the stairs

We shared the waiting, waiting. waiting

Hell

I'm rotten, wrong. No freshness steals my thought.

This self-made atmosphere has made me blind.

Can inspiration enter this stale mould

So that I'll feel life's brilliance light my mind?

No, no, I know the score I must not try

To turn confinement into thought serene;

I've painted on my walls a universe

And then I set about to sell my dreams.

I `ve ceased to feel the slavery I 'm still in.

My walls which formed my pleasure led to death;

Whilst safely insured with thought against their fall

I talked of freedom with a tortured breath.

And look! I've still not learnt what my sad soul has taught

For writing this defends my wall of thought.

It wasn't hard for you to go.

But hard it was for me to be alone.

I knew you really had to go,

I could have told you long ago

But here it's very hard to be alone.

So this is what I feared. The logs are burning.

The room is very quiet. Mind is still.

Yes this is what I feared. The wind is howling.

The stars are very quiet like our love.

Hardest was to see your warm brown eyes

Look at me with love, yet say goodbye.

It wasn't hard to feel and realise

That love abandons those afraid to die.

Now I'm glad I never told you not to go.

In this sadness of your absence hardness flows

Yes I'm grateful that you saw I'd soon unfold

When you left me by this mountain in the snow.

Buttercups embroider the old gun-carriage.

I'm sorry it's so difficult.

Keeps us all so alone.

Each little con-text

Keeps the engine ticking...........

But aren't there healing gaps

revealed in your mirror?

Gaps through which your secret breath

Carries you through the suffocating trellis

Of cherished thought where you're pulled

By an ancient decision

To be dead but decorated

With images of glory

And ordinary insanity.

Eyes which guess can't see.

So the immense vast whirld you drown in

Is a wee bowl of putrid emotion.

Rotting fruit neatly labelled

In the laboratory of advanced compromise

THE HOLY FROZEN DOOR

It only opens when you're no longer

afraid of being schizophrenic.

Ed Gill

Phazed I fell!

The harsh truth

Revealing the mesh.

Then my chalk head

Drawn from all sides

Crumbled

Into the flickering blackboards

Used by `The Force'

To serve up their pus:-

(With their phantom rap

they'd patterned our brains

and trained us to be

Civilised killers

Or scarecrows unable

To think for ourselves).

Graced I felt

A warm soft light

Eraze the mesh

Dawning on all sides

My soul broke

Free from the fear of extinction;

(Used by `The Force'

To manipulate millions

And thereby exploit

The brain of the globe).

Through Fear's calculating mesh

I pirouette ......a whirling cross.

Whilst their worm-eaten hands

Crack as they clap,

More energise hate

With a sawdust laugh,

Then mash up the earth

Their voodoo doll

A soft warm belly

They've punctured with steel:

Their victim the skull

Of the unborn child

They'll wire-up inside

To lie and to kill.

Graced I felt

The warm soft light

Transform my death.

In Truth's bright light love pirouettes

(Beyond the cross).

Strengthened I feel

Now's not too late:-

(A fear which stalked

My mesh-bound days).

Awakened to the living web

Love's silent empire grows.

It all ways goes this way

From raw energy

to neat form.

And those who are tamed

Lose all their real warmth.

And those who are tamed

Become cynics of warmth.

And men who are tamed

Stifle woman's real core.

And those who are tamed

Can't bear to be born.

And those who are tamed

Fear death's final storm.

It all ways goes this way

From fresh energy

to stale form.

And those who are stale

Talk a lot about storms.

It keeps going this way

From raw energy

to dead form

And now that you're trapped

You say you like warmth!

Don't say it's the flower

Of aspiration made workable.

The real life

Was too direct for liars wasn't it?

So you don't dare mention you're missing

Serendipity

Since you've framed your cowardice

In your stance

Again

O MAN YOU'RE A FACTOR IN HELL

Now somewhere Pluto's policemen

are smashing someone's skull

Whilst archetypal cloud-gods

obscure the unborn sky.

Fuck feed fight

A baby cries

To keep their God alive

You must die.

Ego's manic racket

decorating rape and war.

Late-June-Mid-Wales-mire. Hay, cut. Smoke

Spilling from black roofed cottage chimney

Scrawls a vanishing elegy on original vision.

Glimpsed disappearing stooping hawk.

Withdrawn sky-a Western sneer. The greedy gob

Crammed with rasping aimless crow-blots

Identical couples reflecting the sepulchral atmosphere

In which love's song-birds die.

Pass-port! Pass-port!

Demands the manic cuckoo. `It's alright Luvy',

Reply the pigeon preachers, settled on a rotting Elm.

In Pluto's conned-senses whirld

No artistic duende

ever flares to life.

No open heart can sing

no loving soul can dance.

No un-biased listeners welcome.

No real friendship grows.

Only suffocation prospers

in this status-seeded war.

All are driven to obey

or driven to rebel.

Driven inside, by hidden orders

to manufacture hell.

De-humanizing orders

Hypnotizing spells

Which the singing heart sees through

And lights the distant hills.

Then crystal standing stones awake

Beneath the snowflake clouds.

The conned-senses whirlds

come and go

Eat like maggots

poetic souls

Who once shaped

love's quiet

on moon-drenched shores

Weaving silver rhythms

through the filigree of care.

FOR YOU

For you who feel

Ripped off by the fall

Of all your illusions

Be glad you can now see

The nature of Cain's crop

Who murder murder murder murder murder murder

Then lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie

I didn't do it I didn't do it I didn't do it

Cover up cover up cover up

Pretending to CARE

for other's LIVES!

Now you can be FREE

To be who you really are

And get out of that noxious fog of thinking

There's nothing else

But endless HELL.

Real-Ise you can retire

From the past

Command

And can't be forced

To lie

To stomach lies

Or kill

Again.

For you who will not buy

ANY programme

for the future

But know your soul

heart and mind

Must be kept fertile, vital

By rooting out

Every damned demon of habit

Lurking in the karmic fog.

Keep moving

Not like rivers or winds

Or aimless gulls

But let life's inner quiet

Keep you clean

And free of all intellectual

Accounts of Being.

For you at the end

of your tether

Who imagine only death

Is left

To contemplate

Remember

I was a prisoner

In the fog

Of hierarchical language.

My "future" was designed

By blind demented screws......

Who didn't know there is a way

Out

Not marked on their public maps

Now

Find out what it's like to live

In your overlooked, indescribable

Basement?

THE UBIQUITOUS PONGING MACHINE

Everywhere I go

the shit smells just the same.

That shit that's sprayed about

to numb the pain

Reeks even here

from every mind I meet.

The entire range

from enemies to friends

Camouflage their shit with verbal smiles.

Poor body. What cruel ventriloquists we are

Turning the growing crunch

Into a Punch and Judy racket

Forgetting that I am

not present in these fiending raps.

I am the one No Body can see

And this immortal gap

eats up the show

No?

How can they miss it?

But begorra by death they do.

Begorra by death they do.

They polish their pride

and ache to strut

Into a whirld that's completely fucked

Requiring the body and brain to be shut

To the living eternal ecstatic mind

Which has no truck

with all the games which churn their guts.....

Scheming to get

place face fame

Safe shit!

safe shit!

But I new-born on beauty, clear surprise

See life's not beautiful for many

and so I'll try

To guide love's freshness

through the fear-trained grasping brain

Into that place I'll call

the here-now-heart.

O cursed! Cursed

by fairy tale abstractions

Which bar me from

the nature-poet's life

or Taoist contemplation.

O how I yearn

to shut the door

Blast them all

and shout Bye! Bye!

But I have no choice

but heal the whole!

Baaa! Baaa!

O square whirld with tick-tock mind

Gobbling up the natural man

Why d'you avoid un-armed stillness?

Is it because you're afraid to feel

The hell your pride projects outside?

But now I feel like them embroiled in judgement

Which shows my mind's infested with the view

"I'm above it all

and know the Cosmic Truth!"

Bah! Bah! Bloody fool!

(And that's another Lord Muck hoot)

So what to do? So what to do?

Two Shiva Babas make my mind confused.

One says "Work is worship" "Fight for Truth"

The other says that "all we need to do

Is wash and eat, then question "what IS Truth"?"

Herakhan says "Inaction's poison leads to death."

But Puri insists that "Thinking deep's the God-blest

Way to God."

So what to do?

"Group action" says one "is what's required."

Puri says "Thinking alone's the fire

Which inspires the mind to find the Truth!"

So what to do? What to pursue?

Or stay still absorbing

the existential atmosphere?

'Cause who wants their major opus

Reviewed by Clever Dicks

then transported

Into the commodity shit

cycle?

When love's innocence and mystery have been forgot

Clever Dicks spout their anal-eyes-sin rot.

Then, every perception is checked

Against a packaged programme

held in yer cells....

O can you see the heart

Abused, confused, contracted, withdrawn

Form the mind-possessing fucking

STRAIN?

O love, love, heal this emptiness.

Love not hopes

(mere trinkets in the blare)....

Everywhere

the broken heart

the cheap rain

The curdling dark. All

sacrificed

To cycles of passion for waste

or fear-filled inertia.

And it's so BIG this MESS

This rampant mental cancer

Disguised as "PUBLIC ORDER"

and its dry

Verbal blood

is our translated dreams

Projected through agreement's ghoul

We feed

on introspecting.

Move the pivot

change the pace

Play the flute

feel the space

Hear the river roar in spate

past the house

All has been expressed

except the point

Caught in the noun-based adjectival whirlds

Which camouflage the fear of waking up

To whirlds far worse.

Beauty is the point

cringing in sleep

From the dark force

of boredom

Blasted out all day

by every angled, heartless voice

by everyone concerned with face

By every governmental craze

Revolutionary or reactionary

The status number game remains the same.

And YOU feed this machine

man-you-factoring

BOREDOM!

To real-Ise these implications

to the core.....

The whirld's been all ways squared

'Gainst any person waking up

The children in fear's prison.

There are no Holy Wars. Only

Massacres and sanctioned murders.

The hip awakeners and their grateful friends

Never take up arms against the square

Fear-filled haters of love's heart-felt truth.

Nor are they respectable and NICE.

Awakening takes one far beyond that vice

Where shit is perfumed by the mind for gain.

This is not the nine o'clock news.

This is the truth. You people never fell

From a mythic state of grace. Cain

Your father was a killer, who started off this race,

And his blood is thumping through your veins

A fact you can't escape. Because

Your brain got bigger when with bones

You learnt to kill- first the animals on the plain

And then over the hill your neighbour tribes you laid

To waste, and so you've formed this state, which

Keeps the earth revolving inside a world of hate.

Yes, your world's a weapons factory

Thriving through the slump. You people dull as metal

Cringing from the crunch.

If you wonder WHY you're shallow, and WHY you can not feel

This planet is ONE BEING, and humanity its fool

Who's split himself in two, as cell against cell,

It's 'cause you've overlooked

What's happening to your soul.

Off course, it's being eaten at the bottom of the fault.

Devoured by that dragon, fed on privilege of course.

That well spoken dragon; the image of brute force.

Yes deep inside the dragon who's proud of his dead mind,

You're turning out distractions to cover up the lie.

Ideals are distraction, if your life's gone down the drain.

`Public order' is distraction, to cover up the pain

Of being who you are --a killer to the core,

Territorially possessive

A junkie hooked on war. But

I'm not saying you've no purpose

Since weapons are your LORD

Technological advancement

Of course, must be ensured. (Though robots are advancing

Across your weapons board). So

If humanity's divided and still composed of tribes;

Disarmament's distraction, to fog the great divide

Between the man you say you are

And who you are inside;

A weapon wielding KILLER

Who never was man-KIND.

Falling down the stairs

I see my flashes fade

Inside the old machine

Ignoring real Being

Your propaganda leads

Me round and round

Your sapless voice

Going round the bend

The night's quiet grace

Protects me from the inner robot

Like you I've left to die

Rare taste exploded, the fire falling fell through the filming

Rare fragrance of knowing, as the hour fell into the horizon..

Leaving me to sail over the walls of anxious control.

Racing on unreasonable waves we exquisitely melted

In the unseen sun. Yes friends shone, but soon we saw

Those who would not burn, clutching the shadows

Of our warmth to give our movement shape.

O sparkling spirit of earth, bled.....

O river of life, poisoned with solutions.

O soothe the dead, the walking dead with your silver waves.

O dancing spirits of sun and air dissolve this nightmare.

O spirits come! Come! I call! I'll ride on the scoffers words.

O come, the earth needs warmth not answers.

O come, we are strangled by cynics.

O come, we are calling for soul-light.

O come take us into your astounding vision.

But many chose savagery,

Power trips and fear.

Many chose safety

Money and beer.

O depths of love, O deserts of betrayal.

How we suffer trying to tidy up the pain.

O pain pain. O frozen waves of warmth OPEN OPEN!

Let the pain flow and give birth

To your prayers for the dazzling serpent

To consume the Whirld.

Something came over me.

I started to notice

What was going on.

I'd been roped in

To being an agent

For the whirld of fear.

The whirld of Clever Dick,

Lord Muck and Doubting Thomas.

The whirld of Cowardy Custard

Bossy Boots Mum and Know-All

Dad. Their pre-judicial

Angles hammered home

I used as eyes.

EYES!

Fear-full I built a box

Around my bruised life.

A strong room safe, and

Inside this dark image

Of my capacity, I

Decorated the walls

With conflicting advice

And stayed trapped imagining

That any picture which I enjoyed

Could lead me to freedom.

Whilst the ones which made me

Feel imprisoned, I saw as lies.

Then something came over me

And I woke up and saw

That these thoughts (pictures)

Do not move. I move

My attention round my prison walls

Like a blind man feeling braille.

And to each thought-picture

I'd re-act and call that `a feeling'.

The pictures which drew my attention

To feeling imprisoned, claustrophobic

In fact indicated accurately

My self-restricted condition. The others

Hypnotised me to believe I could eventually

Feel happy within that isolation.

So, Doubting Thomas, Pissed-off Pete

And Wise Owl were spot on.

I WAS imprisoned in my dark safe,

And dwelling on decoration

Will never bring anyone

Release

Freedom of imagination

Freshness of feeling.

And so, I let all the pictures

Go. Fading, I ignored

The sub-titles, feeling instead

My stale atmosphere

Which gave me enthusiasm

To uncover my prison's structure

And find the weak points.

Gradually the light

Within my box

Grew warm and bright-her.

Yes, this light is feminine

Soft and like cosmic rays

Can penetrate one's walls.

That's what came over me

And then passed through me

When the social camouflage

I'd worn dissolved.

I could now hear

In every word

The self-committed prisoner's voice.

My safe box

Became a lightly drawn

Chalk circle

In which I waited.

Yes, I waited. Waited.

Not knowing for what?

Then the light came into me

And I saw I'd been waiting

To arrive HERE

NOW. Now I have eyes

To see through

What's not here.

Then the real question arose

And I admitted it was time

To step out of conned-senses mind

Into feeling freely

Exactly what I feel.

Meanwhile, committed prisoners guess

There's nothing here

Or name the gap

I've left behind

Selfish ego madness.

The cultists dream of `space'

Or `Truth', the young

Of sex and `love'. The cynics

Say my path's unreal.

Whilst Eager Beavers leap and yell

For all to see

Life's prison

The old life in my restless heart persists

In clouding over now with dreams of then.

Begging me to fly to here or there;

Telling me that life is all revenge.

This unlife is my afterbirth, the cord.

The panic of old flesh which seeps to death.

The ghost which tells me stop before I leap,

The waste which drains the light from every breath.

But death to death, so let it die from me.

Now heights, the sky is singing in the trees.

Each bird is pouring love, the rain stands tall.

In dying somehow now, I start to grow.

The anatomy of death is when and how?

The lasting kiss of life is here and now.

Only on the bottom

In the basement

Of my self

Have I begun being

Who I am.

In this fetid morgue

Of my illusions

I found my true life

And understood

Why it was cold and dark and lifeless.

It was because I never lived here

But always `above'

On the upper floors of fantasy.

A desert of disguised angles

Pollutes the early morning sun.

The right hand stabs the left hand.

The sun is hammered to the cross.

Sphinx Head bursts into flames

Above her sea of riddles.

I wake covered in ash,

Which no-one seems to notice.

I tack through the squall

Of your bitter judgements

Awake as you feint

With the bayonet of your tongue.

Peel off your words

From the back of my mind

And watch your octopus

Drown in my mirror.

The Radiant Orient has left the quay.

The army shatters the door of belief.

The tinkling bell of light

Sails through the soft blue;

The real man has found his release

I want you to know

I still feel that stillness

Through which the world's madness

Roars.

You wanted my mind to honour

Love. I honour you. Linked

By that silver thread

We grew.

No geometry of convenience

Entertains my view. Beneath

The angles of the false I's speech

The real soul

Weeps.

Weeps to stay in tune

With what is true.

BLOOD

musing on the train after a legally arranged visit

to my four year old daughter

Being one of the bucks

I naturally swerved

Into your sensuous reputation

but

A buck gets so browned off with being

Turned over again and again

On the spit of a chick's indifference;

He'll not try to keep her

From eating obvious lies. So

Bitter, fearful, looking `ill'

Mum sucked you back, (you had no will);

And there our `private life' was grilled

Under her radio

Active spite.

But who can blame a trojan horse?

A P.R. front (your body) hid

A massive blight

which split our bed. (Mind parasites

On fear are fed). Your mum's an agent

For this alien force!

Being a buck, I was shot of course

Out of my cockpit. Whilst hurtling down

She snatched our child.

So I made Miss Takes

in the class struggle blues.

A miss married to mother

who knew what to do!

Medication and plans

she served with your food,

With her tongue in your mouth

you could hardly refuse

To swallow her yuk

you were deep in the blues.

Now you're back in your place

in her neck of the woods

And our child thinks she's KIND, and pretends to be good.

BUT,

no geometry of convenience pacifies

My view. You always hankered for my mind

To honour this.......without you. The old train shaking

Retreats through the late July evening. Yachts

Dream on the crimson river. The carriage

Carries blood that's mostly blue.

I followed Clever Dick

Who led me to believe poetry

Could lead me to enlightenment.

Then suggested I choose the abandoned wild hill

farm

Life. A remote highland harbour

Where he taught me how to practise

Hard to get. An obscure ruse which produced

Squalls of conflicting views

Engendering my controversial name.

Ah yes, armadas of hungry hulks came

But left, unawakened, full of blame.

It's not hard to see

The root of decay. Internal characters

Can never be alive. Here in that relentless rain

Which makes everywhere the same, it's hard to see

The painfully disguised (but chosen) sorrow

And not retreat into feeling hopeless

Whilst flotillas of haranguing bitter cripples

Demand better crutches.

III

When you really question

Compulsion, the urge to arrive,

To achieve, to gain recognition;

You understand why

Friends become public

Can't stay inside

In the real personal

But lust to become

Currency

For gossip.

Driven to find out

Where they lie

In the public eye

Endeavouring to gauge

What gains they've made

For the price of their suicide?

Yes you carry the weight

Of their name

game.

What they wanted you to be.

Wrote you out baby.

A public tool

And no attitude

Can dismantle this machine.

Thinking your own thinking

Is the pass out from all whirdly pressure

To an unsuspected peace

Which feeds the real person.

The lodgers inside aren't keen to leave;

But once I'd discovered ecstasy in aloneness

The vast night's mysterious stillness began

Stripping me of all Dick's strategies

Leaving me alone

To leave all concepts

Alone

SELF-AWARENESS

Who is free of future arrangements?

Who is able to be

still unfocussed

Though illusions of fulfilment

Rage on like Highland storms?

Once you're tied up

All you seem to do is focus

On distractions

Enforced focus being

The way they control

Minds

Everywhere

To have no plans!

To not HAVE TO DO anything

On time

Tomorrow.

Those who are liberated

From that accepted soul-virus

Are very rare ..... or they're adepts

At hiding or I'm dead

Drunk on self-discovery

Deep aloneness is life's price

Not knowing

anyone

Neither caught in clocked focus

Or past performance variations

The clockers and shadow merchants

Seem quite indifferent

To their servitude

Drowning their spirit-less souls

In conned-senses noise