Lockdown Lament
For hours I lolled in Samadhi Then gave that up for fags and tea. Had baths then brunch by ten past three Then dined on wine-soaked crisps and brie. I ‘went’ to work thirteen
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For hours I lolled in Samadhi Then gave that up for fags and tea. Had baths then brunch by ten past three Then dined on wine-soaked crisps and brie. I ‘went’ to work thirteen
In the deep cavernous realm of the Absolute A seedling lay dormant, her existence unplanned. Each moment was an unaspiring pause Which blossomed into the next without agenda Beckoning forth the emerging light As a
I sink into your smile: A velveteen plushness Your arms firm and girdered – A cantilever for my aching body My heart a compass for yours Your shoulder a rock Where I lay my mossy
Everyone wants somebody But no-one wants just anybody Or anyone who used to be a somebody: A has-been bean-ass nobody. Everyone wants to be a somebody As no-one wants to be just anybody A somebody
‘I’m sad’, I said. ‘Feel into it now,’ said Present Me. I let the sadness swish around, Lapping at the edges of my heart In gentle melancholic waves, And then it ebbed away. ‘I’m lonely’,
This is some prose I wrote about the battle that we have with the shadow sides of ourselves. Learning to live with the darker parts of myself reminds me of learning to live with our
Wandering the cityscape at night I am the passenger with no ride Passing by Passive to the passers by Let me be here And the city says ‘yes’ Shadowy trees eerily extend gnarled branches Like
We go around in neatly folded packages. Work-shaped, mall-shaped, party-shaped. Sufficiently malleable to fit into each slot. Still wrapped when we get home. (Often tightly). Tightly taped and parent-shaped for the kids. Ribbon-tied and bug
I lie here, cosily tucked away within the faded Art deco glamour of my big-city hideaway. My mind floats off to eras gone by as I imagine the years, the lives, the energy that this
The hamster wheel it spins around To transmographic dolby sound The lights go out in castle home The Prison of the Pleasuredome Too many on a fallen trip That ends in nothing but a slip
Ever fancy going on a downward spiral? Look no further. Shame is all you need to roller-coaster yourself into the cesspit of self-loathing. And if you want more of it, wallow and accept you’re perfect.
Looking out from the clifftop into the big blue yonder Me a small fleck In a world that gives no feck Still in innocence and wonder I am gifted with choice and discernment A present
Dredged up from all the grime and grease Reminders of a life at peace The shadow falls; a spark appears The two converge amongst the fears No truth is more pronounced or bold Than stories
Self-destructive patterns. They creep up on us like some familiar shadow, egging us on to find that security in the dark clutches of self denial, facilitating our swift escape from wholeness like some fly-by-night lover.