The E is Silent.

The E is Silent.

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Genre: Poetry

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Status: In Progress

Genre: Poetry

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Submitted: April 10, 2017

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Submitted: April 10, 2017

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The “E” is Silent.
 Jazz Poetry  & Songs
by
E. S. Lange.

Copyright Dervish Pen 2013


Jazzgriot Manifesto.

As a Jazzgriot my work links the decimation of the Earth’s Natural cultures, with the growing degradation of the Planet’s Ecology…
Mixes in the Globalization of Human Rights, with a healthy desire for a sustainable, peaceful society…
Culture created from compassion, and courage, that avoids the casual-sex consumerisms, of a crude-oil commerciality…
As I download digital demo’s I think of a Human scale economy that savors the small axe legacy of Today’s inconvenient “Truths”, and imminent “Realities”.
But then don’t worry that’s just me…mostly it’s just Love poetry.

 Peace
Eugene S. Lange.

 

Jazzgriot Manifesto.

As a Jazzgriot my work links the decimation of the Earth’s Natural cultures, with the growing degradation of the Planet’s Ecology…
Mixes in the Globalization of Human Rights, with a healthy desire for a sustainable, peaceful society…
Culture created from compassion, and courage, that avoids the casual-sex consumerisms, of a crude-oil commerciality…
As I download digital demo’s I think of a Human scale economy that savors the small axe legacy of Today’s inconvenient “Truths”, and imminent “Realities”.
But then don’t worry that’s just me…mostly it’s just Love poetry.

 Peace
Eugene S. Lange.
Rialto

Saturday mornings watching Captain Video
fighting in the ailes
leaping from imaginary horses
taking imaginary spaceship rides.

A kid fires an imaginary ray-gun.
Imagines the usherette is a Martian and hides.

Tempting stills from current films
displayed in slim glass cases
in technicolour on the pillars outside
a celluloid circus/creates curiosity on eager faces.

This temple of dreams was the place where Mom met Pop
a place where the barriers would drop.

Pop was a Black G.I. / A n RAF Sealand guy.
Mom was a White Jazz singer with a Blues eye.

Big bands played and people romanced
to the songs of Billy Holliday and NIna Simone.
The Riao' was Kool/ Mom sang the place swang...

In pubs and bars clubs and cars
houses flats and tenement yards
the vibes would flow the music would play
and everybody danced and laughed and played.
The South End swayed
That was back in the day...

Years later the cinema became Swainy's
a store house for second-hand furniture
Social security interior decor for us the poor
where around the corner little blue disabled cars
lined up outside the Robert Jones where people made red poppies
for Remembrance Day.

This in turn evolved / grew/ developed into
The Rialto Community Centre
where we brought the rhythms of Afrika closer / to home
as Delado Drum'n'Dance
set a heartical-rootical-crucial tone.
 Beat City L8 to the bone

In the territorial rituals of representation
that take place in this globally aware time
and space / the Riao' marked out a peoples identity...
Cosmopolitan / but nothing fancy
a landmark that sadly lit up the sky one dark Summer's night.
A piece of history that died / Why ?
Cos the people were forced into a furious fight / You see authorities very seldom see the light / till it's much too late
And then the Riao' became an empty space
a reflection of a people's past / A people's face.
The Journey.

And it was poem about
When I felt like
“Wharram a gonna do?”

And it was a poem about trying to find
That place of Peace
Somewhere deep
Within yourself
Where you can just exist
Independent of everyone and everything else
And all the drama that goes with it
And just rest in that moment of stillness
And know that from that moment
That’s where everything begins.

Cleansing the Heart
Cos Love is where all journies end
And Love is where all journies start.
And all I’ve been doing is just cleansing the heart.

And it was a poem about how I felt when I was in Yemen I had this feeling of Peace
Thousands of miles away
And I couldn’t get to the phone or anything
But that threw me back on me own inner resources
And I came back here and had a similar feeling
A feeling of
Cleansing the Heart.

Cos Love is where all journies end
And Love is where all journies start.
And all I’ve been doing is just cleansing the heart.

And it is a painful experience
And it is a dark experience
And I ask myself why do people listen to sad music
Why do people play the Blues
Why was Bob Marley’s group called The Wailers
Because it was about
Cleansing the Heart.

Cos Love is where all journies end
And Love is where all journies start.
And all of us we’re just cleansing the heart.

And sometimes all I need is to be left in Silence
On my own so I can deal with
Whatever the Universe has thrown at me
With no mask
No name
No label
No nation
No class
No race .

Just that empty space where lives the Soul.
An awareness
A consciousness
Just a Life Essence
So I can experience the Presence
Cleansing the Heart.

Cos Love is where all journies end
And Love is where all journies start.
And all I’ve been doing is just cleansing the heart.

And its all good
Theres Peace
There’s Silence
There’s Sakinah
Cleansing the Heart.

Time and Spice.
(A piece of Surrealist prose 1991).

But then there was that time… then there was that time
We were on our way back from Edinburgh man
And yuh know yuh gotta stop over at Glasgow when your coming from Edinburgh
On your way to the pool
So we stop.  
We realise we got a four and a half hour wait
Hanging at the coach terminal  
Me and the Cosmic Kid
The Bastard son of Brendan Behan.

We'd been up all night man
 And man we we're just spaced out...
Yuh know when your strung out/
When you've been up all night drinking and its starting to wear off
And we're standing there kinda WIRED.......

And this woman collapses about eight feet in front of us
 Directly in Front of us
I mean ...We were looking at her and she just collapsed there and then
On the very spot
Right in front of our very eyes.

The paramedics turned up looking like mechanics
In green boiler suits & black monkey boots
 Looking like mechanics and having about as much luck
Without their antiseptic  pick-up truck.....They were fucked
They were of no use a human being
A person had just died right before our very eyes
The song in my mind changed to a kinda Bluesy type of mode
And I realised I had come full circle
And....... I mean....Everything was different now
 But it was kinda strange in the way that it was sorta the same
Zen ? Like hey ! As Kwai Chang Kane would say: 'Who can Say ? "

But there was a difference...Yeah !
Paranoia triggered by insecurity
Yuh know all that kinda loose shit that comes down on yuh when somthun like that happens just outa the blue
 But I realised that no matter how much it rained on me
It could nevva realy undermine my Faith
Not ever again
Not now...
I was in too much  of a Kamikaze-type  of a headspace.

Imean ...Even as I write this ...
I'm standing there bathed in the
exhausted indifference that emanates Bliss...
The surrogate son of Brendan Behan
born again as fellow founding member of
The Delftware Poets Society.......
(Enter the Cosmic Kid...)
Stands next to me Silent  Agog...
Gob-smacked at lifes ability to
just pop a mind-fuck on a dude.......
When he least expected it.

The lad who coined the phrase "Putting the pottery back into poetry"
After waking up hung over on Guiness...and Yeah !
Hungover and in Love or was it just lust with a red haired lassie
After a vain-glorious night of success at the Edinburgh Fringe Club...

An exstacy that even for me added yet another
Lipgloss-smeared-glimmer-of-shimmering-hope
To one of Life's Golden moments.

Her name was Lorinda
Her father was a G.I.based just outside Edinburgh
Hence the mad name/ Yuh know worra mean .......
"Half Lora-Half Linda"...she explained
 Her mother had married someone else...
She was the bastard child of a G.I.
 Like Hey ! Who wasn't !...
And anyway she was beautiful
Even if she was on the stocky side
Big boned shall we say.

Lorinda and her actress friend who fancied herself
As Mary Queen of Scots took me and the Cosmic kid to this late night converted warehouse / kind of a restaurant / bistro-discobar-sort of place....

Atmospherically ...it was a bit like Eric's Club in Liverpool used to be  
Like in the late 70's to early 80's /  Very Punky but with kind of a 90's Rap thing on top / Kind of a flat-topped-Hip-hop-or was it a retro Be-bop/  Call it bip-bop on the way out.......

Or so I thought at the time.

Didn't we meet my step-daughter's long-lost biological father in there.......
I mean....He musta been the only Black guy in there apart from yours truly
And as is usually the way the Dames unsuspectingly thought it was only natural that I'd know him
I mean you go up to Edinburgh,  and there might be one Black guy in the whole area for miles and the locals  take you to see him.
As if your gonna know him...
 And by some strange coincidence you do know him.
But they're like "There you go we knew you'd know him... It's only natural like innit !" Like we all know each other...Right !

Imean....We do in a lateral, abstracted sort of way
 But not how they thought.
Except that this time ofcourse it was how they thought...
And by now the only Bajun I know with  a Scottish accent was telling me about this group of BlackScots who travel from the Caribbean every year complete with kilts, sporans, dirks, and everything  for a kind of 'Roots' type of reunion thang.......

I mean ...Like far-out man !
I mean ...Like  realy jumping off !
I mean ...What can I say  ?

He told me that the Douglas Clan had been started by an African back in 1770...
And he claimed that the bagpipes had originated in Africa.

I said that I did'nt care if it was a Black man or a Whiteman invented the bagpipes Whoever it was needed a damn good sorting out...
He looked offended
I added "Only joking ofcourse some of my best friends play the bag-pipes
He didn't buy it ...  But he let it ride.
The funny thing was I actually telling the truth.

Fate was bowling googlies...And it wasn't over yet...There was some playful under-handers to be delivered before we got back to the Pool.. .And the fun....Hey ! ...Well it wasn't over / not by a long-chalk....Whatever that means.......

Little did we know that 'He who knows who we were
Before we were who we are'...
Would add a tragic-magic to out total acceptance of the awesome beauty of.......
'simply being'.

Did you like that 'simply' ...Well nothing ever happens that simply does it ?...
Not when you look into it with an open mind and an honest heart...
Being ?  
Yeah !
We were very much being
 Surrendering to  Life's unpredictable mysteries
A pursuit not always as charmed as maybe we would have liked to have believed....
Even though once upon a time in Edinburgh the festivities were fine... And a whole time locked spasm of politically-tortured-terror... Had dragged-up
 my maliciously maligned mind.... Downbeat into an era of unforeseeable error...

Bad Khats on my case and I was out to escape.......
Escape the error of ever letting the evil of somebody else's hatred ever relate it's xenophobic venom too my own....

I mean....I'm viscious enough as it is.......

But then hope...Yeah ! There is hope.......
 I mean.... I pray from Time to Time .......
& from Time to Time  I rise .......
Above it all...And I was surfacing
from the depths of thier hell ...
And doing quite well at that Time  ....

To me in my state of mind this little episode could only have been some sort of abstracted lesson on the folly of complacency.

The horn section in my mind's ear blurted "Barreh Duh-duh Dhu-Dhu-Duh.......!!!!!!!" Like Gabriel or was it Buddy Bolden; whatever it had a sort of finality to it.
 
The Lady who had collapsed and died had been carrying some luggage...
O.K. So aint we all.? Yeah ! I guess so. But
I mean.... She was on a journey / going somewhere / either coming home from
...or going to a holliday..Who knows ?
All that we knew is that where she ended up
She probably didn't need luggage anymore.

The Kid started to write feverishly.
 I borrowed a pen and started to jot down my own messages from the Id.

Death had turned up at the end of the carnival and burst our collective balloon like a demented momento-mori..

And wearing a hangover...Wearing a hangover and a self-satisfied grin
Glazing the sun drenched Glasgow afternoon with a thin
yet ever so effective coating of grim
as in 'reaper'.

Death.
 I began to ponder...
Mine is inevitable
As is everybodies
And as such refined by Time .

Mine is designed to help me find that without which
The evil is blind...Yeah ! Evil is it's own blindness
That which can not see me can not reach me
Can not defeat me
And all the time i'm thinking of the bastards that are after me.

A wiseman once told me something in a round about sort of way...
Well . I forget what it was now
I mean ...What could I say ?
I was into : Life / Love / Learning / and Language...
But surrounded by: Dreams / Daring / Damage and Death....

And it was all happening amidst sultry Angels...
I'd been surrounded by Angels
Hip Angels...
And reached by their capable parallels
And culpable parables.

Eyes  / lips/  and lives like jewels
And all in relation to the word renewal
I mean ...Do we consume Life or are we Life's fuel.

I mean.... Have you ever considered George Clinton's phrase;
"The fear of being eaten by a sandwich'...?
Me ...I can't help it. I'm self reflexive.
Lifes like that.
Or then again Life likes that
And even some Life forms like it !
Either way shit happens.
Deep shit.......

I mean...O.K. Maybe I'm a conscious dude ...? Maybe I'm not ?
All I'm saying is simplyI know when I'm babbling shite
And I do it anyway
I mean... Its functional / therapeutic / cathartic...

Poetry to get your shit together by  
It's part of my appetite
The fear of being eaten by a sandwich
And the shit was deep.

Yeah ! Heavy-shit...
And after a week of hit & miss
I realised it was hit after hit
I'd tried and transcended
the Time -warped Drool-Skool

I drifted into the realms of the incomprehensible
World of the semiotic
As I floundered for words to describe the linguistically unrelatable
Amidst a maelstrom of
'Related and Unrelated Vibes'
Take Five! Right !
OK... Imagine an imploding yet orgasmic cerebral experience
Its difficult I know... But at the Time
Stardust
Bliss
And a kind of misplaced Hey Miss !
Placed with a Tardiss Kiss
Seeking refuge from the lord of the dawn
 Weathering the mindless storm of the weather-worn....And...

I mean....Headcase / Beardshorn....... Night-time-Nightshift-Mentalism
And a Revision of eyes in shimmering blue stardust...............................................................

Synchronicity of the Id cathexis kind
Helping me discover my mind despite my libido
Which was trying to provoke a bout of Judo ... With a definite no-no...
Who fell in love with me as she watched my enthusiasm grow
Was it  penis envy  or just my Negro-ego...
I guess I'll never really know

I mean.... All I know is I was in deep !

And in deep-deep /  Somewhere deep within my sub-conscious mind I could hear Public Enemy's Chuch D declaim in a Hip-hoppy sort of attitudinal whine ...
" Uh Hu ! Don't yuh know ? Don't yuh know ?"  

As I stumble groping my way around the streets of the mind
The back-streets of Edinburgh
Breaking away from the alley-ways of the blind
I find that when ever I get on a role
I end up thinking in rhyme
And it's just my way of trying to breath with my mind
Amidst the smoke from the gunshots
And the violent Shitkickers, smog and the grime
And the sad people stealing my new jeans
(Levi 501’s)
Off the washing line
Taxi to the dole will I make in on Time

And why is it that Blaknuss is somehow related to crime....
And buddy can you spare a dime....
And will I be a poet till the end of Time

And Time & Sssspice...The Meaning uf Life...
And Time & Spice & The Meaning uf Life...
And Time & Spice & The Meaning uf Life...

But like I said to the policeman.
Officer it's just Life but probably, not as you know it..
Life...
But probably not as you know it.

I mean you might have some kinda perspective or ideological framework that gives you an insight or some kinda angle on it...
But in general it's proabably not as you know it...
No.............................
Probably not as you know it.........................................................................
The Meaning of `life ... But not as you know it...
The Meaning of `life ...  And some notes on the Space Rhyme Continuum
 But  probably .......
Probably not as you know it .........
Time and Spice...&  The Meaning of Life....
And a whole bunch of stuff...  
But probably not as you know it...

At The Party.

At the party someone left the cake out in the rain
But it rained roses
 Red, white, yellow, tangerine and pink paper like petals
Fluttered in the evening breeze
So nobody noticed
So it didn't really matter
Amidst the language of life, love and laughter
And happy ever after.

Never the less the Avenger
Time stood looking
Over my right-hand shoulder
Talking to me
About the heroic third participant
I mean Me ?
Well I just listened / looked / acted like I understood
Whatever sense I'd have made of it
 At that instant  
At that moment in time
Would have done me equally as good.

I sat lost in thought composing an ode to a transcendent saxophone.  
My memory dressed for the part in an African tie-dye suit
the colour of ...my old school's tie, call it night sky
Add a purple velvet bow-tie and then “Like hey call me ! “
"Call me…"
 "Mr"... Nice guy ...? Me ?

You wore a black dress and a blue aura
As you sat sedately cross legged at the centre of my minds eye
A jive-samba let fly a rare Yusuf Lateef flute solo
You swung bolo
As around your feet yapped a little mutt called Toto

I watched from an upstairs class-room window
Liverpool Collegiate Believe it or leave it
Lattice-work triptych lead-lined diamond glass
Navy-blue stars in the sky
Blurry eyed night class
Mirror from the depths of the past
Vous mon cher, mais oui !  Voyeur at the bottom of sea
Well You did ask
Time flies fast..."But why me ?" the mind boggles
You merely bask.
Your bewilderment buried Like some long forgotten dream
Along with a Blues based grave yard scene
And a picture stolen from the beginning of another college scenario...
Like a like a like a
Vision in stereo
And all I could say was “Yeah ! Yuh know !”

Funeral white flowers
Decorated by a vendetta.
You sang an aria Accompanied by
The photograph of a cello
United powers met the air was mellow
And Je ne regret rien
But then again that was then.
But never again.

Never against my better judgment
For I lost my reputation for good taste
Or was it merely just my taste for good reputation

From a grave-yard scene In New Orleans  
Inscribed in the language of
A visual Batucada
I faded and reappeared
Wearing a sequined harlequin's mask of varying hues
Just in time for the masked ball
Enchanted by your spell
But leaving no clues.
I simply pretend to be amused
By a name that only you would call…

You as precious as a piece of
Antique Afro-Cuban jewelry
And you thought you knew me
But if Love is a pearl then Life is a Creole casserole
Laced with emeralds spiced with ruby.
And if music Truly be the Food of Love
Then let me wear it's multi- coloured Gris-Gris rhythms
As the Jesterley ribbons of my most Sacred Fool’s motley.

Diamond by design my disguise
Became harder
While you triggering a trap
You sprung yourself
Became ensnared as you enraptured
Captured by the coolness
Of the warm-night air
And that something special that made you say
In your own sweetly-unsophisticated yet sadistic way
 “I just don't care.
Trick or Treat / Do or Dare
I’m going to have to go there…
 Where ever it may lead”.

Eyelashes plead
A sigh designs a snare
Silver web spun glistening
Clinging lace embroidered dream
Transparent sanguine chalice spilt
To gild the heart with blood and guilt
Yet neither of us were want to bleed…

Helplessly bound by the derision
Implicit within your wanton decision
I can only listen to your need
And before either of us had time to really take heed...
There you were without a care
Dusky English rose composed of metal petals...
Polished, relaxed, and in full control you settle
As you affect the exotic dialect of an Andalusian muse.
 Fashioning speech from musical notes  that floated
Upwards from an ocean Of Soul.

You underlined the feeling with an ancient wisdom
An obscure logic that I've forgotten now
As much as you had even then.  

I recede submerged in the mystery of your imagination
Low key, quill in hand, oudh at my side, parchment on my knee
 Trying to bridge an affinity
(as an antidote)
 To your pre-minstrel asymmetry
Allowing you to question me
Openly and Freely
I am allowing you to question me openly and freely
But you can not see me clearly
But you still can not see me clearly…
And the sounds you make can only be described as
Give me a word ?
Originally I’d chosen “Uneasy”
Later to be replaced by “Sleazy”.

Merely a line I offer by way of evasive explanation
As I peruse the possibilities
Of a life-time of
Perpetual Lexical Procrastination
An endless serendipitous education

My pockets are empty but my heart is full
But what does it matter if you can not see the moon
Because your ears are dulled
To the Blue Notes of a Marabout from Moorish Spain
Or the Sufi Soul of a Troubadour codex from Aquitaine
Wherein the Name and the Naming
Are always other than the Named
In the Heart of Hearts where all song is plain
Love rains. Love reigns. Love Reigns.

Speaking over my left-hand shoulder at a reflection  
Of the original offender I meander around your innuendoes
To redress a casual yet causal slander As I stake my objection !
"Stay thy hand Avenger ! "Recognize the signs
The Juggling Clown keeps a watch on the time
 Let us not preempt the final designation of roles
For whatever our destinations
A highway-man lays in wait
To way-lay our surest goals.
But this time This time is for fun ! The Music is fine.
And Love's clichés they flow like sparkling wine
The music is fine and Love’s cliches they flow like wine
And the Party's just begun,
The Party's just begun
This Life has just begun…. In This Body.

Seen too many loved ones suffer.
Felt too many loved ones die.
Don’t fear for no hell fire.
Or Desire a Heaven beyond the sky.
I am only concerned with the Here & Now
And with each breath I draw
I am saying Good Bye
I keep on living because I have to
I keep on laughing so that I don’t cry.
Cagey.
In Africa they say the warriors mask is the hardest to take off
You removed mine with no apparent effort what so ever.

Piece by piece or my armour and my armoury fell away
With each memory …Of that moment.

Now I am trapped in this prison I call “Longing”.

Zen Poet.

My stuff was once described as;
“A Litany of Life, Love and Laughter”,
Albeit by myself.
Never the less it remains true to this day.  
As serendipity would have it… I
 once reinvented myself as a Zen poet…
Quite by accident.
Like racou it kind of just happened.

I was seeking out fresh inspiration
And my Uncle Omray Roberts said to me
“Wales man ! Look You ! Wales ! Isn’t it !”.

So I booked a caravan for me and the Mrs in Llanfairpwllgwyngwllwryndrobwynllantsiliogogogoch.

Llanfairpwllglwnngwllwynndrobwnllantsiliogogogoch
What a wonderful town there’s a train station, pub, a church, and public phone box. The name stretches out till the next train stop.
So nice they were gonna name it twice
Until one of the committee suggested that
They may have actually done that already.

And as my beloved and me strolled through leafy glades.
I was tuning into the crazy improvisations of the wind in the trees, and the babbling brooks…
My beloved turned to me and says
“Why did you bring me here ? You know I don’t do outdoors.”
But I couldn’t hear her.
The inspiration of being amongst Nature was filling me up
With creative Chi energy…
And I said to her; “Babe your eyes are like a mystic ocean”
And as if she could feel the Kundalini energy rising up in me …
Call it telepathy
Call it Women’s intuition
Call it Zen
Call it Drishti
Call it a Joycian epiphany
Call it an indescribable moment of Jungian synchronicity
Call it what you will…
She looked me in the eye and whispered in her own inimitable way
“You’re really full of it tonight aren’t you “.
It was a rhetorical question.
No need for a question mark.
I just thought.
 “What it is ! Is what it is baby !”.
Kismet.

And as I was strolling along crooning “Llanfairpwllgwyngwllwryndrobwynllantsiliogogogoch a hell of a town baddap bap-bap barra barra badaap !”.
I was having trouble  trying to make it scan as a song
 So in the end I just wrote;
 “I was in Llanfairpwllgwyngwllwryndrobwynllantsiliogogogoch”.
Scrapped the song idea, and just called it a haiku.
My first haiku and it was mostly in Welsh, “How cool’s that ?”.
Actually it was closer to a Senryu than a haiku.
But like hey who’d know outside of Japanese literary circles.
Apart from yours truly ofcourse.

And that’s what tipped me over into the Zen headspace.
Just one Senryu / oblique stroke / Haiku
An inspired act that was no more than a spontaneous reaction
To the exasperatingly long name of the place we were staying in.

Never the less it turned out to be  just one Zen moment too many.
From then it was a slippery slope.
My poetry just got more and more minimal.

As I ambled through woodland glade I spotted this gnarled-up old oak tree
Roots all matted like a six month old set of weave extensions.
 And I thought “Oh mighty Oak !”.
And I waited for the next line to come, but it never came.
And  I thought that’s all I need to say.
That says it all. I see it now …  “Oh mighty Oak !”

It was like another Joycian epiphany.
There was a Basho-like succinctness to the whole expression
Like it had truly been a product of no-mind.
And from that one non-thought my career as a Zen poet was born.
 I called that first Zen Tree poem ‘Ode to an Old Oak tree’.

After that it was like I’d hit on a formula.
By the time we got back to the B&B
I’d composed my first slim volume of Zen minimalist tree poems.
Entitled ‘Trees I have Known and Loved’,
 Which I published under the pen name Wu Wei.

Then there was the wantonly alliterative ‘Ode to a Willow tree’;
“Oh ! Willow weeping Willow. Wimp of the woodland glade”.
A tad verbose in comparison
But as a John Clarian homage it kinda worked
As I thought it cameoed my sensitive side.

Then I was inspired with the controversial ‘Ode to a Pine Cone’;
 ’“Oh pine ! Fresh pine ! “.
That was  the one people said sounded a bit commercial.
And that was the one that Jeyes Cleaning Fluid tried to sue me over.
In the end they agreed to settled out of court.

Then after witnessing some wayward scallies
Wantonly tossing coke cans
Into a pristine crystal stream.
 I was inspired with ‘Ode to the Birch’
Which was truly mystical
Given that there were no birch trees in plain sight
It just seemed appropriate at the time.
It went ;
“ Oh Birch !  Bring back the birch”.  

A well known literary critic
Who shall remain nameless
Accused the poem of betraying an excess of Yang energy in its composer.
My response was ‘Ode to a Birch part Two’:
The Big Yin version;
“ Oh Birch. Beautiful yet brutal. You brute U. You Beaut U.”

Then there was the Rumiesque perplexity of ‘Ode to a Yew Tree’.
A veritable palindrome of a poem that reads the same backwards;
 “Yew ! U yew U ! Yew !”.
One critic accused it of being over simplistic.
I bumped into him once at a poetry festival
And all I could think to say to him was:
“Why you ! You ! YOU !”
A reviewer of my slim volume of Zen tree Poems
Writing for the Zen Weekly described my work as ;
“The art of Writing Poetry, that is Not Writing Poetry”.
 A seemingly ambiguous statement, but one which in that context I was quite pleased.

 


So What If I Did ?

Ted Joans playing his trumpet
In the sultry heat of the Sahara Desert sun
Under an African sky so beautifully bright
And so radiantly Blue
On his way to a place that only he knew.

The imaginary images his words drew
Were a seminal text for my homies and me
Who’d inspire each other
Each time we’d meet.
With various ideas how we could eventually be free.

We’d have our own Black Pow Wow
In Kif and Jayne’s flat on Bold Street.
The autonomous space where
We ’d let our create energies compete.
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

Exploring who were once were
Who we were about to become
Delado Ancestral Dance and Drum
School of Africa
The Helper has come.
Young lions feeling our ire
Irey rising no time for despising
Just meaningful socialising.
Peace Love and Unity
Spiced up with a bit of Punk Anarchy
Rocking Against Racism
In the New Wave UK
Everything was out in the open
Nothing was ever hid.
And We Loved every moment of it
So What if we did ?

Pre Mystic Rhythm Society
More Mandingo Griot Society
As much as the Seminole Indians
Ted was there in my teens.
Helping me – we –us all peacock preen
Keeping our hearts full of hope
And our young Soul’s clean
Ted’s poems were part of us
At the heart our cultural scene.
Eyes ears and tongues
Continously creating dreams.
And I Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

Ted wrote about the Tantric eroticism
Of silently meditating
On his woman’s leopard print panties
Hanging on the clothes horse to dry
Nothing we didn’t all at some point do
I mean what a dude what a guy.
Travelling by plane on foot and via canoe
From Times Square to Timbuctu.
His Afrocentric Beat poet’s pen
Always coming out with something
Marabout, Dervish and Zen.

Prose so profoundly real
Something we could all intensely feel
Something ancient and at the same time
Something radically new.
Years later I got me a saxophone
And I just let it all rip
To hell with it I was young
I was so incredibly hip
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

A man of his extraordinary place and time
Subliminally always at the back of my emerging mind
Helping me to discover explore express and unwind
Invent unwravell digress and redesign
What would eventually become
Something that was
Mine all mine

I played my E flat Irish whistle high up in the bell tower
Of the Anglican cathedral
To test the acoustics and amuse
My classically trained basoon playing muse
Partner accomplice and excellent pirate wench

On our way to roof to get a better look
At the flat we were shacked up
On Gambia Terrace
Where the intrepid Pirate Queen
Shared the rent with Pretty Polly
Pass times like playing Twister were a big hit
Nothing implicitly seedy in the arrangement
We just liked taking the risks for the fun of it.
Oh how the other half lived
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

The Sacred and the Profane
All in the same vein
A multiplicity of Approaches
Oshun and the Virgin Mary
Such is the African way.
Not a stereotype
Not a race industry hype
A lived experience
That sometimes made you wince
Existential Spirituality
A Gri-gris griot
With a Black Beatnik flow
And don’t you know
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

And you my Malayan Betty Boo
Looked so amazingly cute
In your pearl grey Chinese suit
That day in Otterspool
So inscrutable so charismatic so cool.

I took shots of you on my phone
Drooled at them all the way home
As you drove I dove deeper
Kept a shot of your sweet smiling face
For my screen saver so I could savour
The after taste of the magic of the moment
The Bliss of being
In the right time at the right place.

Bought an LFC badge from an old dear
In the Harvester where had a cuppa
Or was it coffee.
That bit is not that clear.
Somewhat lacking in clarity
You chided me over my soft nature
I thought it was merely charity.
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

Took photos of your fancy drawz on my duvet
Cos the colours really worked.
A consolation prize as you wouldn’t let me
Photograph you in them.
I can imagine you now wearing a grin
Or is it a grimace. So demeur.

So centred so self assured.
I can only concede as heartily
My licentious libido is sadly ignored.
As I applaud your tantalising
Promise by way of a reluctant retort.
Even now I can hear
Echoes of Ted Joans as  I bemoan
The life and times of an African Fetish man
Again my dearest therapist and friend.
I never loose sight of the delights I’ve seen
Nor worry about how the journey ends.
Loved every moment of it
So What if I did ?

 

 

 


Red Scars

I've just been to see the play
Zumbi
And it's all about Binary opposition
Black V. White.

I'm sitting there with a can of Red Stripe
And a Lamb Pasanda
in a waterlogged
shit-hole of
a privately rented
flat.

A post-storm experience...

A storm that flooded my flat
And half filled my upturned congas
With rain water.

A storm that I missed
Cos I was in Lincoln at the time.

And I'm thinking about the play
and I'm looking at myself
and I'm thinking I'm Red.

White is alright it belongs here
Black is hip if your into that trip

But...
Red bwoy
It's neither one nor the other
in an
either / or
situation
that isn't yet hip to the
and / also
rule of infinite variation.

Its neither here nor there.

I'm just an insignificant Red.

A dull Brown colour
In a world of binary opposition...


The Feather.

There was a feather floating down,
A piece of down, fluffy, white.

Softer than snow, heavier than a cloud.

A feather
From the tail of a dove
Or the wing of an Angel.

I look up at the sky…
Smiling.

And at the centre of all existence there is a Silence.
Jack

Jack came over from San Francisco along with David Meltzer
and Peter Plate. He was an active member of the American Communist Party and did time after time from the fifties, through the sixties, and seventies for his political beliefs.
Now he edited a broad based Left-Field magazine called Left Curve.
He also Translated dissident poetry into English from eight different languages including French Creole, Spanish, Italian and Hatian Patoise.

About a douzen other writers and myself are sat around a table at the Wordhoard in Huddersfield being prepared to write a headshot... A headshot is a stream of consciousness... With Jack it's an exercise that follows about three hours of discourse on projecting the inner-dimensions of the self onto the page.

It's an Indian Summer as they say, 1996. I arrive in Hudds via Cardiff, London, Lincoln, Bristol, Manchester, York, Leeds and Liverpool. It's been along Summer. I'm hyped, restless... But full of expectations.
The state of mind is more of an exercise in "feel good".

I actually feel wounded but on the mend. It's a long story .
You probably wouldn't wanna know.
And anyway at least I feel alive.

I sample and construct my own thoughts around the bassline of Jacks theme...
This anchors the tempo of the groove...
My own personal demons drive the rhythm.
My blood fllows red in my viens...
The pulse kicks ...
Jack begins the ritual healing...
"Replenished from the roots...

Living as a juggler I leap through lifes hoops / Keeping open all the possibilities/ Compelled by
the Future".

The sounds of my Soul... Streamline what sense I make of all this.
And I am propelled by the sutures in my torn sense of human dignity.
But this also is bliss.

"Control...Is...Is......."
So important...
At this point being who I am...

That which I am
Fool seems a good word although I am loath to admit it

Still something inside me seems to know that
the insolence of the Clown purifies and liberates !

Jack... Ofcourse I understand You...
And in a lot of ways I am you... In a lot of ways.
But at present at this moment... At this point in time... I am... more me...
 I mean I'm a Born again Beatnik...from the darkside of Beat City...
The South side...

To me the future isn't always… Isn't always... Insured ?
Insured ? Me ? Moi ? Ha ha ! I'm a predator that sometimes fall prey to pretty superficialities and such as would make warriors weep.

Still... That is ...... I know what your saying and its what I believe in. In part...
...It's what I need to hear... A future ... Open to whats coming... Yeah !

The future thing... Possibilities The beginning of the future... Something new.
Could this be...? I mean unbeknown to you I'm at a place
Where....... I'm starting new.......

The sense of the future-  Jack preaches "Hope" I like that

"The future belongs to poor people/poets/and players of instruments " Jack says...

I like that too... "Poetry is the future"...  says Jack
"The Perfume of my poverty" he adds echoing The Prophet Muhammad Al Mustafa (Sallallahu allihi wa salaam).

It's also the fresh air of my here and now...

"Je suise trés desolé mon chér
c'est ne pas ma faute...
Il est de l'ambiance. Oui ?
Ma petite fleur
Vous-avez demandé la musique ne quité pas""

Even though at some point in the future
I will reconcile all the madness with the
Idea...
The Idea / Le bonne idee'.

I mean lets see...
We discuss Pablo Neruda's... Postman
Postman Pat Postman Pat and his Black & White Cat...
And I appear to be the only Black and White cat in a hat that would buzz
On a stupid rhyme like that
So I drop it...

In the future I will write a brief socio-historical note on
Black Devotional Music
 and the
Survival, and Transmission of an African Islamic Spirituality
Amongst the Post-Trans-Atlantic Slavery Diaspora.
I was deep back then or so I thought
At the time.

 But for now
Jack says I gotta get to
The me... Beyond the poet... poetics... poetries... poetry...

The people on the street and in the clubs and cafés pubs and bars and bistros and snakepits and sleazy dives alehouses art spaces theatres and open spaces the public spaces
That I inhabit are all actively poetic...

Everybodies a poet, an MC, a DJ or a comedian...
Potentially...pumping out prosaic prophecies pulsating with pleas for Peace...
And Please Baby please !
The Blues being a reflection of the ...
Hearts intoxication with that which is ultimately Toxic.

Gestures-The way we move through life-Our relations with others....
People are poetic...We exude poetry...All of us in our own Way...
Especially when we are comfortable enough to feel at liberty...
To talk freely...
"Are we free to talk ?"

Surfing on the rhythm now...
Opposing the vainglorious superficialities of serfdom...
As seen from above...We swerve... I've got a free-style swerve on...
A Lyrical extension of something else...
A Rap thing kicking with a swing of inspiration...
A little bit Weeerrrrhhh ! A little bit Woooaaahhh !

"Is this a statement or the mere recollection of a particular situation...
How can we as Black people create a statement for the nation
whose nation..." From the Beat-generation to the Hip-Hop Nation
How do we separate nation from state
and state from race... The race from guns... I'm on a run or Am I... On the run?

Jack is urging us to confront our spectres.
the ones that are haunting us here now.
It happens to be part of my philosophy but I hold back
After all it's jack's workshop.
I make notes and take quotes...

As a simple man...
As the basic underlying principle
Like anybody in my position
I am a... Blues Print.

Oooooooh! Wooo Woo-woo yeah !

Our music is our mother tongue.

A protagonist of antagonistic assumptions...
To some... Certain revelations coming into fruition.
I'm grooving on Jack's intro... The inspiration kicks in...
It's a Jazz dirivitive...
There's a Blackman's vibe in it...
diggin' the flow
There I go...There I go there I go...
I go there...

He speaks the group ...Sparks them !

"Love is the ground of human existence.
Equality is being equal in another's eyes..."

My thoughts drift to you... Babe...You were always
White is right in relation to me... My ex-lover... X-rated
Whatever... I can hear Ricki Lake and Montel both saying in unison ...
"Don't even go there !"
So I don't
But like some San Francisco Shaman from the Sixties Beat haven Jack or is it Jazz now... Draws out our demons of rage and traps them on the page.
I can just see him in the Sixties getting arrested for chanting "Out Demons! Out !" Outside the White House burning the Stars & Stripes
In the name of the strugglin classes.

But you. You were allways a class above most people in your own mind's eye...
Even your own folks.

It wasn't your fault ... Isn't your fault... Your background
Your culture is so fundamentally flawed with delusions of grandeur.

Love is...
Being equal in another's eye's... And... I think of you...
And how you could never really have...or How could you ever really have...
Cold you...
(a typographical error... It seems apt so I leave it in tact)
End of sentence.
Full stop.
New paragraph...stanza  / wharever...

What I meant to say was... Could you ever have?
Maybe... Once... Yeah maybe once... Once upon a time...Right ?
And a big fat 'Maybe... Right Baby ?
"Don't go there !" warns Ricki.
"My Nigga Please !" says Montel forgetting his training.

"All poetry is love poetry.
All poems a love poem".
Jack's words...

Short simple statements that I edit.
Short statements to be shot down..
By your ill informed verdict...
Lover. The word stings my lips.

"And Love is... the most dangerous  form of politics that there is..."
My words...

But I know I'll get over it. It's just a question of time.
Jack chants for us to excede our limitations of expression.
 And we do.
Each in our way.
Each according to our measure.
As is The Way.

"What underlies this is the future.
Sometimes we have to fight for the future"
Jack's words...
My sentiments...

Ok human nature is by it's very definition is a contradiction of sorts.
A Yin & Yang thang
A play of opposites ...
Your more of a confrontation addict in an inconclusive
Wild Whirl of a World... Wind of change...

What I produce isn't as bitter as it tastes to some people.
It's just that in my Rap years I elevated "Dissin" to a high-art form.
I was an evil bastard. I've mellowed out sort of.

"Roots R.O.O.T.S. to Routes R.O.U.T.E.S."
A theme I've explored before in my own way, interesting that it should pop up
Today...
She told me she was from the School of Synchronicity...
Her madness made me so horney...
But like hey ! Thats poetry and poetry is life or is it Jazz or just cerebral jizzum...
Am I right ? Come! Come!  ... or is it or just "How come ?"
" You betcha !" says the Beathead at the back of my mind not even listening...
But Bucking up some Bravado just in case.

Jack or is it Jazz Now... Speaks
"Thought for the day...
Bazookoed by Etymology"

It's intense I escape into a moment of delerium as I day-dream
At a tangent to the main theme.
If you de-pun Finnegan's Wake you get Shakespeare
If you pun on de Shakespear you get Shakka's Spear.
Elizabethan English..Language...Echoic...
Liverpool Echo...Echo !...Echo !...

Shakespear was a Sufi poet.

Symptom's of a Jazz attack or just Jack's workshop
He's triggering people left-right- & centre...

Naming words that have existed inside us...
Words we have never done anything with...

The room is pulsating with energy.

"Delerius trees of delerio dendron" says Jack

Rhododendrons and their wildly uncontrollable roots
Something you taught me about babe... I remember...
 Remembering... Reborn... Into the pain...
 Pursuing Pleasure... Reborn...replenished...
Beginning a new I remember...You.
(Frank Ifield eat your heart out).......

What are your favorite words: Je Jeune says "Jack"...
J is for ...JaZZ
Jack speaks and it all sounds like poetry.
Kinda Jazzy Kinda flowy... Kinda yuh knowy...
Then he makes a reference to me
"Muhammad-Eugene has just finished his masters..."
A map reference...pour moi...

Something that marks the instance...
This moment...
This point in time.

My assault on academia merely an act of rebelion for me...
A move against those... or that which would keep the likes of me down...
In ideological captivity...intrinsically...
Those who would arrest my developement... restrict my growth...cramp my mobility
Not of any premeditated sense of malice merely in order to fulfill
A self fulfilling prophecy of their own...

Back to you babe...
Ricki throws her arms around Montel. Hugs him.
He kisses her on the forehead. They watch with bated breath.

Yeah baberrr ! back to where your at..
Where you are...
Where your coming from...
Where are you ?
Love and all that...Love and All that...Good stuff... The where you are the town your in all making new meaning for you... But what ?

We name things... Sometimes.. You can't... Sometimes.. It's not possible...
Sometimes we need more than the sounds of words...
Still we name things...
From out of something... that is naturally a part of us.

"The ether of intelligence".

Something Jack sees in the English...
He includes me in "the English" as he tells us this...
He's out to destroy that which he sees as The English in us...
This assists me in agreeing with him... In part...

"The
revelations
of
rationality
reduced
to
rants
of
reductio-absurdum
at times".

Stuff like this starts flying around the room.
I catch some of it and decide to decypher it later.

As memory energizes... mysteriously mesmerises...
Me, Jack, Aggie, the posse...
We...take off on a Dyonesian Odyssey...
Appolonian in its abstraction...
A bardic sumtin'...cathartic in its contradictions...
Total... Tao Oneness ! Tauhid ! Tewahado !

Jack goes off on one. He's like an MC Freestyling in Kabbalah
Springing something loose from the juice... touching those chords...
It gets kinda X-Filey

"Voices/Beacons/ Pressing forward/the stress that is the tension/ of time travel...
Antennae will emerge spirit time travelling from the 20th Century
to the 21st Century " Beacons of spiritual... insight and forsight...""
Jack's words...

"In the light of that which is dark...That which will not go away..."Mine...

All of us... We work in combination...
Like linguistic sextractions
Hands on ambiguity
French symbolism
Oral realism
Pump action poetry...
Defying the all too real gravity of The Situation.

It gets incestuous.
I'm trying to sort some baggage from a recently deceased relationship...
As mentioned...
And I bask in the warmth ...
And the temporary closeness.
Rebound Therapy I call it.
This time I don't think of you.
This time I think of somebody I met briefly in Cardiff.
Montel & Ricki are my case. Who was it ? I
t doesn't matter who it was.  
The soap opera stagnates.

"The real energy of poetry...
To place yourself in that which is already...
Fighting... for existance...
Literature... In the accepted sense...
Of the word...
That is traditionally...
 In terms of... that which is considered to be...
The literate in an academic sense...
I must add...
Is dead...
or at least held in bondage by leather bound bookworms of distinction..."

It starts to get a little bit anal...
Liberate these brothers and sisters from the
Vainglorious egotism...that they parade as valour...
I think to myself as I imagine...
Veiled references to our voluptuous revelries
Baby...as you burn remember to tell your aid de camps.
Air conditioned graceless associates that I have premonitions
Relating to your collusions with the fundamentally flawed aristocracy
Of snake nobility and fake sensibilities.

I spit out poison sucked from out of the wound where I was bitten.
Ricki & Montel are fucking at this point, but ever so discretely.
The yanks love this kinda thing.

The real energy of Poetry belongs to those who are
Hungry for it...
Hungry equals angry...
And I make no apologies for the taste of my rage if its flavour is bitter
On the back... of your throat... Then swallow.
For callow as I am I would not like you to choke...
Compassion is at the heart of my rage
As I spill the seed of my wrath onto this pristine
Ever so clean sanitized page.
Why-tear than white...

"I purge my soul of any adulterous allegiance to any flag..." says Jack
Or have I just made that bit up.
It doesn't matter at this point.
The heat is blistering.
I howl at the moon...The one you love to dance with...
Listen !...
They're playing with our song...
Ofcourse not like we did... cello... basoon... flute and ofcourse darabukka...
I sing Bobby McFerrin's version of  Van Morrison's Moon dance.
In a polyphony of oscillating keys that were really just
The Key of X ...
And we danced...

A red scarf tied to the end of my lance...
 As I ride towards...
As if I knew...
You don't know what you gonna do...
And here I am talking as if anyone knew...
What they were gonna do..
Let me try to articulate...
Saying...Trying...Saying...
Trying...to get to the Heart...
of the Total dimensions of emotion...
Jacks quest. the exercise he has set.

Jack throws in some more stuff...
"The confrontation of possibility.
The possibilities of confrontation.
Look at my page...I am that page...
Something upon which you can project yourself.
A field of energy.
A construct.
A place where a transferance of energy
Continually takes place...
Supposed you looked at the page..."

Poetry is the language of the Human Heart...
And this is where the Soul lives...
But "always keep one door closed” said Aggie...
I have to agree...
I know people who have bled to death from such folly...
As the wearing of sleeves that expose too much tenderness...

After all anticipation is said "to be 90% of the pleasure in sex"...
Adds Jack...
And the Heart that rages against injustice... Does so in whatever it does...
and it is most sincere when raging on it's own behalf...
This to me is common sense...
Of sorts...Isn't it...I mean tell me if it isn't...

Aggie says "The rage is what's interesting"
"Reading the newspapers is like reading the Thieves Journal" says Jack “The dialogue is what's interesting.
Male and female/internal and external Yin and Yang”.
"Love, sexuality and socialism" says Jack...
"India rubber ball" replies Aggie...
This is poetry...
There is melody in it...
Sibilance...
A music.
"If your a poet your in love with sound" says Jack ...
I agree in my own mind...

He continues...
"I was driving along with Aggie and she says...she likes to do something with Jazz. Sing!...Move with Jazz...""Where is the Jazz is England"
Jack asks...
"I know !" I think to myself...
“You've mentioned it already ...You've mentioned where...”

We break for coffee...Aggie fills my cup...Well nearly...
I get up to add milk and sugar
Fragmenting the group... Seep... into the room where the coffee is...
As we all break for coffee...
"Is this lunch or coffee break" asks Charlie...
Who has been writing but is too shy to show her thoughts...
Tortured the expression on her face...
I am  curious...
She looks...Serious...Silent...Still...
As she pensively persues a memory
Studious as she peruses her page of confrontation...
Her projected spectre of rage...
We are here now...The struggle continues...
My words come to me...
The ones I don't do
enough with...
A luta continua...The struggle continues...
Is...
A small one after the word "Is ! " indicates a footnote.
I shift my gaze to the accompanying footnote and read...
It says... Sulook
"Journey Home". The Tape Blues.

Yeah ! Free me up... Talking 'bout the Tape.
I need to talk about this tape bro !

The Tape was crushed ice in a desperate situation
The mystical warmth of mountain-top meditations.
It was no hesitation / Shere dedication
It even had a version for the radio station.

I mixed in screams and gunshots from the television.
Scene's from the razor's edge and some split decisions.
It was a panoramic vision / under special supervision
Laced with various sardonic shades of man on a mission.

The Tape was Slick ! The Tape was Baad !
The shit on that Tape was where it's at !
The Tape was dope ! The Tape was fly !
The underground shit that you just can't buy !

It was a hardcore tone from a dodgey postal zone.
A subliminal text set in skull and crossbones.
It was a rhythmic ride run on dignity and pride.
It was the might of the Mersey swelling at full tide.

And the nearer it got to it's main objective.
All generic criteria became ineffective.
As the Tape honed in on it's main directive.
It was totally unique and subconjective.

The Tape was Slick ! The Tape was Baad !
The shit on that Tape was where it's at !
The Tape was Dope ! The Tape was Fly !
The Underground shit that you just can't buy !

The Tape was the day / the Tape was the night
From the darkness of the Tape showed forth the light.
Words that burst the bubble of bourgoise illusion.
Bringing clarity to inarticulate confusion.

The tape was impolite with a beat that bites
It was a blue light that self-ignites.
It was raw rocket fuel uncut and crude.
It was infuriating up to the point of rude.

The Tape was Slick ! The Tape was Baad !
The shit on that Tape was where it's at !
The Tape was dope ! The Tape was fly !
The underground shit that you just can't buy !

The tape was laced with the light of nothing left to loose.
The realisation that everybody got the right to choose.
Like the rage in the veins of the underdog's struggle.
The type of Blues that talks itself in and out of trouble.

The Tape was chanting, romancing, Spirit dancing
Midnight prancing and Ocean glancing...
Cos the Tape was deep and the Tape was fizzy
The Tape was busy, and the Tape was dizzy.
It even had a verse about my Aunty Lizzie.

With a Hi-brow glow / And a Lo-brow diss.
There was never a session that kicked like this.
But someone left the Tape out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
Cos it jammed-up when I tried to play it
And I'll never vibe that flavour-flow again.
Oh No !

That's why I gotta talk about the Tape my brother...
I gotta talk about the Tape... Cos....

The Tape was Slick ! The Tape was Baad !
The shit on that Tape was where it's at !
The Tape was dope ! The Tape was fly !
The underground shit that you just can't buy !

The Tape was Slick ! The Tape was Baad !
The Scallywag shit was where it's at !
The Tape was dope ! The Tape was fly !
The underground shit that you just can't buy !


Know Him.

Know Him by His names
Know Him by His attributes
Only Hearts unveiled
Yearn to know His inner Truths.

Know Him by how much He cares
Know His Love is Every where
Keeping your heart soft and warm, you
Feel His loving light transform you.

Know Him in your heart of hearts
Know Him where all journey starts
Only hearts in pain
 Strive to reach His Inner truths.

Know Him as your heart’s desire
Know the passion love inspires
Remembrance in your hour of need
Through God’s love is how we’re freed.

 

Kew Gardens Sufi Arts Fest.

The time has come for Love
The time has come for Unity

Al Wadud wa al Hubb wa al Ishq !

For the Ummah-The Community-The Sufis
Are here fr all to see
They come from all Humanity
Every racial divide every taste every country
From continental shelves and village streets
Islamic creativity and it’s all free
Exotic Fresh Prosaic and Pretty
Love wins roses for the inner city jinns
Hearty laughs and toothy grins
The rhythms of Eternity
Spires without enmity
Without enmity…

The time has come for Love
The time has come for Unity

Al Wadud wa al Hubb wa al Ishq !

 

 

Prelude to a Pirate Utopia.

When such obscure compositions as Erwinn Schulhoff's
'Bass Nighting gale' have become househld names
And everybody is familiar with the sound of the Berimbau
Or the bongo mix of Rule Brittania
When little old ladies in Victorian tea rooms share tales of off-beat-off the wall Jazz Griots and Pirate Utopias
Over a cup of the finest blend
And illegitimate pidgeon-holesare avoided
Like the farcical roles most often acted out
By and in the stiflingly solubrious
Dystopias of the sub-urban mind.

Here we will find our poetry / our ar t/ our culture / our past and future.
In the most unexpected of places.
The most unexpected of places.

From the savannah grasslands of West Africa
 To the wastelands of the UK Jazz diaspora.
In the compacted / callapsed time zone of an as of yet unknown head-space.
An as of yet enigmatic emission
Emanating from what we could call the urban present
 If we we're to be so glib, so clich·
So kitch...

The... or is it A Place beyond the vacuous, and the vacuum
Of all that we wantonly consume
In our quest for access to the excess of the getting-wilder/ West..
An ideological  vacant lot / an attitude that seperates the haves and the have nots...
A time / A place / Where...and When the concept of identity has become a...Redundancy...So they say so they would have us believe...
History a thing of the past...or so they say
And... culture a place where recycled signs are distilled /
And seasoned to taste...

On MTV an illiterate minstrell sings dayglow in an American accent...while on another channel all natural colour is drained and refined to a toned down pastel.
As Europe Unites...White on White.

Here you will find my name spray canned on a museum wall in matt-black...scratched across a Picasso with a cuticle remover or carved in the frame of a Tintoretto...with an Apache arrow head.
Somewhere in the Louvre.
Quelle bon idea.

Here you will feel my presence in the room.
Smell the sweet, almost acrid fragrance of sandalwood perfume.
Hear my voice attempt an atonal Jazz tune.
"A Love Supreme! A Love Supreme! A Love Supreme"
Allah Supreme !

More power than a panther far sweeter than song
Perfume for the soul makes the heart grow strong.
Let me wear the Zen inherent in the Izness of it all as a ceremonial sarong
For... performing my Tai Chi after a cup of Cardommon Tea.

You may see my face peering from out of the shadows
And possibly if it is in your nature trace the cause of my inertia
...before its too late.

In the subliminal depths of this semiotic underground / somewhere
Amidst the congealed entrails of the industrial revolution and the fossilized remains of The Empire...
New origins...will have emerged...have and will emerge...are emerging...
Merging...
Soulful Survivors thriving and Emerging from…
Beneath the bearucratic Cracker excrement of the trans-Atlantic slavetrade.
Free formed redefined and warm.

Liked micro-waved food-but more normal
The sweat from a rave but more formal...
Organically growing out of the inevitably changing energy of the mass.
Organically growing out of the inevitability of change.
Originating amongst the misplaced plagiarisms of imperialist-poppy cock.

Popularist haut couture coerced into a meaningless melange of purile propaganda .
Reducing all potentially progressive protagonisms to a pap
To pad out the pay-packets and pockets of the puppeteering perpe-traitors
Of an impotently penis pulling pop-culture. OhYeah !

In the red nosed glow of a rose coloured dawn
 Thorns
Decorating the horizon of traditional awareness
Like the Gypsy tents of... Neocentric Nomads.
Nomads from Womad
 Eclectic souls with esoteric tastes.
A Saturnalian-Mardi Gras in the Greenwood
 The Life Quest continually caught up in life's carnival essence.
Carnivalessence ?  Hey !  Carnivalesque flow !

Cultural mutations playing as they multiply in hearts and minds of
Sincere Souls plying their art
Into a rainbow of infinite variety a bouquet of human possibility.
An evolutionary overflow of Omni relational I.D.'s.

Transcending the tedium and the terror of their t.v.sets
Secure only in the knowledge of all that is inevitable
 An idea whose time has come to pass.
It all warps the clarity of the vision once it has been in the hands of men for a while...
This is reality my sisters and brothers...And it doesn't try and be anything it just is...What it is...

What it is. Its not that easy to say...
Its not that easy to see...You can not describe or see...The invisible pregnancy of all that could be.......waiting to be born...All that is waiting to take form...
In an anti-natal World/ where the only genetic norm is/ has ever been  mixed race...Origins filed under/ difficult to trace...or belonging to everbody...For as the Redman says “We are all related..........................................”

My country is a place where words like 'Purity' become synonymous with 'Plastic'
And the average voice melts...into a fractal of Creoles, patoises, the N-Word and
Other outlawed linguistic devices / slangs / back slangs / bagarrah gaygack-slaygangs/ argots/ and colloquial twangs that ring with the attitude of dissent...
Decolonised accents  become as sacro-sanct...as be-bop scat...hip-hop and rap they go on & on & on & on & they don't stop...
Interbreeding...
A place where meaning is ebullient / eloquent in it's elasticity / erudite in its absurdity...the only absolute / being one of eccentricity...
And language / language leads / language leads...only to where you believe you can go...
A time when it becomes self evident that the past was a figment of someone elses imagination..............................................

From this cascading waterfall of cultural diversity
This salsa of miscegenation
A nation within and beyond the present limits of the allowed scope for imagination.

and the struggle to impose meaning...................................................
"A Love Supreme A Love Supreme A Love Supreme A Love Supreme A Love Supreme A Love Supreme..."

Angel.

Whatever had been hanging in the air
between us
imploded
leaving a vacuum
that drew us
into the same
space...

Blinded
I traced the symetry
of your face
the Grace...

Of Him whose beauty glorifies the rose... triangles softened by curves...

There is an elegance in the fall of Autumn leaves.

The Spark
the Chemistry was there from the first eye contact...
I could feel it.
There is an elegance in the fall of your hair.


The air crackled between us...
streaks of silver and gold flashed fissures in the surrounding atmosphere.

Before I knew it my lips
were suspended inches from an Angelic face.
Crackling electric.

But words escaped me...

The vision I beheld blew away all mind...

All meaning leaving only a feeling
of lightening...

A rumble like distant thunder.

Your essence filled my imagination  
now swollen from the dancing of invisible energies.

As a safety measure
I siphen off the excess emotional content of my heart
into the flask of poetry.

My dreams sizzling into the moonlight darkness.


Spooks

You may notice...
It may seem dhat we are dancing...
To an inaudible beat...
But what you see is feet dragging...
held back by invisible chains...
aching feet slowed down by invisible
lanes...

Invisible Diasporans...
Doing our own perculiarly  
Invisible... Ghost Dance...

Apparitions and spectres scream for mercy
In apparantly inaudible zombie tongues.

Tongues tied to a commodified stammer
Doomed to be spoken in a disposable manner.
Our sense of self ethnicly cleansed
Of any meaning that may be relevant to us.
Now that's spooky !

Invisible Diasporans...
It may seem dhat we are dancing.

 

Rumba Love.
What makes Cuban music
some of the best red hot
music in the world ?

Let's articulate eloquently
at the speed of rhythm ,
the sensuality of sound...

And when we can do that
then we will know.

Blue Light.

Light Upon Light
Deep within the Silence unfolds
Forever young
Forever old.

Shining Soul Fire
Akin to and kindling
Of a burning desire

The Light that can only enter a heart
Through Love’s wound.
Encapsulated in sound.
Whatever goes around comes around.

Beyond the Long Night of the Soul
A sunlight far more radiant than gold
Lays beneath the half that’s never been told.


 Sacred Space.

Let me ignite the incense / Clear the Sacred Space
Sweet fragrance rising / Caressing your face
Slowly dance the hours / Sewing their own seeds
Such delightful flowers / Memories like these.

You Free me…Mama Cita… Oyo ! Mi Corezone !
You Free me…Mama Cita… Cuidado ! Mi Corezone !
You / Free / Me !

In Otterspool Park / Deep roots meditation
My sincerest regards / Grace of sweet inspiration
Just your breath as my rhythm / Making time stand so still
Purple heart black ribbon / Call it love’s transcendent will

You’re like Ocean –Glancing… You’re like Mid-night-Prancing…
You’re like Deep Space-Trancing…You’re like JaAaAaazZz Dancing…
Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah !

In the depths of each heart beat / The shelter of Agape’s Shrine
Nothing left to complete / The golden sunlight pines
Let me build you an altar / You can recite your own myths
I’ll try to make it so beautiful / That you just love it to bits.
You / Free / Me !

Addicted.

Giving up all my addictions was easy enough
Because nothing gets me as high as you
But when I tried to give you up
I was 70,000 shades of Blue.

Air

Breathin'
the air of another
time...

Of reality
sewn together
with dreams...

Remembrance
reinforceing
the seems...
Emphasis on the Word Play.

Here I am on dhe  dictaPhone
Struggling wid  dhis Problem  Poem
I call it Problem Poem  becosz
I often Play at aPPlying my Poetry tuh Problem solveing.......

I often Prosletize my various attemPts at Preaching
in ways dhat Ideem accessible
and indeed
interestin' enuff for PeoPle tuh not only wanna lissen too
But Possibly graPPle wid
Yes graPPle as in  'ScraPPle feh de APPle'.

I often Play arra politics wid a small 'p'...
Dhat is a Politics dhat is tied uP wid deh Personal in so much as deh Personal involves PeoPle
And all Politics is in one way or annudder is about PeoPle and Power relationshiPs between PeoPle whedder we're tawkin' grouPs uf PeoPle or just 'One on One '.

Dhis has led me tuh thinkin'
Dhat all deh answers tuh all deh forever elusive questions
dhat we Pose about 'us & dhem"
And 'dhem & dhose' are sumhow inextricably tied uP wid human beings
And wot makes dhem tikk.

Not Politics as such or
any kind uf Polemics
Just People and dher antics
Yuh know dhe kinda things dhat
PeoPle get uP too
Dheir Party tricks.

Sumtimes I think dhat deh best Preacher
is deh stand-uP comic.......
But dhen again won has tuh considder context
which brings us around to acumen
Political and social
cultural and notional
a joke or a Poem
dePending on dhe PeoPle
ids always quite oPtional
I Mean....
Peter PiPer
Picked a Peck
uf
Pickled PePPer Corn ...

Didn't he  ?  He did  ? Didn't he.......
I mean dhats wot I woz always
brought uP to believe.......

 

 


August Moon.

The August Moon
Took me on another journey
My harmonica sang
“Don’t dare… dare me !”

The Beloved sluices the Heart clean
With the juice of Umbrine.

And she a vaccine of virtual volcanic heat
The Beloved is that from which all Words retreat.

Rose Hips.

My ego swamped with the wine of your smile
I drank from your eyes until I was sick to my Soul
Wouldst that I’d drank from those curling lips
Held you by your womanly hips
But enough of this…I tell myself.
Modern life is !

Is a multi-dimensional-Inter-racial
Cross-cultural-Hybrid experience
Of
Full on Human divergence.


The rhythms and melodies of our speech.
Our mother Tongue, our metalanguage, our life.
Ancestral Wisdom from an Oral Tradition
That's open to anyone Real enough to listen.

 

Up North


Once spoken forever flowing
A whirling surrealism of eloquence
Stitches a watery line between space and time.

An eclectic energy unravelling emotions
Memories / events / cycles / of change
Where culture creates communities.
Creates Grace and fertile ground along the way.

Panoramic visions were clouds form armadas in full sail.
Rolling hill-sides and deep down in the dales.
Like a Blues wail.
 
A haunted place in parts
where the ghosts of the slave-masters still lurk.
Rusty machinery decorates the landscaped greenery
Where a thriving bee hive of people once worked.
A broken window on the past.
Factories, mills, locks, docks, lime kilns
Sweat shops, shackles and mine shafts.

A too and fro that soothes
Sleuces away the pigeon grey
Taste of soot / grit / broken glass
Carbon monoxide flavoured refried chips.

The eyeline dips
To read the glyphs
Rotted wooden fences
Rusty tin roofs
Throat choking brick dust.

Kids singing "Freedom is a must !"

The torn pages of the post-industrial
Transcript that punctuates
Nay ! Underlines and delineates
The designer lifestyle homelessness
That inhabits the digital present.

The rabid rapids
The filthy flotsam cluttered weir
Improvised music to my ears.
A babbling brook compelling me
To take a look beyond the flawed histories.

As the waters cover the sea
The reflection of an inner reality.
 


And
And...
And Life iz a continuing energy...
an ever expanding realm of  'What -id -Izzness'...

And there iz nothing we need  do
And there iz nothing we need  do
Nothing we need do except be true to a Love Supreme...
A Love Supreme.
 Be True !
to a Love Supreme...
A Love Supreme
A Love Supreme

The Universe surrounds us with its Elegance...
Our Earthbound Spirits
Exhaling the of Eloquence
Of Exaltation...
As expressed in the Elation that gives rise to an innate sense of Loving
 As we honour the dead and respect the Living
Each moan of discomfort / Each sweet sigh of pleasure
Tells a tale in the chain that link's us together
And Life iz a continuing energy...
an ever expanding realm of  'What -id -Izzness'...
Frog Song.

A song gets more strong
Each time that it’s sung.

As Frog songs implode
Heavy hearts shed their load.

Tears dissolve fear
And Hearts become clear.

Frog song is the sound of the Blue
Notes that ignite the fuse
Of realising that there is Nothing
Nothing left to loose.

At Court.


Urgent purpose-a panther–pounces-
Raven haired sloe eyed- Hopes expired.

Tired muse-must be a fire sign
Or a fire starter.

It’s at times like these that we are left to learn
Call the fire brigade see the building start
To really burn

Dreams attacked-Fear and no formula for
Detachment-Trouble: that’s not my business
Anymore…

All at C.

Need to set my jib for that distant shore
A pirate of the Caribbean take-away.

Cavalier of chivalry
Courteous and free
Of the debilitating debris
Of my host’s kingly insanity.

Myself comfortable as me- Mu
Nothing-but a non-entity
Not even a mystery.

A Summer Poem.

And when the wind changes, And the moon wanes
the tide will rise and …I will remember this as
"It was at that time…"

Love's purity of purpose that carries us higher
Than the octopus of our all too human desires
And the times are amazing and the weather's a jewel
The wind will soon be changing but the vibes are cool.

The breeze carries the song sung by poets and peasants
Wolfsheads, dervishes, pirates and knaves
It's the song of the Soul
" No masters. No Slaves."

At Mid-day.

At mid-day I am beginning to make sense of it all
Nature extemporaneously composes works of art in the sand
As if she was expecting a private viewing
Communicating salt-white the Irish Sea a rose
Grey-brown bronzed shimmering pink
Fragmentation merely a trick of the light

Flagrantly the sun beams salsa through the swaying pine-tops
Dancing their way into the heart beat of the forest life
Scattering silken shadows across
Brittle white shells and fibrous brown fircones

Anticipation rises in the blood
Blood in the purple vein
The body ringing with Life’s primal aim.

Climbing to the top of the tallest dune
I battle with the wind to get bearings
And in my solitude I practice
A continuity of reinvented memories.

Awakened.

To be alert to things
To consciously engage with Life
Peace is being here
Now I’m focused… clear
 
No thoughts no emotions no action
Just the sound of your name
Gives complete satisfaction.

The simple charm
Of your feminine presence
That kindles a fire deep within my essence.


More Tea Sister.

The following Saturday my feelings evolved
As I watched the sugar melting in my cup of Assam
I became lost… dissolved in ritual…
 Now
“Chado”…
The Way of Tea…has a whole new meaning to me
So much so…
The Leaf has become a sacred Tea House.
A place of mysticism and the…
Sweetness of your ceremony.

Manhatten Hat.

That hat I bought in Manhatten
Was like a friend to me
Eventually.

He kept me covered from the heavy heat
As that big old hot head sun’s
Fire blazed like a gunfighter’s roar.

Sheltered me from hail and rain
Like a minder always on call.

Always ready to keep me covered
When I needed protection
From the elements.

Hot or cold
Hung at the side of my head
Like he was hanging on the corner.
Killing time.

 At home he would wait for me
By the door like a loyal pet.

Like a chauffer or a butler
Always ready to serve.
Dry or wet it didn’t really matter
To my Manhatten straw hat.

He was always cool
Always indifferent
Always ready to face the weather.

Always at my disposal
What ever it was I’d ask
Like a long time acquaintance.
And he still is.

Blue Beat Heart.

I passed through your neighbourhood
And I was looking out for
I felt the Sun start coming through
Knew exactly what to do

Walking on the street you live
I had lots of Love to give
So I traveled deep into the past
To where the dice of Love where cast...

And then the music starts
Playing with the strings of my heart
And then the music starts
Playing with the strings of my heart

 I passed through the old estate
In my mind I meditate
memories of you relate
To melodies in blue

In amongst the ruins
there's a melancholy tune
That tells an old-old story
Nothing very new

And then the music starts
Playing with the strings of my heart…
Believing  Atheists.

What is funny, is that
If you don’t stick by
What you profess to believe in.

An Atheist will be the first
To pull you about it.

As if them sticking by
What they don’t believe in.

Makes them a better believer
By default.
There in lies the rub.

Eagle Eyes.

Eagle eyes rise above the cloudy skies
Far beyond the reason “Why?”
Where the fallen angels fly
Below the radar
Singing “Heayah - Heayah - Heayah !”

I need some altitude for altering my attitude
Vows continually renewed
I’m hovering in solitude
At times
Then the wind changes
And I rise, I climb.
Ascension !
Singing “Heayah - Heayah - Heayah !”

Eagle wings
Soar above all transient things.
So Eagle eagle eyes see only Heavenly bling.
Breath of Loife caress the wind
This is how my people sing …
Singing “Heayah - Heayah - Heayah !”

Heart Headed.

Your consciousness is your Spiritual Heart
Faith in yourself is the first place to start.

I was born with my Head in my Heart
My intellect decides through feeling
Judgement is suspended
Humility appealing.

To be secure within your own Love
To know you are Love
Is the only security that there is.

To let my empathy detox my Heart
Of all poisonous beliefes
That pollute my integral intention
To give Love
And enjoy Peace
That is my Heart’s most
Heady and truest release.

Djembe Lenoire.

There's a Japanese Garden in Calderstones Park.
LeNoire used to call it the Beloved’s Secret Garden
Or the Jazz Garden.
LeNoire liked Japanese gardens.
He also liked making anologies.
He like to point out the "Tauhid" in things.
There's a Unity in the apparant diversity" he'd say .
Or...
"It's like racou... Can you see ?"
"It's like every mistake iz a new style" It's a Ghanaian sayin… whirling Dervish'.
It's how master drummers, teach".
Djembé LeNoire had always admired the Japanese
sense of minimal maintenance.  
The impression of random order...
The intuitive sense of composition
That arose, almost on it's own if given time.

The garden said it all for LeNoire.  
He saw "The creation of a microcosm, or mini landscape, based on an observation of the ordering strategies of nature itself. A place to reinvent the landscape of the mind.
Reality is focus" said LeNoire.
"And nature. Nature is the contrived accident.
I remember somebody tellin' me that all good ideas are arrived at by accident... " Confided LeNoire. He liked to ramble in a confidential manner.
"It's a Dervish thing... And a Jazz thang
Not an "Either- Or" thing But an "And-Also" thing
 A sort of Zen thing I suppose".

LeNoire stared into deep space.
Momentarily pursueing a cross-cultural analogy.
The Japanese seem to take this as a rule of thumb
"Serendipity".  LeNoire liked the sound of that word.
 
As synchronicity would have it, only that very week
LeNoire had composed his very first Haiku
After several weak attempts.
This seemed like a perfect place to perform it.
The whole occasion had a sense of ritual about it.  
Or so LeNoire had said.
Who knows.  LeNoire had his reason's.
They weren’t always that clear.
But more often than not they ended up making sense eventually.
You just had to trust him.
Alli know is that today I feel like there's beauty in everything"  said LeNoire.
"And life... Life is precious. Ever so precious.
Like a precious stone hard but beautiful to behold".
I got a hint of where LeNoire was going with all this.
He was resolving some plot or other.
He pointed to a rose.
"This..." said LeNoire "Is a symbol of the Glory of The Creator !"
I just looked. That much made sense.

A miniature waterfall
Characteristically named 'Cascade Mouth
'Taka Guchi' in Japanese.
And heralded by a stone lantern
That mimicked a tiny temple
Served as a place of offering.
And LeNoire offered up his Haiku
In much the same way you would a prayer.  
As he spoke his voice condensed on contact with the cold Autumn air.
Peppermint breath risin' up like fresh incense as he recited:
"Oak trees sheddin' life
Granted by the hand of God
Acorns on the grass"
"The Cycle of Life and Death"
There was nothing more to be said.
As we left the garden LeNoire and myself watched
the Autumnal sunshine spill gold across the lake.  

We  stood.
Looked
And were both lost momentarily
In the light of colours...
Original... Un-nameable...  And never to be seen again.  
We felt privileged for being allowed to behold such beauty.  
Already he was wishin' that he'd brought a camera
to have captured the vision of splendour...
Even though he knew that film and chemicals
Could never have capture what he always experienced
Walking in the Japanese garden.
Love's Walled Garden .
The Jazz garden.
"Every mistake is a new style" said LeNoire...
"It's a Ghanaian sayin' you know…whirling…Dervish.

Beach.

Always
Remembrance
Re-Collecting
Time
The mind's ebb and flow
Circular motion
Cyclic
Movement
Round the intimation of time
In rotation
each turn
 in turn
a revolution

Petulant !
The swell of the sea
Scirocco like a two-tone suit
The billowing wind's
Impeccable roundness
curves the dunes

What it caused was a suspension
of suspicions
concerning Time

Perceptions
Our flawed awareness
It's eventual passing

At the centre a stillness
A knowing
A presence.

The Maritime pines Mambo
The forest flirts with the shore line
The Irish Sea's hand maiden
A beach blonde courtesan
 In coral  pink fronds
And knecklace of
Pale flesh coloured
scallop shells
tinged tangerine

Sequenced elegance
The shifting of the sea

Wave tips tinted saffron
By a chiffon sun.

Shimmying
an illusive motion
absent substance
Perceptible
the presence of light
Rolling
Rising
Undulating not unduly
Just shifting like the dunes
Encapsulating light in it's shadow
N.A.T.O.

Back chat is Natural Authentic Toxteth Orature
For the tattered and torn it's like a lyrical suture
A diasporan tongue were speach is still sung
 To The Truth we clung till the song became so strong.
Polyrhythms cross pollinated by the living
A hybrid linguistic Oral Tradition.
Irish wit and African Rhythm
Natural Black vibes home grown in Britain.

Adapted to survive under new conditions
 Trying to speak fly when your own tongue is missing
Like the handclap the finger snap
The drum and the boogaloo foot-tap
Rhythms of slaves from way way back
Thru the grapevine of time & space & space & time
A multiplicity of Trade Routes / This is what you'll find
One World history / Both yours and mine.

N.A.T.O.

Natural Authentic Toxteth Orality
It's got nothing to do with your Nationality.
It's how you speak
It's not even your family
It's just
Natural Authentic Toxteth Orality

N.A.T.O.

Like the seven seas link up the world with Oceans.
This Scouse links ideas, words and notions
Word power to the people putting worlds in motion
Each line hand picked with pure devotion .
As rapidly applied poetry / Adapts and survives
In the depths of the city where the real culture thrives
A sense of achievement rekindled and a pride revived
With chants, and songs and storytelling styles.


Bless My Cotton Blues.

Got a wild reputation / Got some descent  alibis
Got an ear for a story / Got a nose for people's lies.
Got the light at the end / of a tunnel full of vision.
Got a wayward manner / Based on natural intuition.

And I count my blessings with the Blues.
That the way I don't get confused...

 Got my Blues harp / Got my prayer beads / Got my pocket book of Wisdom.
Got my oral tradition / Got satirical derision.
Got my Frog songs / Got my poems / Got my own special way of knowing.
Got Angels surrounding me / When the baraka's flowing.

And I count my blessings with the Blues.
That the way I don't get confused...

 

Hudd Alay Salam.

At Nabi al Hudd
We all ate mud
It was manna from heaven
It tasted so good

Our Soul's soared so high
Repentance was a must
Each and every one of us
With faces in the dust

The River was warm and the river was cold
Only One River but two currents flowed
At the tomb in the hills at the heart of the desert
Nabi al Hudd Hadrmaut South Yemen

We ran we played
We prayed We glowed
Our heart beats quickened
Our reasoning slowed
We swam We bathed
We climbed We ate
And quenched our thirsts
In the hot desert heat.

The River was warm and the river was cold
Only One River but two currents flowed
At the tomb in the hills at the heart of the desert
Nabi al Hudd Hadramaut South Yemen

 

 

Blackbird.

After eulogizing as a Blackbird
My craft, troubadour inspired
Wolfshead sired
I realize I am actually out of the forest
And the silence at long last is everything
Truly it is all there is-
Truly everything.

Breath.

The Dervish Dances
In the garden of misplaced memorabilia
The halam-khat hollers
Down hollow avenues.

Begetter of backstreet backwater Blues
And battles that create the news
for this time this place this huddle...
These times of muddle.

The Gavelle unravels speech patterns that just seem to happen.
Rhythms and scales for the Bluesman to wail
In tune with the hieght of the minaret
that sustains the flight of Bilal the Muezzin's tale...

Following the truth of this life
Keeping the Truth in the light
Seeking the good in people
And praying that you’re right...

Timeless tunes rise up from a pre-supposed past time
From times long past / Before time was prepacked
Yes! Your past and mine...
The Jazz Griot grins
knowing there is no beginning / No end
Only a circle that expands
A sacred hoop that hangs
on our limited understanding...
Of the ongoing present
The ever-present Now !

The Jelofo / the Jali / and the Jaré
Extemporaneously compose articles of Faith.
No time to waste no time to tarry
When there's so much need to communicate

The Delé juggles jurisdiscially.
Impongi puzzles ever so suspiciously...
For the need is greater than it's ever been
Where the grass is red no longer green
Carved in stone they killed the Dream
But Love’sTruth flows freely on Life’s stream.

 In a less complacent dimension Wird dancers awaken
Speaking' in broken trances
Of lost causes...

And Eternal romances...
A stray Word entrances !
A sly eye glances...
A forgotten alphabet reforms
A Lost tongue flexes regaining it’s form...
&
As a Golden notion splinters into a Rainbow of infinite diversity

Steel tipped sonnets / Glass Oasis
Shaka's spear / Gazebo palm
Lion songs of Ancient Mali
Cowry shells / the hunter's charm
Café Bongo / Blue sarong
Chinese symbol / Indian Gong
Science Egyptian / Mohawk song
And a Sudanese zhikr that lasts hours long.

The Bass-line-lingo of the Sublinguistics
Sprouting green shoots that spring forth from a Medicine Beat
Blossoming into
an opulent bouquet of opportunities
for lots of different thing's to say...

Each Word
 Breathing' Life into Love
Huuuuuuuuh !
Each breath of Love in turn becoming'...
Something' tangible.
Something' comparatively more real.
Something' quite substantial
 Credible enough for now.
This moment

Remembrance !
Trying not to loose sight of the higher ideal
without which none of this is real
without which real meaning evades us...

Remembrance... each beath of love becoming
merely becoming...
Something simple
Something Fresh
Like a breath of fresh air
Breathing in  and Breathing out
The One breath of the Universe.

Facebook.

Everyday I live in Faith
Everyday I exist by Grace
Everyday I search for a trace
Of your presence, your status
Your smiling face.

Fish

Brazilian Restaurant
Brazilian food
East Berlin.

Good.......
an unknown
fish/dish...

But you...
I'm not sure...

I thought I knew...
I thought you
understood...
I must'nt have...
or so it appears.

or so it appears...
in the paranoia
of others.


Breath Slowly.

Sometimes we consume time so fast
that we quickly forget
how
we may not have that much time left.

Other times we stop and take a breath .
Aaah !
Flexing a free-flowing rhyme
Is like taking a deep breath with the mind...

We take in that which sustains our life force
and energizes our mind
As we exhale
Oooh !
We loose the ties that bind

And there is a resusitacion in the word-sound of breath
Entwined with drumbeat and basslingual  rhythm...
Each life breath breathing life into a love
Beyond the will to possess
Each breath of love something freely given
Something exhilirating
Something beautiful
Something deft.

Captain’s Log.

Still adrift aboard this ship of fools, but…
I’m as alone within as ever- I was…
Silent, only the distant echo of the Montpelier Codex
And he soothing strains of the Anonymous Blue Ones
Troubadours of sorts-Sufi songs that sooth the Soul
Soul torn to shreds by the desert wind
A breeze as subtle as the finest sand from Sahara…
I miss you !
Aye… miss, you!

I miss the life I once knew-
Sometimes
But I have no desire to pause and rewind-
I’m right at home in the present time-
The now frame of mind
And from the ashes of my yearning
A nothingness and an empty ache
A longing a sadness of heart
An inner poverty that waits
Just waits patiently…

As a mortal married to the machinations of melancholy
And the pursuit of love at it’s most Holy
“Holy art thou ! Oh Lord my God !
Blessed art thou and all that You decree !”
I surrender to the Silence within me
And the voice of the Lamb that told me to…
“Help them “
“But how ?” I ask-
“Just by being yourself !” the reply.

I am so full of blue emotion
I could cry
I am crying deep down inside-
Silently-slowly consistently I weep
Way down deep within the recesses
Of my righteously reclusive reveries
Waiting…

Cerebral Declutter.

I’ve been collecting
Too much other peoples stuff
Time to de-clutter
And call my own bluff.

Why waste time collating
Too much information
When a label is just
Another form of negation.

Of Life’s ineffable
Infinate variations
On an ominous theme
Within the inconclusive
Timescape of a delusional dream.

Just some old school ideas
That need digesting
And reinterpretting
So they’re more interesting.

Then abstract the wit from it
Season it and scatter
The ins and the outs of it
Until it doesn’t really matter.

My responsibility is the ability
To respond and not just react
Despite the indeterminable facts
As long as it doesn’t take too long
I suppose I can handle that.

Love’s Vibration.

And then there was you.
The only vibration that was ringing true-
Loyal, over courteous, suppressed and blue.
The wind blew through the forest
That lay between us.
And a madman that none should trust…

Curtain.

I closed the curtain
But the light shone through
And when I looked
I saw there…
Only you.
The  Un-Named .

I don't know if I like this
Longing for your presence...

It was only after the second glance
Did I impale myself on my own lance...

And now I wait on every chance
To see your radiant features dance
My body numb my mind aloft...

My heart swollen with your name's refrain...
The sound itself pure poetry
That drowns my heart like pouring rain.

How can the heart control the brain
God's shows us love through other's pain...

I feel for you
We are both the same...

I'm lost in rhyme
Am I to blame ?
Or are my feelings
Cause for shame...

If this wild heart of mine inclines
To sing your name-to sing your name...
How sweet the rain-How sweet the rain...
I'll chant your name
 I'll chant your name...

Dare I say it ?
Dare I claim ?
To be worthy in spirit...
To be worthy in trust
Will it be wiser to walk this World
In my patchwork cloak of dust...

Humility is part of a noble condition
Is it then part of Human nature
To humble my emotions
Though they be of a higher stature...

I know I'm just rambling
My mind is in a stew
It has been since I started
Thinking of you...

I'm not trying to score
I don't like being Blue...
But I can still hear the rain
In the sound of your name...
Like a hidden refrain
In the sound of the rain...
How the sweet the rain-How sweet the rain
I chant your name I chant your name

Running through my brain
It's so clear
And so plain
So like something that needs saying
Your enchanting name
I chant your name
I chant your name...

So sweet is the rain... So sweet is the rain
I chant your name... I chant your name
To ease my pain I chant your name
So sweet is the rain-So sweet the rain...

my heart is captured by the huntress
Who needs no weapons
No arrows, snares, nor spears
No need has she to play the temptress
All she needs is to be near...

If I am your fan... You are my flame
My heart expounds outrageous claims...
My shield of ice-cool lies in splinters ...
A joke before your melting charm
The warmth that tempers Winter's instance
Sounding nature's fire alarm...

My sense of self is non-existent
I'm drifting off into the distance
I have no guilt I place no blame
If born again I could not gain...
I chant your name
I chant your name
I chant it without even saying...

To all intent it may be a mystery
A scene in a film of us just making history
I chant your name
I chant your name
I chant it without even saying...
Your name...
So sweet is the rain...
So sweet is the rain...


The Declining Day.

By late afternoon the water has risen further.
I drift with the languid current.
The Irish sea now bronze and a shimmer of peuce
It's edge laced in salt-white and sun-scorched palm leaves.

A powder blue sky so clear… So breathable.
As the winnowing wind's impeccable roundness curves the dunes.
Carries me off into the glorious morning hour.
Seagulls circle in the distance.
The waves dance to a rhythm of their own.

Spherical the intimation of time, like the Earth.
A Circular motion / a cyclic movement like life.
Back to the beginning like the phases of the moon.
In rotation each turn, in turn an evolution of sorts …

Sequenced elegance the shifting of the sea.
Wave tips tinted saffron by an orange chiffon sun.
The waves … and the water… rolling… rising
Undulating but not unduly, just shifting like the …dunes.
Encapsulating light in their shadow.

There was a feather floating down, a piece of down, fluffy, white.
Softer than snow, heavier than a cloud
A feather from the tail of a dove or the wing of an Angel.
I look up at the sky… Smiling…
.
Off-white clouds display their silver-grey linings
A butter-milk sun shines through powder blue
A flock of terns heads off towards the horizon
Suddenly . Swift as a split decision
It evokes / a memory / a remembrance of you.

Out at sea the depths seethe as the sea breathes
The sea speaks / the sea thinks
The boat creaks  / the sea links
A myriad tributaries that feed into the warm bloodstream
Of this now-tropical place / Trace it's trajectory
Back to the ocean from whence it came...

Absent substance yet…
Perceptible the presence of light beneath the water.
Shimmying an illusive motion.
As a school of blue dolphins lead me back to the land.
The Light is !
All colours and no colour !

Trust in Love.

Let it all go – bro…
Breathe more deeply
And lean a little harder
On the staff of your Faith
Then …wait…you’ll see
An apparition of a brighter
Newer possibility-
Breath- Breath some more-
Let time pass-Trust in your destination-
Relax you are traveling too fast-
Let time pass-
You can’t out pace
The present moment
Let go of the past- So what is possible
Can emerge-Trust in your own worth
Trust in the best that you deserve-
Breathe deeply and Trust in the Beloved
Breathe deeply-Let go and learn to trust yourself-
Trust in your own Love.

The Now.

Sweet Non-Existance / Radiant Night
Luminous darkness / like a Sea of Black Light
Womb of the Formless / outside of Time
Perpetual Presence / the Slayer of Mind...

Right Now ! Here in the Now
Right Now ! Right Here in the Now...
Here in the Ever Present moment
Here in the Ever Present Now...
The Ever Present Now !

Observe only causes / Life's rippling effects
Golden with Silence / The Tranquil depths
Peace is of Being / The end of all pain /
Shapeless and Colourless / No loss No gain ...

Right Now ! Here in the Now
Right Now ! Right Here in the Now...
Here in the Ever Present moment
Here in the Ever Present Now...
The Ever Present Now !


On Dollis Hill.

I sat on Dollis Hill
And held shura with the silence.
Amidst the council of ravens
At the centre of a circle of fifty trees
And a sacred stone.
47 tress of various forms
And the three that form a triangle
In the centre where I am sat
Below the only one with red leaves.

Focusing my thought
On the higher wisdom
Of forgiveness.

As I struggle against the more pleasurable desire
To decapitate those
Who have caused me and my loved ones
Such great pain
And defecate on there limp corpses
As in the heavy-weighted way
Of the Amazonian head hunters.
Desecration of the dead
Defecation of the dead.
It’s all good.

The sky is a bright blue backdrop
Clouds forming a gallery of
Fluffy celestial freedoms
Each one it’s own norm.

My back is to the sun
It’s warmth caresses my bare back.
Hopefully adding some measure of relief
To my psoriasis.
The wind rustles the leaves
In the larger trees that guard
The spirit of the circle.

The ravens are everywhere
They wander in and out of the circle of trees at will.
They are innocent and thus have no reason to fear me.
Sometimes in order to meditate Peacefully
You first have to clear the weeds from the garden.
A machete is a beautiful thing.
A wondrous thing.


The Blood.

You’ve made me so wet she said.
I know I can feel it.
And when she got up to make a cup of tea
There was blood everywhere.
And we were staying at a friends…
Fuck!
Hadramaut.

With it's theme park curls
And Disney Pearls
We've created a corpse
Wearing make-up

We'll compete for it's bones
With dog-like tones
Till the day that the dead
Start to wake up

Just a few short note from the Hadramaut
Just some memories I hold to dispell my doubts
Mama said let that boy boogie
It's in him and it's gotta come out

Woeful in worship
And weeping in streams
We chant in our waking
We sing in our dreams

The humbler the sinner
The surer he'll find
A heart that's been broken
When polished still shines

 


Jazzoetry.

A rainbow trout of imagination
Is
The activity
of
The Soul
Leaping waterfalls
of
 Creature energy
and
Creative essence
to the summit of
Opulent articulation.

The reverie of linguistic linguini.

Consommé of the consummate connoisseur.

Improvised oratory devices
mixed with fire and ice
And measured
by
Murtajal

Darkness and Light
in
Instigation.

Jazz is unlimited variations
Endless combinations.


Dervish Pen.

With pen and ink, that's how I think.
With words on the page, I set the stage.
With the Beloved in mind, my thoughts unwind.
Open your heart. See what you find.
An endless sea of space and time !
Where planets spin, and novas shine.
Whats mine is yours. What your is mine .
The Mercy of The One Divine .

I know it's in your Heart / But my Mind Forgets
I’ll try and write it all down step by step Beloved.

With melody I set words free.
With breath of life I add the spice.
With tone of soul I take control.
Of rhythm's rock, and thunder's roll .
From harmony of rhythm flows,
The sound of things too vast to know.
Stars in the sky that softly glow.
Darkness to light is how we grow.

I know it's in your Heart / But my Mind Forgets
I’ll try and write it all down step by step Beloved.


Desert Sky.

The stars shone bright in the desert sky
 I was laying kinda low / But feeling high
Like an ancient Moor amidst the dunes
 On a magic carpet digging Ancient tunes.

Sandalwood insence / A silken sari
 Promises tasting of Turkish delight
A silver necklace / A green satin cushion
 Allah reveals  wonderson into the night.

Like the crystal streams/ Kool & free
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
Like the wind in the trees/ Kool & free
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
The fish in the sea / Kool & Free
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
The Birds & Bees / Kool & free
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
Remember you / Remember Me
 Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Kool & Free !

Midnight opened up the sky
 Like a jewel studded casket
Emerald eyes sparkled like
 Some Oriental magic
Mysterious gems with that which mends
engraved in every facet.
Thoughts drifted to that special One
Whose memory they crafted.

Like the crystal streams/ Kool & free
I'll remember you / Remember Me
Like the wind in the trees/ Kool & free
I'll remember you / Remember Me
The fish in the sea / Kool & Free
I'll remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Remember Me
I'll Remember you / Kool & Free !

Spades in Shades.

Spades in Shades. Cultural detective. Culturally diverse.
Free association. Free verse.
Sun-glasses / night-time / we're in doors.
Sub-cultural.  "Kool ! Kool !".

Cynical " trying to conceal identity". More observant; "I'd recognise him even with shades on !"

Let me explain something.....Visually Impaired Artist formely known as
"Baby you know AAH AAH I luvvs yah ! But No ! Then Who in heck is this ?"

Spades in Shades. Mmmmmmm ! Sounds like a Negro name. Kinda Bluesy like ...  familiar". Spades in Space, more like / conceal red eyes.
Others missing the  cultural gags.  Where I'm coming from.
Just stuck on the word "Identity".  Cos it's such a mysterious word. All of a Sudden .

Anthropologists'll be thinking  "OK! OK ! It's a Black thing".
But actually it's a bit, more than just a Black thing.
Family lineage. Uncles & Aunties. Races & Religions. God rest their Souls !
Wait for it !The Black & White Mistrel Show.
Wait for it ! Fully extended family scenario. Country cousins. In laws & out laws.
List your names of nations and I'll add some more. I'm a Scouser. A Micky Mouser.

 A lot of mixed race people in Liverpool. People with names like Iqbal MacTavish, Soraya O'Shaughnessy, Jimbo Gadaffi, and Ram-Jam Butty, Sinbad O'Toole
People who eat ; Mad-Ras curried Scouse , Lancashire hot and sour, Ishmails halal burgers with Chippatti chip-butty. It does peoples heads in. But some people are nutty. As they say on the plantation "Mommas baby ! Poppas maybe ?" Courtesy of the merchant navy.  We're all related to someone shady.
And The Way is mercyful and sides with the needy.
And The Way is mercyful and sides with the needy.
And The Way is mercyful and sides with the needy.

Culturally diverse "Cultural detective". I think I better dance now.
That's a street directive. (Beatbox into Slave).

The Beloved Only.

I'm not doing this for creed, class, race, style, fashion, taste, LFC, you or me,
the hienous calumny of high-treason, or any other particularly superficial sectarian reason.

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only ! And I'm not lonely.

I'm not doing it so people like me
I'm not doing it so people'll think I'm devout.
Ask me what I think about what people think and I'll tell you without a doubt, in good clear English "Nowt.
Even though I know there's a lot of ignorance out there round and about of which I'm sure your all so aware. I realy don't care. So there !

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only! And I'm not lonely.

I'm not doing this because I like letting it all hang out on stage.
Or because I'm secretly nursing a brooding rage.
For vengeance earns a bitter wage For those who rattle history's cage.

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only! And I'm not lonely.

I do this not because I have the aspirations of a sage that painstakingly peruses the revealed page, for comfort as I near old age the pace of which is hard to gauge.

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only ! And I'm not lonely.

I do this not for the vain perspicaity of aplause
Or argue what's rightfully mine or wrongfully yours.
Or cut the Oneness into shapes where man's ego subverts Agape
With curl of lip and churlish jape, and jibe that talks of place and tribe.
And cheesy lies that deny fate when none can tell their sell by date.
Or tell if Paradise awaits.

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only ! And I'm not lonely.

I do this not to thumb my nose at them and those
Who due to the pointless poise of their postmodernist simulacrity
And the opaque nature of their omni-clarity
And it's vacuous lack of conviction.
Can't tell the funk from the fiction. No !

I'm doing this for  the Beloved ! Just for  the Beloved  !
And  the Beloved only  ! And I'm not lonely.

I do this for Peace ! Mercy ! Grace !
Truth -Light -The Living and The Good
And all the Most Beautiful Names of God
That decend from sweet Heaven above
For we the people of Clay and Mud.

I'm doing this for the Beloved ! Just for the Beloved  !
And the Beloved only ! And I'm not lonely. Honest !

Somalia.

A body half clothed in rags drags at the current.
The river half concealing it... half notices / it's weight.
 A life form rotting away / Sways.
The day / The date ... Both too late.

This macabre disarray is it social decay ?
Or one of the more destructive quirks of how power-tricks
work their narrow wisdom into a Tribalism !
I apologise I meant the professorial expertise
of governmental visionaries that forever tease
like the sickly-sweet scent of putrifying flesh.

Somali ! Somalia !Somalia !

But when the Truth seems unwise.
Euphemisms tend to, ever so endearingly, patronise.
Call it the orthodoxy of official lies.
Or just murder in disguise.
Even curiosity hides it's well meaning liberal eyes.

Time dictates the facts / As the media fakes outrage
To our will to sit back / and watch Life as a stage.
And with each passing day as more lives slip away
Know ye well that Death lurks where the powerful shirk.
 Once we add the equation
War equals Weapons equals Arms deals equals Work.

Somali ! Somalia !Somalia !

From passive resistance to open aggression
Oppression is the death of Freedom expression.
And in England Rain falls softly
Quiet tears shed for rose petals on a flower bed.
And a poem... Carved into the Earth's bones
Smoke

Dust to dust and in between we dream
if we are fortunate enough to find rest.

In my Dreamwalking I smoke the Peace pipe
with the holyghosts of my ancestors
watching the smoke rise up on the voices of the wind.

Four rivers meet in me and ring bell like
as they sing the flesh of my humanity
from the bare bones of my ignorance.

I reinvent my essential self
in the sacred manner...

In an effort to once again become
Someone I can live with...

Someone closer to The Source...

Closer to ...
The Giver of Colours
and
The Bestower of Form...

Closer to You than I am now...


The Didgeri Dunes.

Communicating through life
Without the use of cellular fones
We collect shells and fircones
Sketching out our demarcation zones.

Clambering climsily up the side of the Didgeri dunes
We wax and wane with the wind
To maintain our balance

And in the dunescape of our middle ground
We take a look around and settle down ...to sharing.

 Earth walking we leave the sea and head for the trees
Where I dance with the Standing People
For the forest is my patch. It is here I feel equal.

In my hands some small golden fir-cones
Gifts from the dancing pines
My pockets are full of sea-shells
Wrapped in the sands of time...

The suave pink sun light breaks through the dancing tree-tops...
Firing it's golden shafts of light like arrows
Deep into the heart of the forest
Sheltering amidst Summer light hadows...
We stop to bask..
And where Sun-light kisses Earth much healing takes place...
So it is with us.
So it is with us.


Possibility.

You want to write a Love poem
Pick up the pen then
But first consider...
The possibilities of confrontation.
The confrontation of possibility.

Look at the page...
You are that page.
The page is...

Something upon which you can project yourself.
A feel / a state of mind / a field of energy.
A construct or a manifestation of self.

The empty page
A place where a transferance of impulses
Continually takes place...

Love is the confrontation of possibility.
The possibilities of confrontation.

Pick up the pen
Go 'ed if you think it's that easy.
But first consider...

The Declining Day.

By late afternoon the water has risen further.
I drift with the languid current.
The Irish sea now bronze and a shimmer of pink
It's edge laced in salt-white and sun-scorched palm leaves.

A powder blue sky so clear… So breathable.
As the winnowing wind's impeccable roundness curves the dunes.
Carries me off into the glorious morning hour.
Seagulls circle in the distance.
The waves dance to a rhythm of their own.

Spherical the intimation of time, like the Earth.
A Circular motion / a cyclic movement like life.
Back to the beginning like the phases of the moon.
In rotation each turn, in turn an evolution of sorts …

Sequenced elegance the shifting of the sea.
Wave tips tinted saffron by an orange chiffon sun.
The waves … and the water… rolling… rising
Undulating but not unduly, just shifting like the …dunes.
Encapsulating light in their shadow.
.
Off-white clouds display their silver-grey linings
A butter-milk sun shines through powder blue
A flock of terns heads off towards the horizon
Suddenly . Swift as a split decision
It evokes / a memory / a remembrance of you.

Out at sea the depths seethe as the sea breathes
The sea speaks / the sea thinks
The boat creaks  / the sea links
A myriad tributaries that feed into the warm bloodstream
Of this now-tropical place / Trace it's trajectory
Back to the ocean from whence it came...

Absent substance yet…
Perceptible the presence of light beneath the water.
Shimmying an illusive motion.
As a school of blue dolphins lead me back to the land.
The Light is !
All colours and no colour !

A Barbados Moment.

The palm trees in Barbados
Swayed like Samba dancers
In the cozy Caribbean breeze.
Their frayed serated leaves
Like a Steel pan man’s frilly sleaves.
Maracas, bongos, cabassas, congas
Co-co nuts, mangos, and purple passion fruits
Palm trees like Calypsonians
In exotic carnival suits
Limbo dancing in the hot Bajan wind
As you perused inside the antique shack
I stayed outside and grinned.

Devastating.

Hold love in your heart too tightly
It will harden into stone
Only when that heart is broken
Is the Inner beauty known

Devastating and alluring
Drink this cup I call my heart
How could I ignore your calling
Love is where all journeys start.

Precious gems memento-moris
Reason still to be here now
Love’s humility most gory
Lover wherefore art thou now.

Devastating and alluring
Drink this chalice from my heart
How could I ignore your calling
Love is where all journeys start.

Dew-drops drip
From sanguine petals
Rosebud lips and eyes of glee
Guile to test Sir Gawain’s mettle
Damsel dark come joust with me.

Devastating and alluring
Drink this Grail within my heart
How could I resist your calling
Love is where all journeys start.

Dream Walking

My shadow sleeps.
I surrender myself to he Great Mystery
In the sacred manner...
For there is much that I do not know
I push my fingers into my chest and
I open up the contents of my Heart  
letting it 's seething mess of blood
soaked scar-tissue bleed it's seering
flow into my open contorting consciousness

It is here that I wrestle
with the various forms
of internalised terrorism
Obese insecurities that threaten to engulf me
dulling my eye,  strangling my tongue
devouring my sanity
and my lust for life

It is here that I struggle
towards the Dimness of the Light of a clearer insight
into my own Right & Wrong...

I hurt, I cry, I grow strong
When we cry we pray
And our Tears Purify and decorate
Our prayers with sincerity
Each word seasoned with the Hearts True Essence
This is what makes your Love so precious

As I journey closer to The Source...
Closer to The Giver of Colours
The Bestower of Form...
The Nourisher / The Sustainer.

Closer to Home
Closer to the Lover of The Two Easts and The Two Wests
Who requires no slumber or the need for rest
Who knows Who We were before we were who we are
And Who sets each individual their own personal test.
Their own Perfect test.

Dust to dust and in between we dream.
If we are fortunate enough.

Drifting.

Yeah! I be just drifting and this is how it go …
Just moving with the flow
Cos that’s the only way I know
Like everything that grows
I though by now you’d know.

Taste the Truth of Peace
Waters pure and sweet
No need to compete
Because everythings complete.

High up in sky
Where the eagles fly
Clouds just pass me by
Sunshine in their eyes

Let your Soul aspire
Hear celestial choirs
Concentrate your dreams
Feel what freedom means.

Just drifting just drifting
Just drifting…Just drifting.


Earthwalking.

Semi-contemptuous of my clowning
You stand silent / rooted like the Pine...
Your eyes closed...facing that which is beyond .
As I contemplate you / You shine !

I hear you listening to the seas eternal rhythm.
You open your eyes like an answers been  given
Heading off towards the sky-line and the sea
As sudden and as swift as a split decision.

Walking North along the beach I leave you and the sea to talk
And in my Soul searchings I practise the Medicine song.
And as always I walk.
The day is short but the beach is long.

Yin and Yang.

A warm red sun
And
A cool green moon
That’s
My Yin and Yang
Complimentary cartoons.
Hood Bluze.

It was dark times.
The Hood lay across my shoulders at first.
A fashion statement.
Then I noticed it in the mirror. I pulled it over my head.
And I noticed him observing me. Self-scrutiny.
Scratching the surface of the face
With the eyes of a traveler A gypsy. A Nomad.

Watching, monitoring. The World, people, me .
Looking for hidden meaning. The truest stories, the best stories. The Ancient story. The One story. The Only story.

Hating me at times. The look in his slow brooding eyes.
Pain glowing darkest bright.
Features shaded by the black hood of his sweat-suit top
rising up from inside the upturned pointed collar of a black leather jacket.

Dread Robin. Robin of the Hood.
Knowledge of self a rose, a precious stone.

Cold eyes over my shoulder scolding with their heated gaze.
Sneering at my naiveté, my stupidity, openness.
Ignorance the true shackles of my serfdom.
Running with the wind. Drinking in the freshness of the rain.

The teachings tell us that our best friend and our worst enemy both dwell within us.
Mine dwells at my right hand shoulder. A chip off the old block.
Carved into a new environment.

A panther at home amidst the dark shadows of the greenwood.
Integrated. An organic creature.
Complex and distinctive in it's:
Language spoken;
Rituals performed;
Manifestation of the survival instinct;
Raw expressions of Life's essence.

And this time. This is a ritual time.

We are stories made from stories. The act of speech. Us telling stories to ourselves. About ourselves. About who we are. Naming ourselves.
Brothers and Sisters !

Sounds emanate from the shadow world.
This is how we speak ourselves into existence.
This is why we rap.
Orature-Orality-ID-Reality.
Orature: a Time based  Ritual.
A ritual time.
Identity a regenerated living enactment of memory.
Incomplete erasures still resonating.
Ancestral Echoes. Shadows in the forest.
Orality a way of perceiving time.

Voice ebullient. He preached to me.
The base-line lingo of the sublinguistics.
Mouth invisible. Mouse invincible.
Sipped sweet tea as he delicately dipped his arrows in it's venom.

Hidden in the darkness of the black hood pulled over his head. He spoke from within the shadow of veiled knowledge. In a disenfranchised tongue wet with savouring the concentrated taste of strategic flavours.
 Mmmm. And the Blues is a form of Dervish-hood.

This is how we empower ourselves as individuals and as groups. As humans. He emphasized a prayer from a book of sacred rhymes. The power of Black-chat. Is the power of backchat. The power of the word.

Life-histories evolved from a rhythm different from those regulated by their symbiosis with the central placenta.
The absent centre.

Truth versus 'reale politique' Hood sneers.
Watches me.
Black invisibility and Namelessness.
Studies. Assesses.
Guards psychological territory.
Pantherhood producing meaningful shapes
amidst the abstract palimpsests of systematic negation, omission, misrecognition and inappropriate definitions of the other.
My Brothers and Sisters !

Reality is a time based art.
Like Dread Robin of The Hood.
Peace an indeterminate entity.
Solidarity, unstable in all it's aspects.
A Living narrative. Liquid. Flowing. Fluid.
That's what we came from.
That's how we Human Beings do it.

A story to be sung. Our culture.
A Something spoken. Not found.
Sculptured Soul welded from retold histories.
Unsolved mysteries located in the future.
Flickering lights and dancing shadows.
In the forest darkness.
Our Inner-Heartness.
Our Natural Good.
"This is a ritual time"
"We are a ritual people "says The Hood.

He is watching.
Face hidden he lingers at my right-hand side.
Holding my sword arm.
Drawing me near he whispers...
"The eloquence of sublimated fire-terrain".
Murmers the mantra of unarticulated fears.
Historical experiences. Lost traditions.
Spoken in forbidden tongues.
The very sounds of which challenge.
The assumed authenticity.
Of any sense of mastery.

He points to a fire in the library !
As real as the night is black. As clear as the night is fact.
A beacon !
Light !
Focus !
And the emergence of detail as the shadow shifts.
Moves across the face chased by a glowing radiance.
Inner Guidance. The dances of Khidr. A dance of Light.

I face the mirror and pull the black hood back to reveal ...
A pleasant insight.
Not the Grim Reaper ! Not Death !
Nothing that they may have left ...
But Life !
Focused life.
And a Dance of Light !

And each of us merely words in progress. Each of us a part of the Neighbourhood in process. The Hood in Jazz-chord progression. No more . No less. It's all part of life's test. There's no worse. No best. And so after the Truth, then what is there left ?

A name, a rose by any other.

The Edge of Dawn.

At the edge of dawn light ascends upwards from the heavens
Salmon pink day-light kisses the sky…
Breathes life into the blue beyond.

Waves of rolling lines lead to the curved edge of the horizon
Curved beyond our natural vision
Part of the overall roundness of this place, now.
Since the water has risen.

Beneath the waves a rusty sign that reads Merseyrail
Black and white barriers separate road from trail.
A chocolate box assortment of shops
A chippy /  an off license / a bright red pillar box
Covered in barnacle spots…
Then the sunken road drops off.

I pull in my oars and float
An owl peering over the side of my aqua-marine boat…
Beneath me an aquatic park flanked by houses
Angular shapes softened by curves in places.
Brash red-brick façades sweetened by
Pink pastel shades in plaster.

Grander designs in sobering sandstone ,
Gold domed with wrought iron spires,
Now nestled amidst mottled green
Flickering like ceramic fixtures
In Mother Nature's gold fish bowl.

I lean over and run my hand through the walm water.
Green soothes as the light moves through blue bell glades
Colonnades of Romanesque stature swaying like sea-weed
Beneath the glittering waves … that sing …
Of the water's ebb and flow, a remembrance of time's past.

Spectral my presence as I drift above the foamy sway.
But by now I'm used to this…
 At the centre of the moment the horizon beckons…
 Infinite to the eye but ever calling.
Compelling, cajoling, coaxing the gaze outwardly.

I ghost past the tip of what was once a triumphant tower
Hung with storm lanterns like a harbour bouy.
Using the submerged road below me as my salty old sat-nav.
Red tarmac speckled with grey and white gravel.
 It is here the marinading metropolis stops.
Red turns to beige / Road to sand
And all fade from my view
As if they alone knew my true destination.

Where the wind blows, and the water flows free.
At the centre of all reason there is a sense of light
At the edge of that light the water waits for us…
A transcendent order beyond the chaos.

Elements.

And now you walk with Nature...
Free like The Elements.

Forests / woodlands / leaves and trees...
things we need so that we can breath.

And now you walk with Nature...
Free like The Elements.

Waterfalls /  rivers and streams...
things that keep our bodies clean.

And now you walk with Nature...
Free like The Elements.

Mountains / hillsides / rocks & stones...
things from which we build our homes.

And now you walk with Nature...
Free like The Elements.

Sunshine / moonlight / lightnings fire...
things that lift the Soul up higher.


Focus.

A ray of incandesance
Pin-pointed with purpose
 Premeditated luminosity
In tact & correct.

Such inpenetrable poise can make people nervous
Reality often has that effect.

Exploding the obvious/ Focussed light/ Focussed light through a lens

In Brignall crofts in Burmantofts.
I think of you surrounded and alone.
Focussed light !
Focussed light through a lens.

For You.

I'm not that good with facts and figures
Money runs through my finger tips
I do the best against life's rigours
I try to make the most of it

I'm not that good at wheeler dealing
I always get ripped off a bit
I guess my Soul's too all revealing
I got the cap but it don't fit

We strolled down Mogadishu Wembley
Storm clouds opened up the sky
The thunder rolled on over Tescos
The lightning opened up my eyes

We caught the bus past Neaseden temple
I love the rain it clears the Soul
 I glorified the Heavens in Harlesden
God's elements were in control

And if it wasn't for you I'd be sad and lonely
If it wasn't for you I'd be lonesome and blue
I think of you as my one and only
And no one else in the World will do...
No one else in this World will do !


Four Aces for Sam.

For the healing of the heart let experience play its part
Withdraw into the science of Love’s Remembrance
Draw the Ace of encompassing acceptance.

In the Light of health restored an
And the hardship you’ve endured
Wrought solely from the Gold of pure Intention
Draw the Ace of Conscious Soul connection.

For the cleansing of the tongue
And avoidance of all wrong
An Integrity that transcends all transgression
Draw the Ace of Creative core Expression.

From the Inner Eye that’s sees
Within the solitude that frees
A Devotion that gives rise to noble purpose
Draw the Ace of Self-respecting Service.

Four Aces for Sam the Universal Soulman
Four parts of the plan of who you are and how you can.
Brother and Spiritual man you are and you can.

Fresh.

Leaping from the bone-white cliff
into the unsuspecting blueness
I soar
Upwards like a swallow

Riding the warm up-draft
Negotiating the cold cross winds
that drag down into the darkness
of the waters bluest depths

The darkness seethes and the sea breathes
The sea speaks / The sea thinks
The sea leaks  / The sea links

A myriad tributaries that feed
Into the warm bloodstream
of this place

Trace it's trajectory
Running with the wind / drinking in the rain
a line / a curve / a wave again
Fresh !

Freshfields.

Silver cool the green of Love's garden
Perfumed silk to wrap your heart in...
Verdant pastures of the serene unseen
weaving their way into the most unexpected of places
the most unexpected of heavenly places.

I am in the Zone / the healing zone  
A place close to home / a place with a rhythm all of it's own.
It is the place where I will meet the Weaponless Hunter
the Whirling Dancer.
She who must be faced.

Good Too Me Lately.

Love is a light that shines in our hearts
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
The twinkling of a distant star
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Whether near or whether far
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Your presence always plays a part.
Within the darkness of my night
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
You radiate with inner light
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Beneath the veil of shadow play
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately..
Remembrance of a brighter way.

Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah !
If Love is a Light that comes from you
Make my Heart a Lantern that your Light Shines Thru.
If Love is a Light that comes from you
Make my Heart a Lantern that your Light Shines Thru.
Your Love ! Your Love! Is a Love that shines
So bright in my heart that it almost blinds.
Your Love ! Your Love ! Is a Love that shines
So bright in my heart that it almost blinds.

There's many ways to live your life
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Some days bring Joy Some days bring strife
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
It's difficult to get it right
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Hard to avoid every fight.
The little things you do and say
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Seem to help me on my way
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
And when I let your love draw near
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
It seems to make it all so clear.

Hat.

(Poem from a Gladys Mary Coles Work Shop John Moores Lit. Ba Hons)

Arturo wore a pork-pie hat
short round and semi-flat.

A middle-aged Cuban-Amerikkkan
Black New York epitaph that lies
in the graveyard of an exiled child.
 
Grown now to appreciate that
although seperated for years
in retrospect it has become
as clear as cream-soda
that some things are forever near.

And the things we say, do, and wear
all come from somewhere..
deep within our past.

Just a nonchalant nineties fact
that I realise as I catch
a glimpse of myself
in a mirror as I walk past
and notice that I'm wearing
a short round semi-flat
pork-pie hat.
He would have liked that…

Healing.

For healing the World's ills
What we need is more honest communication.
More sincere comunication.
A more natural way of communicating.

Communication is healing.
Healing is communication
That relies on an openness
To the wholeness of experience.

Music is communication
Universal in it's nature
Total communication
Communication as healing.

Sounds
Within which lay the deeper
Mysteries of inspiration
The pathways and the healing
Which lead to One-ness and Unity.


Heart.

I've got a conscious cachét
Of things my foolish ego's said !
I'm gonna have to throw 'em all away
And cleanse my Heart every day !

Henna .

It was a special day.
I'd just recited Surah Balad in St Nic's.
And sung... Hope !
A Gospel nasheed for the silent inspirational choir.
Bristolians out numbered Scousers.
Ten to One at least.

Abdul-Jamal sat next to the suicidal Syrian.
The Catholic Priests were there naturally.
Bernie The Witch Docter was there.
And the Ju-ju mercenaries from Manny.
Also the Lord Mayor
and a Special delegation of
VIP's from Vermont.

Allah's rain cancelled play at Exchange Flags
The statues in chains waited in vain.
We waited for bit...
Then on to St George's Hall for the final stages
of
The City's acceptance of it's role in The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.

A cosmetic cultural awakening.
Part of the overall Millenium Make-over bid.
It was here that you left a russet stain on my heart.
Like a splash of orange on a blue field.

Complimentary
as opposed to
Opposite.

And now...
The blue is a radiant Summer sky.
 The orange, a golden sun on a clear Summer's day.
A day when you can see all the way to Wales.
All the way to Moel Fammau.
A special day.

Hues.
There was light
In the words of
The Last Poets
And the subtle hues of Sam Rivers...
Through Allah's guidance....
Veils of light played as modal-moods
Meandering through states of mind,
And fields ...
Of emotional and intuitive awareness.

A consciousness of inner worlds....
 through Soul guidance.

The World of the Heart
Where Love speaks only Truth
And guides to the right path.

Alhamdulillah.

This is why traditional roots 'culture'
Has always given us a positive direction
To grow towards.

This is how my art became one with my
My religious practise.

Imam Ghazali equates rhythm with harmony
And harmony with beauty
And beauty with
Elevation of the Soul.
Somethings.

Somethings yu juss can't share
Nomatta how hard yu try
Sometings yu juss can't share
nomatta how much yu waant too
Yu juss can't say how it stay
nomatta how yu try don't aks me why
Somtings belong to a time and place
Until they vanish without trace... Wo wo !

 Gone is Gone! / There's No Use Holdin' On !
What's Done is Done  ! / And There's No Use Going On !
Aaaye !

So yu realy-realy-realy couldn't see it
Cos dhe ting wouldn't realy-realy be it
No! Yu realy-realy-realy couldn't see it
Cos dhe ting realy-realy wouldn't be
Dhe experience dhe feelings
the time dhe place dhe dance
A line a kurve a wave a glance
An attitude towards circumstance. Oh yeah !

I wish I could share widh yu
some of dhe wonderful tings in dhis creation
Fora so many tings in life are tied up widh
Specific sitiuation
So I real can't say how it stay
nomatta how I try don't aks me why
Somtings belong to a time and place
Until they vanish without trace... Wo wo !

What's Done is Done ! / There's No Use Going On !
What's Gone is Gone ! / And There's No Use Holdin' On !
Aaaye !

Cos yu realy-realy-realy couldn't see it
Cos dhe ting wouldn't realy-realy be it
No! Yu realy-realy-realy couldn't see it
Cos dhe ting realy-realy wouldn't be
Dhe experience dhe feelings the time dhe place dhe dance
A line a kurve a wave a glance
An attitude toards circumstance
Oh yeah !

Con-sequential.

A line / a curve / a wave
An eye / a look / a glance

A word / a frase / a chant
A poem / a song / a dance

A sigh / a moan / a prayer-like tone...
a message  via telephone

A feather / A wing / a lock of hair
A breath / a breeze / a rush of air

A feeling / a knowing / a sense / an ache
A trickle / a waterfall / a lake


Urban Dervish.

Urban Dervish at your service. And here I am.
The Victorian Tea Rooms. My little office.

Khalil's the name, cultural detective's the game.
Tea drinker,  of indeterminate ethnicity.
Born in a hybrid place. A son of the city.
Where everyday new hybrids emerge.
My good people ! Welcome to Planet Earth.

Racial identity is slippery to say the least.
At this point in time my ID is somewhat redundant.

This point in time " The End of History".  
Cultural nomads like me flee, into the Mystery.
The Rose has a Science for the Sickening Heart.
Turn to the Light and the healing starts.

Twinges of consciousness convulse, and contort,
Twixt the twisted entrails of industrial reports.
Resolved to marketting's retentive solutions.
My empathy emerges as eloquent excretions.

The Future. Remains an Unknown Country. The New Angle.  
The Emergent Humanity. What will it be ?
You have the right to remain silent. But not me.
So anything you doe say/ may be used as stand up stand-up comedy.
And The Way is Mercyful and sides with The Needy.

The Zone.

Silver cool the green of Love's garden
Perfumed silk to wrap your heart in...
Verdant pastures of the serene unseen
weaving their way into the most unexpected of places
the most unexpected of heavenly places.

I am in the Zone / the healing zone  
A place close to home / a place with a rhythm all of it's own.
It is the place where I will meet the Weaponless Hunter
the Whirling Dancer.
She who must be faced.

The Sistahs.

You held council with The Hi-Rise Sisterhood
And at least one of them said that I was no good.
But ofcourse I knew at least one of them would.
Par for the course. So it's understood


The Way It Is Blues.

If your baby left you / In the pouring rain.
And she went to London / By a coach not a train..
And you find yourself thinking of what you can do
And those Blues start a creeping/ All up around you.

You gorra face it kid that's just the way it is !
Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...
You gorra face it kid that's just the way it is !
Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...

You might hate her ideas/ She might laugh in your face
She might batter your ears / Cos she don't like your taste.
She might juggle your words / And confuse what you say.
It might not figure right / But just leave it that way.

You gorra face it kid that's just the way it is !
Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...
You gorra face it kid that's just the way it is !
Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...

I may act like a monkey/ But I sure aint no ape.
If I give you my heart / Don't pull it out of shape.
When my feelings are tender / And I'm lonesome and blue.
I'll write return to sender / from me back to you .

You gorra face it kid that's just the way it is !
Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...Hmmm-Hmmm-Mmmm...

 

 

 

Songs

Me Mutha used to Sing me Freedom Songs
Now I've grown I've figured out the Reason.
That's the way the woman stayed Strong.
All things in due Season.

Me Mutha used her songs to revitalise all our hopes
They helped us realise our dreams
As she explored her own ability
to cope and plan and scheme.

Burning illusions/ Makings sense of the confusion
That's how she taught me to live my life.
Me Mutha's Songs were always Rooted
In The Ancient and Wise.

Me Mutha's songs' were for the child.
That would be denied because its skin-tone's rare
Or its tongue deemed too common.
May Me Mutha's songs' keep that child from stealing and robbing.

And street violence/ cops/ thugs and phony-ass people.
The dole / the system/ and drugs that are lethal.
 
Leaching/ lynching/ witch-hunting and bitching.
Cracked headed kids trigger fingers itching.

Yeah ! When me mutha sang it was more than a song
It was a way of showing me the right from the wrong.

Me Mutha used to Sing me Freedom Songs
Now I've grown I've figured out the Reason.
That's the way the woman stayed Strong.
All things in due Season.

Me Mutha's songs' laughed and Me Mutha's Songs cried.
Lorrrrrrd !  How Me Mutha's Songs cried
For all the lost lives/ And how quick time flys.

And everytime I lift the veil from my eyes
I see her sing the Blues. The Boogy. Be-Bop and Jive.
I remember when she was still alive
How the songs brought tears to her jitterbugging eyes.

Me Mutha's Songs helped me to survive.
From  Way-way back when I was a child.
Running wild ! Hell Yeaah ! Wild & Free !
Climbing fire escapes/ or high up into a tree
Anywhere/ any place high enough to see.

The visions that me Mutha showed me.
Climbing in bombed out buildings
Up onto derilict rooves.
 Climbing hills and mountains.
Scatting on a groove.
Me Mutha's Songs were the sounds of suppressed realities.
Mixed marriages and one parent families.
That's why I'm burning false history and writing the sequal.  
Using pen & paper to relate to people.

Me Mutha used to Sing me Freedom Songs
Now I've grown I've figured out the Reason.
That's the way the woman stayed Strong.
All things in due Season.

Slavepool.

A seaport sprang from the blood of slaves in the pool of Life a mcabre parade
Human marketplace black flesh for trade
I'm talking African people held in chains
Cargo bought and sold on the cotton exchange
with the gum and the rum and the sugar cane
branded like beast who feel no pain
And all for merry Englands gain.

Ya-yo ebina osé !
Ya-yo-lay ebina osé !
Ya-yo ebina osé !
Ya-yo-lay ebina osé !
Ya-yo la kundo pa
ya-yo tuffu kedjayii
Kundo pa kokuloko
Waba nulé desoloko !
Yeah ! African people held in chains

But things are changing reararrnging
Cos only we can clear our name
growingknowing that's why we're showing
Check it out Things'll nevva be the same.
I'm just a Slave of Allah
reclaiming my Name
Thing'sll nevva be the same.

Pirates auctioned and pitched parliament pitted their wits
the church sold out our soul for gold that's how come the church got rich
With the capital they carved a cosy niche
for the cotton undustry and the nouveau rich.
Excuse me I don't mean to preach
But Black blood sweat and tears
toiled and slaved for years to create all the wealth interest free
Banking shipping industry
Black poverty paved the way to prosperity
John Bull cashed in on our posterity
Legitimised robbery of Afrikan property
a legacy of history we still don't see.

But history changing rearranging
Cos only we can clear our name
growing knowing that's why we're showing
Check it out Thing'sll nevva be the same.
The Slaves of Allah are reclaiming their name
Thing's nevva be the same.

Our real contribution dismised and forgotten
by delusions of grandeur corrupted and rotten
Slave ship to the cotton picking slave plantation
Sold down the Swannee to dehumanisation
Jump down turn around pick a bail of nuthin'
But a bullwhip noose or a gun or somthin'
Imports exports holliday resorts
The imput was largely ours ofcourse
The worlds largest ever unpaid workforce
With the most abundant source of natural resources
and we didn't profit one iota mores the worse
Our mineral rish land time energy and pain
Help to build an Empire that ruled in shame
Now dismissed go collective claims for credit
Or a share in the wealth of that direct debit
Just 400 years of shackles and chains
Attitudes slander media campaigns
Outrageous claims that retard our aims
by the trivialisation of racist games.

But People changing rearranging
Cos only we can clear our name
growing knowing that's why we're showing
Check it out Thing'sll nevva be the same.
The slaves of Allah are reclaiming their name
Thing's nevva be the same.

If you've evva been on the dole or without a home
you'll realise what I'm saying that it all began
by a way of life that carries on
Bykeeping innocent people down.
Liverpool !
City in a society built on a truth that's cruel
Once upon a time you were the nation's jewel
Now discarded like a worn out industrial tool
With redundant rhetoric and bourgoise rules
Used and abused like the slaves of old
That's why  the White folks even got The Blues down cold
That's why they understand. And I guess that's kool
But the song remains the same Slavepool !


Ya-yo ebina osé !
Ya-yo-lay ebina osé !
Ya-yo ebina osé !
Ya-yo-lay ebina osé !
Ya-yo la kundo pa
ya-yo tuffu kedjayii
Kundo pa kokuloko
Waba nulé desoloko !


Henn Bhen.

The laughing Rose Henna
The Joy that comes from Divine Grace-Truth
Happiness above wealth
Inner Peace above temporal power
And materiality
The Golden sunlight starts to shine
A reward from the time spent as a Raven
Pointing to the straight path
Through the forest of mind-My time !
Or how I spent it…From gory suffering a glorious fresh start
No poet- No poetry- No public ignomy
Time to be free from me
Private-Personal-Quiddity !?!

Hoop.

The  Sacred Hoop of the ancients
Weaves like the elements
Spinning the thread of creation
As nature reinvents...

Mountains hillsides rocks and stones
gifts with which we build our homes
Forests woodlands leaves and trees
standing pines that help us breath

The  Sacred Hoop is a river that passes through all time
And  leads us through our Earthwalk
When our hearts and  dreams entwine...

Waterfalls rivers and streams
rinse our wounds so they can heal
Sunshine starlight lightnings fire
make our Spirits stretch much higher
The Sacred Hoop is a rhythm that regulates Earths beat
To the movement of the universe that guides our dancing feet.

I Know That.

Sitting here on lonely afternoon
Wondering if things will work out right real soon
Adding up al my reasons left to care
Feeling like I've had more than my fair share
Honing my patience like a precious blade
Remembering Texas and those Golden days
With Joy in my heart I'll find a better way

And I know that God likes laughin'
Cos I saw it in a dream
I was clowning / He was smilin'
 And He sanctioned it as clean
And I know that God likes Humans
Cos He told me to be me
Cos he wants us to be happy
And He wants us to be free...

In my heart I wear my dancing shoes
As I count my blessings with the Blues
Cos I know God always leaves us clues
In every Soul a precious jewel

Distill my patience through my pen
I'll walk through fire to write again
I'll dance like Kelly in the rain
And whirl till God Alone's to blame

And I know that God likes dancin'
Cos I saw it in a dream
See I rocked in thaub and turban
And He told me it looked mean
And I know that God likes Humans
Cos He told me to be me
Cos He wants us to happy
And He wants us to be free.

I Love Sound.

I love to listen to the wind when it's raging and raining
Rain beating out a rhythm on the windows pain.

I love to listen to the whistle of a distant train
When it's coming to carry me home again.

I love the click of the kettle when the water's boiled
I love the sizzle of golden cooking oil.

I love the rustle of stiff brown paper bags
And the tinkle of slivers of silver foil.

I love sound of a spade as it digs through the soil.
It reminds me of gardening and good honest toil.
 
I love babbling brooks, ghosts and spooks
And the sounds that go bump in the night.
I love cheery sounds and eery sounds
Love the screach of an owl in full flight.

I love the sounds of the country and the sounds of the town.
I love the sounds of crowds, and the swish of gowns.

I love the sound of sighing and the laughter of clowns
And the sound of silence when noones around.


March 3rd 1993.

(Gladys Mary Coles Workshop John Moores Ba Hons )

It was like the first day
of April
today.

Spring
at
the beginnng
of February

I search the ground for primroses.

Why not ?
I mean everything else
is changing....

So why not the seasons.

Mother nature
was never known to follow
man's reason.

Early morning
sunlight
a new day
an insight.


Indian Shoes.

Eyes
Full of sighs
Mouth
Full of fruit
Prayed
Like a song
Sang
Like a lute.

Sad
Soul seething
Heart
Steeped in pain
Woke-up
From dreaming
Calling-out
Your name...

Everyones got Opinions
Everyone shares Views

They say ;
"Nevva judge an Indian...
Untill you've walked
In his shoes"

Browsed
Beneath the bric-a-brac
Disturbed
A lorra mice
Sorted-out
All of the loose talk
Dried-out
My eyes

There's
Only One direction
Whatever
Way you choose
Even
If your wide-eyed
You
Just might miss the clues...

 Everyones got Opinions
Everyone shares Views

They say ;
"Nevva judge an Indian...
Untill you've walked
In his shoes"

In Roundwood Lodge Café.

Sitting at a delightfully tiled mosaic table
In Roundwood Lodge Café Park-Harlesden
Late afternoon October-Indian Summer.
The table is a circular Mandala
In white and green leaf motif.
Specs of blue here and there
Sparsely scattered amidst the hypnotic ceramics.

Pensioners, parents, toddlers
Babies, school kids and teenagers.
All in sonic competition with each other
Against the idyllic backdrop of bird song and
 The gentle trickle of the subliminally situated
Water feature
I am sat strategically in front of.

A lion’s head
Mouth agape-spills water down corrosive
Coloured copper plate
 The flow flanked by dark green moss
Fading and fusing into the turquoise of copper sulphate
A sort of Greco-Roman urn
Catching the sparkling slashes of Aqua Vita
 An amphora acting as a sound bowl.

My inner silence adding an air of Zen to the ambience
As the melodious polyphony of echoing rivulets
Tinkles like wind chimes.

Sounds that seem to be made of clear cut crystal
Creating a soothing silvery trickling tinkle.
If light could be heard it might sound like this.
The sound of “nothing is amiss”.

Sycamores form a leafy canopy of yellow and green above –
If this is growing old then I’m in love. Shukra Allah!
Thanks to you my Beloved
The Serenity of the Silent bliss
I think of you in moments like this.


We Rollin’.

Creating my own harmony
From somewhere deep within
Feel my Spirit rising
And that’s when the Vibes begin.

I feel my heart pulsating
It’s the kick drum of the Soul
In silent meditation
I adjust the controls.

And that’s how we roll
Yeah ! This is how we roll
And we rollin’
And we Rrroooollin’
We rollin’ in Love
We in Love

From somewhere deep within
Sometimes it’s your smile
Sometimes it’s your sweet eyes
Rrroooollin’
We roolin’ on we rollin’ on
We rollin’ on down the road

Griot FM.

Silence Sound Opposites Abound
Rhythm Functions Inbewteen
Syncopates the Middle Ground.

From the Wisdom of the Ancients too vast to mention
With humility we target our truest intentions
Sound’s strategic essentials sketched in pencil
For mapping the self and it's inner dimensions.

Silence Sound Opposites Abound
Rhythm Functions Inbewteen
Syncopates the Middle Ground.

May this Earth-Jam Session regulate the Soul
May these Griot harmonies help to blend
May the Will of the Universe be in control
And may my words shine with the light of the Friend.

Silence Sound Opposites Abound
Rhythm Functions Inbewteen
Syncopates the Middle Ground.

Urban Mango Courtship Rituals.

I'm reading James Baldwin's “Another Country”.
A close friend sits opposite me she also has a copy...
Which I bought for her, btw, from Atticus, a second hand book shop.
It has a nice cover very 'Beat'.

In her copy a line has been hi-lighted on page seven...
By a previous owner. She reads it to me…
Baldwin's omniscient narrator speaks:
" An N-word, said his father, lives his whole life, lives and dies to a beat".

We sit and we read occasionally exchanging sometimes furtive,
 Sometimes knowing glances.
We taste the coffee...Swelter in the mid-afternoon heat.
Sierra Maestra workshop Manteca in the back ground
From a session I taped in the ballroom of the Hardman Hotel last year.

The seasons have come 'round again.
I hear myself play bongo's through the speakers
When I play it to El Gringo he will swear it is him.
Out the window L8... Feels/Looks  like Baldwin's
Harlem & Greenwich Village all rolled into one...
And the Beat Goes On !

New Designs Realigned with an Ancient Time
When we lived with the land and the living was fine.
Sweet like mango. Hot like chillie.
Like a solid vibration rooted in Unity
With the thick green seldom seen undergrowth
That Sprawls as it Crawls across the ground.
Like a sound Heey ! Yeeah !

I’m singing in my comic-sleazy Dean Martin voice
“Summertime and the living is easy
Fish are jumping and the cotton is high
Your daddies rich and yo' momma's good lookin'
So hush little baby don't you cry...”
At the helicopter hovering in the sky'

It's Summertime in Liverpool town
The air is full of African sounds
Sonic vibes rooted in Unity with
the thick green Seldom seen undergrowth
the Sprawls as it Crawls across the ground
Of the South End of this City.

Bodacious brass solidifies like lava
Into a  tree of sound whose roots
Spread like forbidden knowledge
Across the sweat drenched dancefloor...
Upwards through the forest of legs
That tremble with the rumble of bass.
The unstoppable movement of a
Thunder that combines Power with Grace.

In pubs and bars, clubs and cars...
house's flats and tenement yards
it's carried on the wind like a leaf or a spark
Yeah!  Especially downtown
After Sundown… Yeah!  After dark.

Heart beats pound as the air resounds
with rhythms from the Earthy ground
Feelings over-run their bounds
And...I feeel Good! Ooowwoh Wooowooo!
I knew that I would...
And the Beat Goes On!

Clubland populated with copulating wild life
In the half-lit moonlight.
This is the nightlife
Milky White-Cream coloured-Beige-Chocolate-SprayTanned
Bronzed-Red- Yellow-Brown and Black bodies caught up
In the hot tomali beat...

Feelings flowing like the fever that feeds the frenzy of the Flavella.
As mysterious as the curiously seductive Kasbah
As dangerous as the compulsively calling Ghetto...
Liverpool Echo! Echo! Echo!

In Sefton Park the Last Tango leaving some lovers
Frothing-fumbling-falling to the soft mossy floor
To wind some more/ And some more /And some more
 And some more  babyyyy!

Red veined bodies entwine like mixed bloodlines
Clinging like the vines that find their way across Centuries and Oceans...
Around the rabbit warren of city streets
And their wall to wall alehouses
Down the alleyways
Up seething stairwells
And into people's lives.

Grapevines and hybrid bloodelines
That bind as they wind their way
Through wires and circuits and the
Moist-fresh hot-wet close-cut atmosphere...

Fuelled by the Souls that once filled
 Once upon time clubs like the Ibo, Yoruba, Calabar, Sierre Leone, West Indian,
Fat Johnnies, Dutch Eddies, Casablanca, Jamaica House,  Caribbean Centre, Somali Club, Sudanese Silver Sands, Malay Hollywood, Yemeni Al Haram, All Nations, The International, Zanzibar, Timepiece, Pun and Babalou
And many other places old and new
Where we did what we did / As we used to do how we do.

Neighbourhood hang outs
 Where the sound of the jungle meets the beat from the street.
Homeboys hanging around pool-tables
We bathed in the heat of the mango-fresh
Mambo-Reggae-Samba-Motown-Hi-Life-Blue Beat-Cha-Cha
The handclap, the thigh slap, the drum and the boogaloo foot tap.
We be...We be...We be...
More than just music
More than just dance
More than just Heartbeats
Pulsating like the hot salsa sound of Al Barrio
Writhing in a passionate embrace that echoes
The Love that is the Life of the Inner City peoples in full flow.

We be the Music
That is the food of Lovers of the Human Soul
Performers with a spicey social role
Shimmy a shim as you sample the fried squid at Sunnyland Slims...
Taste a  Mexican taco at El Macho's...
Black pepper fried chicken at the Sierre Leone
Red Beans & Rice very nice with Caribbean spices.
Hot Pepper Sauce puts the fire in el Corezone.

Music pumping like a Mardi Gras in season
Cooking like a Carnival outa control
Cowbells dancing, and imploding
Timbales exploding...
Bongos by the bus load
And cungero in tow.

Thumb-bangin-Finger-snappin
Hand-clappin-Foot-tappin
Bad-bass-boogy-Bluesy-mello-funkadello
Rebel-rockrootsy-back-bending-bubble-bass boogy
With a lil bit of that Shooby-dooby do-wop Wow !
And how !
Smokin and cookin like a Jazz pow-wow.

How the Words were given
Is like how we're Living
From the bubble of Life's Bass
To Love's Basic Rhythm.
Blues moaning and wailing for a love long gone
Strutting sounds standing proud as totemic flag poles
Peace-pipe fulla that Underground scribble
Scribble on the rhythm keep the poetry living
With some underground scribble.

Call: Good for the Mind!
Response: Good for the Soul!

Call: Good for the Body!
Response: Good for the Soul!

Call: Good for the Spirit!
Response: Good for the Soul!

Call: Good for the People!
Response: Good for the Soul!

And the Beat Goes On! And the Beat Goes On! And the Beat Goes On! And the Beat Goes On! And the Beat Goes …….

You.

It’s the little things you say and do
That make you such a gorgeous …person
You deliciously sleazy tease you.  

Dhe reAl MAgiK

is stArting.......

I've spoKe Widh dhe mAgiK gurl.
I looKed At her...
And noW
I cAn't sleep.

Jester.

I once saw a Jester...
Wrestling with how best to invest time / Juggling with rhymes / pulling lines and themes of intricately plotted pieces of Kinté cloth / from the misleading emptyness / that hung in the surrounding air.

Multi coloured / Mandinka designs / Adinkra Jazz hues / Now.......
Global and Holistic / Renewed and distinguished by an atmosphere seething with the invisible pregnancy / Of all that is possible.......

And all that is unstoppable.......
I watched as it grew / in varying shapes and sizes / fluttering like the firey wings of manic moths / I watch as effortlessly...

He writes.....
The Diary of / a young Dervish / as a Mad artist / And thats just for starters...he says....

"Seemingly without cause or care/ Out of the nothingness of thin air / Pop mello-toned balloons accompanied by a sun shower of confetti.

Candy striped streamers surge up to a great height / becoming fireworks that explode".

Phallic symbols pop like champagne corks with a bang and a whoosh / Returning to Earth in a cascade of neon lights / Like an advert for patterned tights / And the sights and the sounds of the city at night.

Untill all of a sudden hanging in thin air the Rainbows end from which the seeds of this Carnival shoot forth / An edge that shatters the whole spectrum of preconcieved perceptions.

A wonderful yet chaotic light / Piercing the darkness of the nether world...The air / Tinted like the studio mix on the Saturnalian sax solo that pulsates / Where Sun Ra waits in a far off world of abstract dreams like a Lonnie Liston Cosmic Echo or...

A painting by El Greco / Pulsates like a strobe on overload red & yellow & pink & green & purple & orange and blue / Like the cover of the Sam Rivers' album " Hues ".

Incense rises as lilac smoke / Aromatically choking the killing jokers.  
Warped perspectives shift into focus.

Paint is splashed around by costumed clowns / Whose faces make you feel like lauging / Even when they frown / A masked Harlequin in a skin-tight suit of diamond patchs / Watchs...

Morrocan acrobats in small round hats / rolling under this / jumping over that / trip and stumble / wheel and collapse / As the most delicate set of crystal-ware maidens / Decoratively double as Egyptian dancing girls / in pink and pepperemint / Shining Satin pastel shades...

 Their tou-tous amuse / But it is only a ruse to confuse and amaze...
As / They parade the fire and the jade / That only just manages to thinly disguise the newly found menace that glows / through the gentle hues of
their flame throwing eyes...

 Their garments cling like gracefully flowing garlands scented and sweet to taste / Eyes dance and sinues writhe beneath the lustful lustre of a peach-like pattern of sensual satin / Smooth like the silken hair that flows...

 A River of sensuality that sparkles and shimmers salmon leaping and riding the wind / Ending in a pirouette that leaves the atmosphere moist and the very air itself wet / As they fade back into the jumble of the clothes-line jungle

Singing in tune with a samba whistle / Berimbau in hand / There are Bahaian whoops and cheers as Airto Moreira plays a bouncy capoiera / The Jester clears a tear from his eye / smiles and stares...

Laughter fills the air/ A laughter that drowns out the leering-jeers of those who contaminate the / Harvest of The Years / Those who supply the ending that if left unattended would inevitably multiply...

In the bull rushes that stir as hooded eyes glare / into a miriad of spiralling grapevines/ Each one following its own particular discourse concerning/ Time/ Loves Rituals/  Each baring fruits in due season........

Adding Maroon, mauve, magenta, mustard and ochre. Vermilliom, crimson, cream and peuce/ Cobalt, emerald, olive and grey / And all in their own notorious way / To a never ending heady season...

Concerning time / loves rituals / and the jugular vein of Sufitic reason.

Joy.

Yeah ! Yea-yah !
Jamming the way of the Believer
In a Liverpool manner
I got Blues etiquette
And English grammar.

So let the rap ring out
Like a Blacksmith's hammer
In a style that could use
A little Jazz piannah.

It's in the nature
Of my natural-born
Mersey-side roots
Allah tempers my nature
My Soul bares fruit

 Knowledge of self understanding
And timeless truth.
My Shiekh moved with the beat
Of the street as his proof.

So if the Spirit Moves yah and yah feel to relate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate.
I said Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !
Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-Yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !

A daily ritual ! Prayer !
You could call it habitual
I call it merely doing
What comes natural...
Celebrating life whirling
Sometimes like a Dervish
Poor folks dancing with remembrance
So consider it a service.

 Sufi-Blues-Gospel-News
Soulful truth of our youth
Pumping bass-lines in the basement
Singing love-songs on the roof Yeah !

Spiritual at conception
Like the power of the sun
Mystic love that links creation
Where the inspiration comes from
Some call it The Presence
Second Only to None
I like to call it Al Wahid
The One & Only One

So if the Spirit Moves yah and yah feel to relate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate.
I said Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !
Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-Yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !

As recited by the throngs
That sang the Gospel songs
Inspired by the Freedom
For which they longed
Gives a whole new meaning
To the word foregiving
Thru blood stained seasons
New reasons for living

Wounded hearts left bleeding
Through open minds
Finding the Oneness of all People
At the Dawn of Time

Rising above it as Brothers and sisters
Together ! And together !
And together ! We shine!

We Shine ! We shine ! We Be Shine !
Together ! And together !
And together ! We shine!

So if the Spirit Moves yah and yah feel to relate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate
Make a joyful noise and lets celebrate.
I said Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !
Lets celebrate Yeah-Yeah ! Yeah-Yeah !
Lets celebrate Ah-ah ! Ah-ah !

Joyful.

Melancholy me?
 Not really…
Just quietly happy…
Ask anybody…

At least those who truly know me.

What then do I feel?
Just a sense of joy that I seem to be
Winning this war within me…
And all I know is that now
I feel a lot more real…
Though still reeling from the aftershock
Of that which you randomly unlocked.

And…I thought I could take you on… But you…
You my silently smiling Lady of Mystery
You slayed me…
And it would appear that it’s…As plain as daylight
For all to see… Ask anyone… Who can still recognise me.

Just Dust.

Malamatiyya Mystic Knights
Of Ancient Nishapur
Poets of the people's fight
Poverty at their door...

Humble lions of the Soul
Warriors against their-selves
Blameworthy of hypocrysy
Still they beg to delve...

No rhetoric nor dogma
No rituals nor creed
Just a heart that bleeds
Through an open mind
And the lowlyness of weeds...

Vain-glorious ambition
A fire fit for the burning  
Their temple is an olive grove
It's fruits were born from yearning.

They say; "Nothing we do ever comes from us
We're just the Salt of the Earth
We're the People of Dust..."

Noone to accuse
Just ourselves to reproach
At the Ka'ba of Heaven
No self-riteous approach...

One heroic journey
One invisible road
No outward appearance
Just a chivalrous code...

Within each heart
Of Life and Love and Learning
Where solitude's no heavy load
And emptyness no burden

 All free Souls heed
Their silent call
There is only the One
And it Unites us All...

And they say; "Nothing we do ever comes from us
We're just the Salt of the Earth
We're the People of Dust..."

Kamilz.

On a caravan of camels / the Lovers traveled
Through open spaces / To a cool oasis
Where the belly-dancer boogied / breaking every rule
To a smooth oudh player / who was blowing his kool.

 Amidst swathes of Shimmering chiffon / a fertive hint of Khol-mascara
The Seventh veil revealed in shades the endlessness Sahara.
Sirens carried / the rhythm of the darrabukka.
Urban Jazz or was it / just North African Jujukka.

Move with the Tide/ Go with the Flow
Enjoy the Ride / The Kamilz Run Slow.

As candle-light twinkled / in the moon-lit medina
Talk turned to tales of olden days / Arabi & Abysinnia.
Eating cous-cous in the casbah / Savouring the flavour while it lasted.
Remembrances of humbler days / the reasons why we've fasted.

The wind beckoned / So we followed
The strangely shifting sands / of our diminishing tomorrows.
Simple knowledge of the human heart / Dressed in rags and tatters
We Danced like Dervishes till dawn/ And slept when we were shattered.

 Move with the Tide/ Go with the Flow
Enjoy the Ride / The Kamilz Run Slow.

We were slaves/ then pirates / now we are here
Nomadic spirits but have no fear
With a smile on our lips and an open ear
To our host the message was draw near.
Of all the treasures that we shared that eve
It's rememberance that we hold most-dear.

Move with the Tide/ Go with the Flow
Enjoy the Ride / The Kamilz Run Slow.


Khidr.

Khidr
the Green One
floats
through the forest...

Worlds without end
his
solitary goal.

Harmony
&
 beneficent
mercy...

Worlds
without
end
and
stories untold.


Kobuki.

What you did to me
Was spookier than Kobuki
A catastrophe
That I could not have foreseen.

Left with no macho shield
I could do nought but yield
Despite what ever could have
Would have-should have been
You took my heart to the cleaners
And rinsed it clean.

Konobwa.

As my dissolute defenses leave me
Vulnerable
To the whims of my Lady’s favour
I feel my Soul grow…
 
Pregnant with impossibilities
My mind is suffering the pangs
Of an over due labour.

As the damn bursts
I am inundated to the quick
A washed-up Samurai
Spatch-cocked by my own ki’tana
But how? Why?
And in what manner?

Lake Sakinah.

I skim a grey flat pebble across a clear blue lake.
The satin waters ripple
The gentle moonlight wakes
Silence surrounds the gentlest sounds
that shimmer in the stillness.
Soft splashes of expanding rounds
dance with their silent witness.

and I will wait by Lake Sakinah
Listening in the Silence
To the movement of the water
As it ripples in the moonlight…Hmmm…

Sitting still like the pine
On this fragrant night
Serenity deep within my mind
From the depths such a radiant light
Hmmm…
Transparant as the clear blue lake
Shapeless serene and formless
As moonbeams dance in pebbles wake
The silence remains dauntless

and I will wait by Lake Sakinah
Listening in the Silence
To the movement of the water
As it ripples in the moonlight…Hmmm…

Lancashire Hot Spot.

I lick my fingers
When you cook such spices
Pukka lips to suck in air
To calm the steamy kiss
Of a heart that’s full of hunger.

For the Ishqish coconut desert
Even the molecules in the air flirt.

Distracted by such passion-Such fire-Such bliss
And all on a moonlit night like this-
All on a moonlit night like this-

Such silence-Such stillness-Such risk…

Lava .

Molten white-Hot...
The earliest bits to break through...

Now solidified into stone cold solid rock...
Painfully hard and decorated
With dangerously sharp edges.

A beach of black of volcanic sand
Our place of repose.

We scavenge over the carcass of a dieing
laugh solidified into magma...

Stiff like the hackless on my kneck
when I think .

 


Love Sick.

As I waited for your Soul to meet me
Anticipation’s rush became pschedelic to the touch
The sea-air felt fresh like the colour green to me, lush
As the silver sound of sea-gulls echoed
In the mauve distance. I was entranced.
The thought of it confused my senses
The sun felt bright across my face
As warm as your pinkness, Miss
As soft as the colour beige in May.
What can I say…

I could hear the swish of your sea shore calling
It's sound as blue as a love swollen police siren
It's taste as kite as the wind
As salt white as tears.

My feet walked like wet woolen socks
As grey as a damp coat on a rainy day
My memory of you now a small red-brick chapel
Nestled in a dark damp leafy glade
That smells of protective green shoots
Amidst shifting shadows that felt like
The brown security of the touch of leather.

Loves Recognition

There was a recognition ignition
The tide of cause and effect had risen
and it was high time to make a decision
Ism and schism hda reared it's dissonant head
And I get less & less time for it the older that I get...

 Something inside me said recognise ! Recognise ! Recognise !
And I'm trying to force a reconcilliation
Trying to reconcile a situation
relating
to the disparate fragments of my inner-most sanctum...
My sanctum-sanctorum
if there's enuff elders present then they form a chorum.

The Sanctuary of my Revelrie  
were in lies a battered-up old heart
with a couple of compound fractures that contort from time to time
as living testimony to the fact that
Love
is not
all
that's it's sometimes cracked up to be.

And... in my mind
I see that even my original script musta been a bit ripped
or I musta skiped a bit cos something didn't fit
didn't realise that
that something was me
Cos you see I couldn't see the full picture
Cos I'd been following a fable like it was a scripture.

This is where the Wisdom of the Ancients can come in extremely useful..
Even fruitful......
But first of all of course you have to be truthful
with yourself....
For there are some things with which you can not trust anyone else.

As individuals  we follow
our seperate destinies
and
designated paths
waiting to see what each day will procliam.
Days dealt like upturned cards...
Every hand different
No two cards ever the same...

Each card ltself  being turned like the pages of a novel
where the anonymous author controls the game play.

Gotta change my expectations to suit whats actually on offer...
 the Lifestyle of the city places new demands on me to become
a new sustainable more viable entity.
Something that agrees with me
At least in theory...

And this is how it is...
Assessing what we may have lost on the way
What  we may have accumulated that may have been of some value
That which was useful or that which we realy needed
from that which we'd thought after and eventually sought after
The tears and the laughter...
Your ghetto blaster sings to me
"The Joy The Pain Sunshine & Rain...
Inner-city Life Inner City Pressure".

Inner City pleasure
The sights and the sounds rising up
from the ruins of that which once was once vibrant...

Still silently  burning ...

We turned our gaze skywards
on our quest
for
Higher learning ...

Compelled by a yearning
for something beyond
the realms of the senses...

Something that heals us
and helps us Grow.
 
And never mistake the life of the heart
as mere Art
for it
is a Living Thing...

Like the tiny silver & black
 jet-stone ring
that you wear on the wrong finger...

If you kill the Heart ...
it's body may depart
But believe me it's ghost will linger.
And this is how it is... with us...

Love Testifies.

It's not where you think your coming from
It's not even where your at
It's what's written deep within your own heart
If you can just get to that
it's not the many masks that we like wearing
It's not anything that you can name
Cos it lives beyond all of our Earthly rituals
And the rules change with the game
Hmmm ! Hmmm ! Hmmm  ! Hmmm !

And I wouldn't like to tell you how this things identified
Cos I know from past experience that it can't be quantified
Loves is endlessly unfolding and it can't be analysed
Love is vast and love's eternal
And it can not be denied !
Hmmm ! Hmmm ! Hmmm  ! Hmmm !

It's not just about a feeling
Or a sad and happy glow
You can't capture it with meaning
Cos that's not the way it flows
It's not even linked to resaon
Mind's get trapped within their creeds
And it's not the phony piety
That smiles while poor folks bleed.
Hmmm ! Hmmm ! Hmmm  ! Hmmm !

And I wouldn't like to tell you how this things identified
Cos I know from past experience that it can't be quantified
Loves is endlessly unfolding and it can't be analysed
Love is vast and love's eternal
And it can not be denied !

Maritime Pine.

An unknown marine-scape has slowly taken shape.
Coral pink fronds flirt with the retreating shoreline.
Maritime pines Mambo along a curious coast,
A beach full of scallop shells, edges tinged tangerine,
Presents a scene as mysterious as the changing climate.
And in my empathy I practice a continuity of reinvented memories
Of how things used to be…
Each building once as substantial as a mango tree .

Radiant as ever the sun breaks through the dancing tree-tops
Firing golden shafts of light deep into the heart of this wooded lagoon
Scattering shadows across the rippling shallows
That swirl around the moss covered rock pools.

At the edge of the forest
I hear you listening to the seas Eternal rhythm
As it swishes in the hearts of mermaids, mice and men…
 Slender ferns draw dark stripes across an oatmeal strip of land.
The dunes a quilt of russets, mossy-greens, and orangey tans,
Mixed with sand.

Deep within there is a stillness / a knowing / a presence.
Golden adventure rising in the blood
Song running like a river through the heart's silver veins
The enveloping water ringing with The Pristine Names.

There is a freshness in the air. A sense of beginning.
All around me … The water rises… the horizon beckons.
At the centre of the forest  /  I sense you  / move closer.
Somewhere within the serenity
Of nature's secrets slowly revealed … As sure as the waters cover the Earth…
Love heals.

Masaala.

Time stopped by the Green man Khidr-
A tyrant and a tamed unicorn covered in green moss-
Both lost in their discoveries
Inventing the wheel anew
High above the ignominy of this suburban slavery…
I wait for you.
You wait for me…
A rhapsody of blue embroidery
An angel with a raven’s hook
A raven with an angel’s look
Angelic moonlight.
Eastern cook
Masaala by gaslight.
Loves own book.

Modern Life

Modern life is !
Is a multi-dimensional-Inter-racial
Cross-cultural-Hybrid experience
Of
Full on Human divergence.


The rhythms and melodies of our speech.
Our mother Tongue, our metalanguage, our Love.
Ancestral Wisdom from an Oral Tradition
That's open to anyone
Real enough to listen
With a Loving vision.

Academia


Oh!
the wonderment of
How ? / Why ? / Where ? What for ?

And if not now... When ?

Academia
Armed with an anaesthetic
Aims another attempted assault
On a disarmed argument concerning artistic license.

Acuracy of angle becomes entangled with
The dewdrops of nostalgia that
Flower in furtive plights of fancy.

Believe in only half of what you hear
For nothing-nothing is ever
Quite-quite the way it seems

or so they say...

My essays fail to console.

or so they say...

 Filigree flames fire the imagination
An Arabesque shadow play.
The impasse of dreams destined to decay
In the places where the soothe-sayers sup their ale.

You may keep to the shadows
Avoiding the groans of the gripers
Sights of the snipers
Bights of the vipers
And the bright lights of the hypers.

 

Ace academics squabble

Over...
 
A posturing-post-colonial-pop-market of pseudo intellectual
Non-commital squiggles that wriggle
Across computer screans.

Professor's paddling in a puddle of Euroscribble
Dribble off the end of their past imperfect pen's
As they ingeniously giggle.

Still the insolence of the Clown purifies and liberates !

Moments.

As I wander I look over my shoulder,
To see where I've been comin' from
It's a habit I learned by growing older,
Keep my back to the settin' sun.

All the fears that we hide
Buried deep with the tide
All the times that we've lied
All the tears we've denied
About feelings inside
For the sake of our pride
Precious Moments-Precious Moments.

Some tales go on & on they're condescending.
It would seem that's how seasons flow.
Time is always so very never ending.
As if Time alone truly knows

But your eyes shine with kindness
That eases my blindness
And helps me to find this !
And hold this ! And time this !
Align this ! Design this !
And polish and shine this !
'Til it feels like mine !
Precious Moments-Precious Moments.

In my silence I'm searching for the moments
Where the truths that are left untold
Linger always just waiting to be opened
Some start fires ! Some leave you cold !
All the tatters of patterns
We've scattered don't matter
They flatter the fashion
"Of just how it happens"
Cos now that your nearer
It's clearer to see
The moving hand of Time.
Precious Moments-Precious Moments.


Morning Song.

When the birds sing at dawn
There is no irritation
No derision nor scorn
Just their Soul's fascination...
Hmmm... Hmmm... Hmmm ...

It's the language of love
That's beyond imitation
There not really forlorn
It's just pure adoration...
Hmmm... Hmmm... Hmmm ...

Nothing but validation
There is nothing but you
Not even negation....

Mother of Pearl.

Love's Solitary Pearl is the purpose of Life's test
The folly of youth's Quest.... is a grain of Cosmic sand
stuck in the crabmeat craw of an afro-dizziak chorister.

Sometimes eaten raw… like an oyster.
The passive catalyst that potently produces the Grist...
 for the natural metamorphosis of nightclub into cloister.

Love's purity of purpose that carries us higher
Than the octopus of our all too human desires.
The Soltary Pearl is a crescent shaped sphere of grace and compassion...
A singular symbol of contemplation / the completeness / the satisfaction.

As sure as the trees in the woodland whistle / and sparkle like starlight for all to see
Like me loving you and you loving me.
In an unjust an transient World  / the shell of our Faithfulness unfurled
Existentially revealing…
Just a Solitary Pearl.

The Seven Step Zen-Sufi Codex.

THDTauhid : Principle of Total Unity. Tao. No Mind. No Self. There is nothing but the One. Kalima. The Word. Ego gone.
THL  Tahlil : Process. Mushahada. Dhikr. Japa Yoga. Mantra. Ritual Affirmation. Remembrance. Remembering the Principle in word and deed. Soul freed.
KSB  Kasab : Practise. Mujahadda. The Science of Breath. Focussing on Being. Prana Yoga. Avoid death with Mindfulness of breathing.
MDD  Madaad : Polarity. Yin and Yang. The healing Flow of Life. Qabd & Bast.  Contract & Expand with the motion. Bakhti Yoga. Love is an ocean of tranquility and strife. Chi is the self renewing energy of Life.
SKN  Sakinah : Muraqqaba. Zen. Chan. Hatha Yoga. Silent Devotion. Stillness. Centering. Serenity. Solitude in the crowd.  Raja Yoga. Smiling inwardly but glowing out loud.
WQT  Waqt : Perception. Muhassaba. Jnana Yoga. The Eternal Moment. The Ever Present Now. Self-Awareness. The Know How.
TNSB  Tanasub : Peace. Wu Wei. Harmony. Balance. Being in Tune with the Soul. Flowing. Being Oneself. Life’s only true goal.

No Other Than Him.

There is no other than Him
The Knower of the Seen and the Unseen
The Beneficent
The Merciful
Sovereign Lord
The Holy One
Flawless Peace
The Keeper of Faith
The Guardian
The Majestic
The Compeller
The Superb...
Hmmmmm !

Glorified is the Beloved
Above all that they ascribe
As partners to Him
The Shaper Out of Nought
The Fashioner
To whom belong "The Most Beautiful Names"
All that is in the Heavens and the Earth glorifieth Him
And
He is the Mighty
The Wise
The Unique
Lord of the Two Easts and the Two Wests
He is the Beloved
Who neither requires slumber nor the need for rest
The strength of those besought by Life's Quest
He who knows who you were
Before you were who you are
There is no Law but Love.

  Suit

It was a scorcher.
Sun cracking the flags.
St. John's Garden was chocka.
Gangs of gangly youths / hanging out.
 
Punks with heads like human hedge-hogs
Shouting like lunatics as loud as it gets
Trying to scare a sleeping tramp / out of his wits

Smaller kids playing chase.
Running around like mice
Machine gun giggles.
The odd couple kissing.
Folks mingling and  milling
People in general, like penguins, chilling .

Then the Suit walked up
From the direction of the Mersey Tunnel.
The Man in the Black suit.
Choking on a cancer stick


Panting and puffing his way towards me
Like a choo-choo train
A steam engine that was running out of steam.
  Not that old/ but old enough to know better.
Asthmatics shouldn't smoke.

He had a drinkers nose
Bulbous and full of telethon potential
A comic relief in the centre of a
Bloated face blue viened like an ordinance survey map
Sagging skin folded liek yellow parchment
Over watery,  grey, fish-eyes.

A picture of ill health / in a
 A sharp black scirrocco suit /
Pin striped in shiney black two-tone
Angular jacket / single breasted.
Three button / side vents.
Tapered kecks / one inch turn-ups / razor sharp crease.

A white linen shirt
Crisply starched collar
Functionable striped tie
Office worker or a banker.
Respectable ...
In a crisp black suit...
That reminded me of a coffin.


No Superman.

Never the less when I’m eventually naked…
Then I feel certain that…
That’s when my deepest wounds will heal.

Sounds incredible, I know…
But it feels ever so real.

And hurts somewhat…
No I’m not the man of steel.


“One Love”.

A story to be sung our personal culture.
The individual in the cacophonous city.
Invisible as a grain of sand on a Beach.
An anonymous anomaly, amidst…
The mutated mélanges of the metropolis.
Soul secreted deep within the golden silences.
Of these silent city streets.
Sakinah, as still as a human heart beat.

To be Centered, but drifting like a cloud
No mind , no tears, no thoughts, no blame.
Not even a haunting refrain. Just… a
A solitary pearl. A rose perchance…A  Soul…
Exuding the serene elixir of life’s
Purest  of poetics.
A diamond spark of light…
From somewhere hidden…
Within …the stillness, the silence, the emptiness

A one amongst millions non-entity enraptured
By the womb of the formless.
The serenity of the Eternal moment…
That is always now. Hu Wu Mu.
Suspended in time, but forever flowing like water.
The synchronistic and the serendipitous.
Wu-Wei . The non-being of bliss.

I’m happy being nobody son of no-one.
Gone with the wind and dispersed in the rain.
I’ll live and I’ll die but my Spirit will flow on…
As sure as love is both sacred, and profane.
.
I’m contemplating my non-existence.
Understanding why I’m really nothing at all.
I’d like to make that point quite clear,
I’m an empty picture on an empty wall.
Sibilance.

In the beginning was the word
And it was delivered with sibilance to aid remembrance
Knowledge knowingly wrapped in music so we wouldn't loose it.

The Tassawufman from Tareem said
"Speak soft words and show forth your dream"

And our music is our culture
Is who we are... Is our Spirit...
Our past present and future, carried here from afar.

And our proof is in the proud sound
Of pounding hearts
As they relate the evidence of our all too Human history.

An all too murky mystery.
That neither begins nor ends with the Mersey or you or me.

Resistance being reconfigured daily with the utmost glee
In sympathetic symphonies that are as related to
The Celestial rhapsodies of the spheres.
As: The Word is to the tongue
As: Right is to Wrong
As: The pen is to the ink
As: Harmony is to a Gracious gift that helps us to see
And  guides how we think.

Angelic emissions of sound-vision engender
Melodic light-forms of Universal rhythm.
And...
Our Music Is...  Our Struggle Is ... Our Survival Is...
Our Mother Tongue...  Is... Our Path... Is Our Belief

Jazz-zhikr and scholarship fused
As the crooning camel herder broods
Bilal's Ethiopian Call to Prayer
And Negro spirituals fill the air
Habashi-Gospel related Blues
Clues to our Abysinian dues.

Nat Turner's heritage
Firmly rooted in Oral Revelation
The legacy of a hard working chain of transmission
Voices that testified to the Truth of our Human condition.
Related to what ?
Related to the Malcolm Devotee whose Jazz poetry
Taught some of my Homies and Me to say the Takbir !
And magnify our Lord Most High, loud and clear.

Angelic emissions of sound-vision engender
Melodic light-forms of Universal rhythm.
And...
Our Music Is...  Our Struggle Is ... Our Survival Is...
Our Mother Tongue...  Is... Our Path... Is Our Belief

Suleiman's Wisdom our dependance in toil and struggle.
Abraham's Religion our endurance in turmoil and strife
Haji Malik  as-Shabazz brought us back to The Sunnah
With the rhythms and tones of our everyday life.

Coltrane's lived experience as retold thru his saxophone
Helped Malcolm hone the rhythms and poliphonies of African speech tones
Cos he knew what it needed to drive the message home.
Through our music we'll never walk alone.

Angelic emissions of sound-vision engender
Melodic light-forms of Universal rhythm.
And...
Our Music Is...  Our Struggle Is ... Our Survival Is...
Our Mother Tongue...  Is... Our Path... Is Our Belief

Music in the Soul regulates the hearts beat
To the rhythm of The Universe where all Soul's meet.
Silence-Sound Opposites abound
Rhythm functions inbetween - Recreates the middle ground
This is where most Wisdom's found.

Melody and rhythm binding chapter and verse
The language of the Spirit that is unrehearsed
And who God bless let no man curse.
And don't nobody praise me till you done seen my worst.

Angelic emissions of sound-vision engender
Melodic light-forms of Universal rhythm.
And...
Our Music Is...  Our Struggle Is ... Our Survival Is...
Our Mother Tongue...  Is... Our Path... Is Our Belief
Is who we are.


Oyster

Silver cool
The green of the garden
Perfumed silk to wrap your heart in...

The Solitary Pearl is the purpose of Life's test
The folly of youth's Quest.

The Solitary Pearl...
is a grain of Cosmic sand
stuck in the crabmeat craw
of an afro-dizziak oyster
Sometimes eaten raw

The passive catalyst that potently produces the Grist...
for the natural metamorphosis
of nightclub into cloister.

The purity of purpose that carries us higher
than the octopus of our all too human desires.
The Pearl is crescent shaped sphere of grace and compassion...

A singular symbol of contemplation
The completeness. The satisfaction.
As sure as the trees in the woodland whistle
and sparkle like starlight for all to see
Like me loving you and you loving me.

In an unjust an transient World
the shell of our Faith unfurled religiously revealing
Just a Solitary Pearl.

 

Biti Benafi / Good Morning.

chorus: On paradise island
the sun says "Good Morning"
"Biti Benafi"
 a new day is dawning.

solo voice: Humming birds hover
by sweet mango trees
whose fragrance rides
the cool ocean breeze.
Water falls freely
from clear mountain streams.
Flying fish spiced
and cooked to a dream.

chorus: On paradise island
the sun says "Good Morning"
"Biti Benafi"
 a new day is dawning.

solo voice: Old folks relaxing
children at play
Nothing is taxing
at this time of day.
growing cassava
and working the sea
A life close to nature
a life-style so free.

chorus: On paradise island
the sun says "Good Morning"
"Biti Benafi"
 a new day is dawning.

Path.

A snaking black wet tarmac path
Precedes my tracks as I walk fast
Through seas of green above the dell
Where thickets hide the wishing well.
There secrets rest where lost coins dwell
Warm tongues relate what fortunes tell.

The clouds grow grey the sky breaks forth
A cold wind blows from Winter's North.
Hope springs anew from deep within
Stark solstice ends fresh growth begins.

Bathe in lifes stream renew the light
Love's dreams reborn sung in the night.
All time is gain we can but win
Premeditate the good within.

  The Crystal Flow.

Where the crystal waters flow
Greener shoots usher forth.
Pure light springs from between the rocks
And clean air cools the thoughts.

A fountain of brilliance as sweet to the soul
Dew-drops shimmering fresh  with spring
And love is a sigh that floats on the wind
As gentle as the sound of a butterfly's wing.

Refreshing as a mountain lake or an alpine stream
That water's the soul with what Sweet-Hearts know.
A fragrant fountain of sparkling dreams.

Reflections of the sacred flow.
 We are always our own worst enemy
Too easily influenced like everyone else
By the times and the trash on the telly
That keeps us from our inner-self.
Verdiant pastures of the graceful unseen
The Natural The Tranquil The Subtle The Serene

Shadows's scatter like moths before the radiant might of
The Most High, The Vast, The Eternal, The Light.

 

Peaceful Reggae.

I'm not concerned with the cloths yu wear
Wear what yu want I realy don't care.
I'm not concerned with what car yu drive
Or if yu have a good job workin' 9 to 5
I'm not concerned with what yu eat
One man's poison is another one's meat
I'm not concerned about the price of fish
Even tho' it's my favorite dish.

All I wanna Do Is share this Peaceful widh Yu
All I wanna do is share dhis Peaceful Vibe widh Yu.

Peaceful Sounds comin down like fallin' rain
Waterfall to wash those Blues away
Crystal sound's comin' down like fallin' rain

Tranquil meditations That make time still
Riding the crescent Of a transcendant will
Inna Summer Solstice Even Winter's chill
Sip from the Chalice of Serenity
Until yu get yur fill.

All I wanna Do Is share this Peaceful widh Yu
All I wanna do is share dhis Peaceful Vibe widh Yu.

Peaceful Sounds comin down like fallin' rain
Waterfall to wash those Blues away
Crystal sound's comin' down like fallin' rain

The Pearl.

It's summertime and the Pearl has become
a perfect sphere
that glows
with an irredescant white light.
Yet remains…
as colourless as sound
 as shapeless as Human sight.

Focussed light
passing thru the crystal pyramid.
Prismatic enhancement.
Clarity of vision an invisible force.
A spectrum of perceptions in tangible precision.

Where these seven seas become The Endless Sea
There's an Ocean of possibility…
And all barriers have ceased to be.
Somewhere in this vicinity Love flows…
Without resistance
As effortlessly as a dolphin swims
Towards the coll clear air of
It's natural existance.

From the depths to the shallows
That invite the dancing Sun to play…
Tip and run across silver crests.
Golden light ignites life. fire meets ice.
Where dancing sunbeam's stop to rest.

And there is Tauhid in the nature inherent in the silence…
Of a solitary pearl / a reflection of the radiance.
Out of which this Oneness of Love and Life
Has arisen.

Placed in the sun-light caringly.
The Oneness alone will glisten.

Away from the heedlessness that leads to The Hour.
You will hear it if you listen.
On That Day.


Oh I swear by the afterglow of sunset
By the night when it enshroudeth
By the clouds when they forget
Oh when the sun is overthrown and the stars fall
And the mountains turn to rubble and Mother earth calls.
When the seas rise upon the land and the jungles turn to sand
When the trees stand up and have their say
And when the skies and the heavens are torn away.

On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to say.
On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to sayiayay.

When the Earth reveals up her stories and the graves give up their dead
When we hear our Souls repent for all the vain things we have said
When Earth’s creatures group together and the moon turns red
And the planets are called to witness and every tears been shed.

On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to say.
On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to sayiayay.

When the heavens are torn asunder and the planets are dispersed
And the oceans are poured forth and the sepulchers are overthrown
A Soul will know what it has sent before it and what it has left behind
Lo Allah’s angels are generous in recording the Endless Time.

On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to say.
On that day on that day there’ll be nothing left to sayiayay.

 


Penitance.

I have transgressed boundries
Stretched the borders
Of my wanton imagination.

I rejoice in the opportunity
For penitence and contrition
If it grants me recognition
By you.

Pirate Cove.


So many things since then
Have spoken volumes to me

Made my heart feel light
Set my pirate’s brig free

From the dark dank harbour
Where I’d long ago dropped anchor.

Wind in my sail’s once again
I bathe daily in the warm ocean
Of  Love’s serendipity.

Sailing on synchronicity
I ride life’s silver crests with zest
Yet ever so nonchalantly.

Wild Frontier Blues.

You accuse me of possession
Of a shady disposition
You avoid my eyes
And your nose is a' twitchin'
Your ears seem closed
To the things that I'm sayin'
But right now my favourite
Radio stations playin'
Hmmm...

It's a Cowboy World / And it aint no news
This is the Wild Frontier / Wild Frontier Blues
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay !
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / But what does Tonto have to say...

It's a Cowboy World / And it aint no news
This is the Wild Frontier / Wild Frontier Blues
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay !
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / But what does Tonto have to say...

You say I've got an attitude
That causes friction
All I'm hearing from you
I call it science fiction
Forever's a long time
We got distance to cover
We can't stop now
We might never recover...
Hmmm...

You say I'm a mad dog
Runnin' with the rabble
I'm the Mohawk in the woodpile
I was born as rebel
Aint no sign-posts on the road
That we'all travel
I kinda likes it that way
It kinda keeps us level...
Hmmm...

It's a Cowboy World / And it aint no news
This is the Wild Frontier / Wild Frontier Blues
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay !
Yippy Kaiyo-kaiyayay-ay ! / But what does Tonto have to say...

Outa Dodge.

I need to get out now
While the going is good
Get out now while
The going is good-
Get out now…….
While the going is good-
Good !

Poetry Blues.

I started writing poetry / A long-long time ago.
I used to write in pencil / Now I use a biro.
I published a slim volume / With money from the arts
Match funded by the council / That's how I got my start.

I let the people be my witness !
 Cos you can't trust big business !
No Way!

I once studied polemics / Read comics and told jokes.
Spoke to an audience of One / Wrote for the common folks.
Quotes to fill a bin liner / Rhymes to fill a bin bag.
One or two good one liners / With the antlers of a stag.

I let the people be my witness !
 Cos you can't trust big business ! No Way!

Puma.

At night the Light is all there is.
It is here that I meet
She who hunts without weapons
It is here that she waits for me
Perfumed predator
In the uncharted depths of darkness
Illuminated by the silver light of the Feminine Moon

A beige puma
eyes of smoking jade
leaves a semi circle
of neat red-currant dints
in a soft toffee shoulder
These in time turning
to tiny purple glyphs
Each containing
the concentrated meaning
of a thousand sacred scrolls
sweet scented water
from an ancient well

Poirot.

Coffee and cardamom / Very Arabian
Spit in the sand / Well I’ll be damned
Dates and lamb ? I don’t understand
Is that the way the Beloved planned.

To know God in person
Helps to keep the heart working.

Pupation.

We distilled the nectar
of the
Eternal  Presence.

spinning ribbons
around each other
in a
silken swathe
of
mutual osmosis.

The  vitalities of our Life force
blending perfectly.

Grace pupating into...
a chrysalis
Our cocoon composed
of  the sugar coated crystals

Given Time / the Nature of Things / & the Changing Seasons
The rose bud of our relationship
flowered into a butterfly...

Compelling &  beautiful to behold
still ever elusive.

Serenity.

Silence is the gateway to Serenity
Letting go of the moment to just simply “Be !”
Like a leaf on the wind or the wind in the trees
The keeper of Life’s Sacred mysteries.

Focused in prayer may this Joy never cease
Lighter than air may the blessings increase
Sweet Soul in submission may your Heart be released
Into the tranquil Sovereignty of Inner Peace.

Service with Love is its own reward
For there is Joy in the smile from which Hearts are secured
For to serve one another is to serve your Lord
Wherein all fear is waylaid and all Hope restored.

I am Silence, I am Sovereignty, I am Service.
I am a Soul at Peace working out my purpose.
So let my name be… Let my name be… Let it be…
Serenity, Serenity, Serenity.


Silence Defined as Light.

Silence is a Universal form of equilibrium
Applicable to all people
Any space-time continuum.

Silence.

Silence is a place
where one finds
the inner space
to unwind
deep within the confinds
of the the tired mind
the inner eye of humankind
shines

sometimes shimmering
so brightly
that it  blinds;

Space to reflect
on life's side effects...
an island where we construct
rafts from the  hopes and dreams
that are
or have been
marooned and shipwrecked.

A place
where we merely sit and listen...
And measure each grain of sand
that the incessant sea casts upon
the beach of our beatitude
at leisure...
slowly
softly
silently...
in silence.

A place where...
if... we have faith
we discover
hidden treasure

And drink a toast
to that which matters most
playing host to the tranquility
and the solitude
that nurtures peace...
as knowing replaces speech
and silence grants us release.

Silent Dance.


I am lost in the minds choreography

Awakened to the goddess within you
You invoked the dancer in me

Divine presence reaching…
Into the treasure chest of my heart
Charming loose the rusty latch…

Teasing my war weary breast-plate apart…
That was just the start.

God gave you Love’s victory …
Now all I can say is…
Silent dancer…
Speak to me…
Dance with me

Sizzling Soul Food.

The Heart is the Hearthstone
 And the Heart knows well-
Rahmah- Compassion-The same love.
The heart is the Hearthstone
Rahm- is the maternal womb
Is the source of the River that takes us Home-
The Mother load of the Giver of Love
You the Raven shy as a Dove.

I am craven
And a vampire for your love
I am slaver and enslaved
To revealing raiment
Of Your perfumed rage
You blush silently inwardly I brood
One mood
We share
Hearts undone
Esqued by the Rood.

Smile Within.

Fill your Heart
with
Joy and Sunshine
Let your Mind
Radiate a Smile.

Song of Love.

It’s just one of those moments from Eternity
When everything is laid out in front of me-
It’s as clear as day and as easy to see
That everything that is –
Was meant to be
Especially you and especially me-
And especially us and especially we.


Soul.

The Soul, an infinite point of infinitesimal Light.
Now all I need is a means by which I can
Earn a humble subsistence
Or even a handsome living…
Back to square one…
 Almost…

Soul Alive.

Keep your Faith as your pride but wear it with Humility
Remember your faults but check your ability
Be loyal to whatever truth you may be fortunate enuough to find
The best of us are those who find the Unity that transcends time
That moves the spirit to remind us
Everything in this World we must leave behind.
May remembrance keep us open minded
To the destiny that surely binds us.

Where the Soul Still Shines
We Need a Universal Vibe
Just to Survive  A Universal Love
To Keep the Soul Alive.

Aim as high as the sky for the freedom you seek
Know the time for silence and the time to speak
Justice always lives in hearts the people
And while there is life they will fight till they're equal.
Work, rest, play, it can all be a sustaining mediation
Just lay the stone of remembrance as your firm foundation.

In this Garden of Light
Where the Soul Still Shines
We Need a Universal Vibe
Where the Soul Still Shines
We Need a Universal Vibe
Just to Survive  A Universal Love
To Keep the Soul Alive.

Sincerity

I'm also aware that some people think that,
"This is all very subjective"
 and that it sound's "Emotive".

 I concede to that fact.
In fact I claim it as my individual right
Within the frame-work of a democratic structure.

There are things that a racial attack violates for a person
One is the obvious fact of their Human Rights
And their God given right to Human status
And  the other is that individuals sense of Human Dignity.

I'm also aware that any argument that's emotive, is often seen as having an apparant lack of objectivity, and as such, it's in danger of being seen as intellectually flawed somehow, due to it's emotional colouring.

I am also aware of the fact that there is no such thing as objectivity, as it is understood, or misunderstood in The West.
This objectivity is another fallacy.
If you can find central position within Britsih Culture bring me it's proof.
Cos what people usually mean by "Objectivity" is White and Middle-class.
As Shakespeare once said "There in lays the rub".

As for the accustations of "minority responses" being emotive
In some cultures emotion is seen as the 'engagement of the heart'.

The 'engagement of the heart' is understood as a sign of Sincerity.

Sincerity is believed to make the discourse all the more real, all the more human,  more true.  And there in lays the poetry.

Being involved in self-awareness, and the broad-based project of raising awareness in a social sense, I'm also aware of the fact that amidst the postmodernist millieau of contented non-committal consumerisms, and elastic euphemisms, Sincerity  can be a scary word.
For one it carries dangerous connotations of having to develope a critical opinion.
Which being unfashionable could lead to unpopularity.
That would never do.
It's all too serious.

Besides having an opinion means having to defend it.
And that takes work, it can even be dangerous, and and demands an attention span longer than a three minute sound-byte, or a TV commercial.

" Oh Allah make me Sincere in my heart of hearts
In the belief that we are all from Adam (aws),
And Adam (aws) was from dust".  
And there in lays the wisdom.

Soul Shine.

The Swallows that the Summer brought us
Echo Cuckoo's smiling eyes
Starlings sip the crystal waters
Throstles parsley, sage and time...

The Magpies and the joy they bring
As Pidgeons woo from throats relaxed
This Raven flies on broken wings
It's feet of clay remain attached...

Lone Nightingales enshrine in sound
The Finches sweet liason
Crow's flattery runs truth to ground
The Seagulls cry "Oh ! Vain one !"...

The Hawk says " Death is where we start"
Rook has the stealth that draws us
Love's Doves descend into our hearts
So Sparrow can implore us"...

Sunny Sunday's Soulful Shine
Birdsong Blending in with mine
And I'm just glad to be alive
At this Sunny Sunday Soul Shine.

Spark

I've found it again
that golden light.

I've felt it again
that shere delight.

I've sensed it again
the heart took flight.

A tangerine sun sinks
into a misty night.


Storm.

There’s a storm out tonight / and I kinda like it
Have’nt seen you in ages, baby / and I’m not gonna fight it
I respect the tempest / it’s in tune with my mood
The moon is rising tempestuous / as wild as the wood.

Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !
Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !

Wish you were here / where the wild wind howls
Be my Lady Guinevere / on this night fit for owls
Roof tiles crash to the ground / people rush to their windows
This weather’s sure to confound , baby / it’s as if the wind knows.

Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !
Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !

There’s something in the air / seems like the wind of change
The atmosphere is clear / my aims got more range
We could take to the wing / on an evening like this
We could dance and sing, baby / where the tree roots twist.

Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !
Blow North Wind blow !
 Blow North Wind Blowowowo !

Sugar and Spice.

It took a long time to work out
Cos it's hard to understand
That it's as simple as you like
It’s just never like you planned.

Let's try to see where we went wrong
So we can put things right
Self-reflection makes us strong
What weakens us is lies.

We're here and it could be beautiful
We're here and it could be nice.
Let’s try to make the most of it
Now hand me some of that
Sugar and Spice.

Vain discourse drains the brain
Circumstantial & conclusive
But with the right surroundings
The environments condusive
To what is most important
What relates to who we are
What's tied up with our Destiny
What is written in our Hearts.

Sunlight.

Pine needles underfoot
The scent of sand
Clouds as pure as milk

A headyness like spring subdued me
As it soothed my senses smooth as silk

Pleasing to the eye like the colour of dawn
The mid-morning sun
 breaks through the thickets
Scattering sunbeams
like wild fire

An angelic light piercing the forest's darkest veils
You can not commodify this experience
This is not for sale

And at such times much healing takes place
So it is with us

Sunshine on My Mind.

You bring the sun in the night
And the moon in the day
Your everything a poet ever wanted to say
You build me up then you blow me awaaay
God smiles when He sees our Souls at play
I will love my Beloved
Until my dieing day

Because everyday with you is a day of sunshine
Everyday with you is a day of sunshine
I’ve got sunshine on my mind
Sunshine on my mind
Sunshine
on my mind.


Ten to Zen to Zero.

On a scale of ten to zero
Zen meaning “Impossibility”-
Ten meaning complete metaphysical certitude.
What are the possibilities that I would fall for you
Like I did
And even more to the point that
You eventually text me …
At 1.30am on New Years day
“Love you Mr Wolf btw xx”..
Hmmm… Endless is my guess.


The Mire.

To plod through the mire of despondency with feet of clay-
Some days that’s the way- Just as well that
I can still sing love songs, and have not forgotten how
to play.

From Shades of Slack to Starker Tones. Yeah !.

I could have called this collection of contemporary urban Slack orature/ The Muted Palette/ or  A Deeper Shade of Stark as opposed to a Triter shade of pale/ or is that a Politer Shade of Pale in which case it would have been a Slacker shade of Stark/ on a more subtle note I thought maybe Jazz conversations/ or Jazz conversations in the Key of X/ Blue Notes in the Key of Life/ or X even / Slack Notes in the Key of X/ Slack Voices/ Slack Sketches/ Charcoal/ Perfume for the Slack Soul/ Jazz Notes / Blue Notes/ Scribble/ Scribble on the Rhythym/ Underground Scribble/ Jazz Scribble/ Hardfunkin/ Slamdunkin dribble/ hard-core not liberal/ well maybe a little bit liberal with a small ' L '/ Urban Jazz Creatures/ Urban Jazz Preaching/ Slack Ink/ Ink Screeching/ Pen Preaching/...

What I needed...

you see was a title that is/ was something to clue you in/ something to give you an insight into where I'm coming from...where the poetry is coming from/ or this collection anyway  ( and if your already there you'll have noticed a host of intertextual In House/ references and at least two references to Stevie Wonder material for those who know his work/ not to mention some of your more avante garde Jazz poets/ experimental musicians/ artists etc/ Art Ensemble of Chicago/ Sun Ra/ Gill Scott Heron/ The Last Poets/ Amiri Baraka-Leeroy Jones/ Ishmael Reed/ Kalamu Ya Salam/Don L. Lee/ Haki Madabuthi/Bruce Lee/ Jackie Chan…

 Yeah ! that’s right Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan/ As I was saying before I started to preempt my critics, I throw more stuff like that in as I go along...

I may thow in stuff lie the Phl Rennaisiance Ensmble, or the York Waits, or The Agincourt Hymn, or Shakespeare, or Marlow, Walt Whitman, Joyce, Pound, Elliot, Picasso, Monet, El greco, Virginia Wolfe, Gertrude Stein, I’d list them all if I had the time/I mean there’s an endless line of people waiting to be quoted including people like Jung, Fromm, and even Eistein…

And I throw them in just as an example of what may be for some people, some of the more accessible/salient cultural references/ points where Slack culture crossed over to “popular” i.e. the commercial world, and as such became available to/ well basically to Polite-folks as well/ just to give some of you an inroad to the general ancestry of this type of stuff...

If you aint there already I need to position you the reader to know what to expect/ The point being suspend your expectations/ What it is ! Is What it is! And its like that cos that’s the way it is/ Those who know'll know / And / I mean...

If you don't know about contemporary Urban Slack vibes/  or Slack culture/ Slack style then you may miss some of this put across/ communication.

This exercise in strategic essentialism…

I mean you really do have to see this in context to get the most out of it/ but even then can anyone really guarantee understanding/ or take the intended communicative potential of a particular text for granted/ especially something that’s aimed at a pan-cultural audience.  

The facts are that sadly not everybody will be able to catch my drift/ that’s why I often find myself contextualizing and explaining all the time/ its something that as a Slack person, you are forever having to do.  Why?  Because if you don't Polite-folks just don't understand/ sometimes if you do they don't understand.

This is a Slack thing/ Slack-folks have no choice other than to be brought up being reminded everyday where Polite-folk's society is coming from/ Some complacent poetry enthusiast me of having a chip/  I had to remind him/It was Polite-folks that brought us here in the first place/ as such ' We ' is always being judged in relation to where ' They ' is at/ They been running our show ever since the days of slavery one way or another/ So now/ we search for ways to define our selves/style/say in our own way.  

We are often asked for definitions/ definitions that we do not need/ not to create/ to create Ha !/ We operate in a different way/ respond to different impulses/ all Slack people have a story to tell/ a story that links us all/ and we like to read something that speaks to our experience/ something that speaks to our experience because it comes from our experience/ The Slacker it is the more we like it because what we like is to see ourselves/ Our Slack selves/ as we are/ Free from captivity/ Free from the hegemonistic, albeit well meaning liberal minds who would like to redesign us in accordance to what they can handle/ A something that will always judge us in relation to them being the norm/ God Love them/ These people are on the way out already culturally …

The balls in motion already/ We decide what reality is for ourselves/ Those same selves that were beaten into submission on the plantations/ denied education in the cities/ subjected to colonialisation in their own homes/ and given no choice except to fight for emancipation/ and even today the struggle aint over and the fighting aint through.

 So we just do what we do/ and we all understand that this is what we gotta do/ We do what we do, cos we do and that’s the way is/ the way its always been/ for us/ And if you don't like it fuck you/ If you need a definition/ You can define this style as Slack/…

The attitude as Hip-Hop/ Rap is another way/ a close relative in fact a descendant of Jazz poetry and prose and of course Gospel and the Blues all the way back to the Negro Spirituals that my Momma loved so much… along with Poppa’s home grown Country R & B stuff/ CHECK Out my MA dissertation for an in depth explanation of the form and its ancestry...

In the Senegambia region of Ancient Mali/ Failing that just suspend all Eurocentric notions of form/ The Content is the Form/ this is a Slack norm...there is an essay by a Jazz poet/Eugene Samuel Lange-Golden, Flo Lange’s lad, L’il Gene .aka  Muhammadu Khalilu… yeah that’s me feh tru /  An Essay entitled... " What makes Slack Poetry in the U.K. Slack and U.K. "

Somewhere in there is a preface to this linguistic JAM SESSION/ And it all adds up to the roots of this genre stemming from the Slack oral tradition/  Yes this is a Jam session/ a free flowing no way of knowing unless you follow the way the river is going rapidly applied poetic showing and telling of why it really don't matter how I say or the way I'm spelling my way around the problems faced by speaking a Slack experience with Polite sounds/ Not to mention trying to write it all down about What it is being what it is cos its like that cos That’s the Way It Is/ Dig ?

But anyway let me just say this/ For the sake a new tomorrow and a brighter day that sees the end of some of the negative things I've said or may even be about to say stick around and don't be no clown and dig what your anonymous, omniscient narrator is throwing down as I unravel my flex and kick into this watery text by introducing myself…

 Hi ! I'm your Griot, Djelá, Jelefo, Jare, Jali, Gavel/Halamkat, storyteller, cultural-historian, Bluesman, B-boy , your M.C., your Soul M.C./ that’s me...

Narrator X, Jazzbo, Bongo Red, Dhe Dub Maestah, Blues Dervish, Sufi Soul singing Jazzgriot in a freestyle word flow/ And...

As I was saying/ about the title/ I think I'll call it  From Shades of Slack to Starker Tones.

Yeah ! I like that/ its arty but it gets a little closer to the facts/ Cuts a little closer to the bone.
 From Shades of Slack to Starker Tones. Yeah !

Yeah I might even keep all of this hit and call it a poem.
A free-style poem entitled;

 From Shades of Slack to Starker Tones. Yeah
We Woz.


We woz Christians of dhe utmost orthodox order...
Way down in Abyssinia laang-laang time
before Peter or Paul ever crossed over dhe border...
We knew dhe signs...And avoided dhe slaughter.

We woz Muslims, and Buddhists,
Animists, and Jews...
Praying and Fasting...
And paying dues to dhe Blues...
Widh dhikr, and mantra, and gnostic meditation...
And communal worship...
And swinging libations...
And ancient arts of music and dance...
that cleansed dhe mind...widh mystic trance...
dhat awoken dhe heart to all dhat woz good...
Even dhough all a dhese tings...
we laang-time overstood...

The Place

Dhe Place dhat exists
dhat iz not like any utha place
or
anythin' else...
I know dhat place...
I carry id around widh me...
 I wear id sometimes as a musk oil...
I listen to id in me hedset...
Some of me favorite
sounds
when produced from a tenor saxophone
speak to me
of id...
Id has a pattern
like dhe tiles in dhe Al Rahmah mosque
in
Toxteth...
a shape like a secret smile...
Id hops like a tree frog
to
dhe echo-plex ricochet of a millitant rim-shot
playin' hard-core steppers
like a red chillie pepper
id
Hot! Hot! Hot!
A colour whose existance in dhe British Isles
can no longer be denied...
 a taste like black-peppered chicken well-fried...
 kinda cultural and nice like red beans & rice
& a smell like sensi dhats hard to hide...
 A texture like kinté clothe
with a raised pattern
A feelin'...
dhat dhere's more to life dhan
What dhey say is happenin'
I know dhat place
It's called in my own skin.

The Times.

Waterfalls beneath our footsteps
under dhe bridge on which we walk
I love dhe sound of market places
I love to hear old people talk

Under dhe arch dhe brass bands playing
dhe air is cold down Granary Wharf
Rasta hails I drums are playing
herbal  remedies in store

And dhe times are amazing
and dhe times are kruel
and dhe weadher is raging
but dhe vibes are Kool

Oh Liverpool -Leeds Canal
carry dhe vibes down to my gal
waters of industry and toil
keep dhe kettle on dhe boil
Peace and love blessings and respect
and all dhe tings dhat we neglect
especially when dhe times are hard
Faith is somethink to protect
Forever in my meditations
yur radiance lights up my dark
giving cause for celebration
as we drift thru squirrel  park

And dhe times are amazing
and dhe times are kruel
and dhe weadher is raging
but dhe vibes are Kool
Angry-Self Blues.

I must remember when I'm angry
That I'm angry with myself
I realy have no reason
To be angry with anyone else.

I need to side step situations
That compromise my race
Cos it leads to conversations
That tarnish my good taste.

I must avoid all fixed opinions
Freedom speaks to make us strong
With it's open hearted tollerance
That helps us get along.

I must remember when I'm angry
That I'm angry with myself
I realy have no reason
To be angry with anyone else.

When justice frees compassion
It's rituals right the wrong
With the healing of companionship
That helps the Soul grow strong.

You see I'm just another soldier
In the army of love.
Texas tradition: "Come early ! Be loud ! Stay late!"
Scouse tradition: "Late start ! Early dart !"
"Did you just text me ?" said the Scally
To the gal three yards behind him
"Yeah I was just testing it, to see if it worked
All we could do was grin.
You've gotta laugh to win.
Rythym

 

Mass communication human reverberations
Soul to Soul Nation to nation
The Love of God's a lifelong preoccupation
that universally gives rise to
Mass celebration.
Universal like the planets as they dance around the sun
My Kinda City.

It was bold, brassy, bursting at the seams
 With workers from Africa, Asia, China, and the Caribean.
Coal out, grain home to North Gwalia
Via the Black Sea-Karachi-Tiger Bay & Austrylia.
Liverpool brought the World of trade treasures untold,
Limestone, and lode-stones and hard won Black Gold.
From the City of grape-vines
Gateway to the Mines.
A cosmopolitan precious stone
Whose cultural emminence shines.
In leafy glade Speak Hall sits pretty.
Every where  else is full of graffiti.
Liverpool! Aah yeah ! My kinda city.
Liverpool! Aah yeah ! My kinda city.

Ireland-Yemen, Italy & Greece played a part
 It was a melting-pot city right from the start.
Where the most favorite flavours
From the East meets West to create a feast
To be savoured like Peace.
City of carry outs and Karioke
Babushka & banjo's & barbecues on patios
Fiestas, siestas, parasols and Welsh dressers.
 Cariad cabanas & caboodle cafeterias
Canyons of offices with plush interiors.
 Ageless apparal & coffee klatsch
Delis & wellies and doors on the latch.

Wannabe.

I wannabe sincere and honestly express my thoughts and ideas.
I want that natural knowing coolness that's free from irrational fear.
But I wannabe someone who talks really quiet
I wanna cure my psoriasis with a diary-free diet
I wanna remember to always be nice and polite
I wannabe someone who side-steps useless arguments and pointless fights
I wanna exercise regularly and regulate my life
I wannabe even more considerate to my darling wife
I wannabe a bit more tolerant and accepting of others
I wannabe someone who sees the whole of Humanity as my sisters and brothers
I wannabe an exceptionally mellow sort of a fellow
I wannabe as comforting as the colour yellow
I wannabe a tad less aggressive than I normally am
I wannabe less of a bossy, narky old man
I wannabe someone who used to Rap when Rap meant Good
I wannabe less associated with Robin of the Hood
I wanna grow old gracefully, conduct myself a little more tastefully
I wannabe some with the courage to write more sensitive poems
And still be as smart as Sherlock, and as funny as Dr Watson
I wannabe an example to my son, nephews, and grandsons
I wannabe someone that they thinks won
I wannabe someone they'd like to become, and even  outrun
I wanna wake up every day and shine as bright as the golden sun
I wanna see it quite clear that to listen is to hear
And to hear is to know how someone else feels
I wannabe in harmony enough to be genuine and real
I wannabe real enough to know that we all have to grow. and to grow is to share to be conscious & aware of how each Human being is inextricably linked, to the inner reflections that cause us to think of the flow of the breath and the heart that's in sync with the rhythm of life that forbids us to sink.
Life alone gives and takes as we live for Love's sake we become more intune with ourselves and at One with the One
And as we realise that our life, has already begun
Most of what we wannabe it's now time to become.


Al-Wadud / The Most Loving.

Love is a light that shines in our hearts
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
The twinkling of a distant star
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Whether near or whether far
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Your presence always plays a part.
Within the darkness of my night
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
You radiate with inner light
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Beneath the veil of shadow play
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately..
Remembrance of a brighter way.

Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah ! Yeah !
If Love is a Light that comes from you
Make my Heart a Lantern that your Light Shines Thru.
If Love is a Light that comes from you
Make my Heart a Lantern that your Light Shines Thru.
Your Love ! Your Love! Is a Love that shines
So bright in my heart that it almost blinds.
Your Love ! Your Love ! Is a Love that shines
So bright in my heart that it almost blinds.

There's many ways to live your life
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Some days bring Joy Some days bring strife
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
It's difficult to get it right
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Hard to avoid every fight.
The little things you do and say
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
Seem to help me on my way
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
And when I let your love draw near
It's been good too me lately. Good too me lately.
It seems to make it all so clear.

Black Turban.

When the black turban was worn
Some saw horns
Some saw a crown of thorns.

Some saw the spirit of a man reborn
In sincerity of heart
And firmness of purpose.

In submission to Allah
And desire for His nearness.

Some jangled their discontent.
Ears of cloth burning, back bent.
Some shouted their views from a passing car.
Some drew near.
Other's speculated from afar.

When the black turban was worn
Some grew horns
Some wore a crown of thorns.

Some saw the spirit of a man reborn.
Some rejoiced. Some cried forlorn.


East.


post apocalytic aesthetics

 resurrected amidst

 bullet strafed bricks...

 

an avant garde-heaven

 in the heavily run down

 retro-here and now...

 

a place where the past

 catchs up

 with itself

 in ways that havn't been

 thought of in some places...

 

grey is sort of in...abundance...

 

Mad Max Caf·

 

a junky staggers into

a low-budget sculpture park...

fronted by the Mad-Max caf·

big solid recycled log tables

 

welded metal chairs

everywhere welded metal

everywhere an allusion

to weight of some sort

hangs in the air.

 

 Eastern Europe is here...

where we stop for a bowl

 milch coffee  

a beef and pickle baggette

 

 in a caf· that forms

part of a kunst halle

funded by the British Council...

we chill...and hold council...service is slow.........

 

next morning at breakfast

at a little Italian pavement

caf·/ we will  discuss how all

the staff are voluntary  

that explains why the service is so slow.....................................................

 

great furniture though

 a nice place to do a gig

 maybe next time......Maybe......................................................

 

 Mad-to the Max seed/ psychosis serialised/ and spat out onto the street as graffiti...product of the Riechstaag/ the Nurembereg Rallies/ and at a guess the Warsaw treaty...

 

a psyche in distress dressed up as art and/ spat out onto the street as graffiti...for poets and Africans to relate to and connect with/ a discussion in Hambourg/ about spirituality/ Islam/ Sufism/ and spirit dust...she said.......spirit dust must be a German thing we thought...

 

combination tea/ peppermint and something/ whose taste we did not notice/ name we did not recognise and a freelance journalist/ half German half Ivory Coast/ a hostess with the most intellectual approach/ from a range of serious sisters/ blakculture witnesses...relatives on a level relate..........................................................

 

and I'm back in Berlin/ I try but the reality defies my category due to a specifically Berlin flavoured homogeneity/ the sounds of post industrial angst/ match the ranks that file out in misadventure playground.../ everything is post......................................

 

the only thing happening at present/ not the present in that specifically Berlin flavoured space/ but the broader present that represents the Delicious Do-nuts sense of taste/ seems to be...........

 

the sounds of somewhere else/ Jamaica/ Africa/ Rio de Janiero and Bahai/ Liverpool 8/  but that won't be untill later.......then my lyrics realy kick in...Soul on Ice/ becomes trans-cultural...although I am unaware of it at this point in time................................................

 

tomorrow will take me forward...it will be a watershed of sorts/ and I will become my own imaginary fortune teller/ the one I was as a school boy/ stylistically unresolved/ but evolving beyond that which I have learned to do so well that it bores me/ sometimes to the point of dispair...nutter yes thats right but I don't care......................

 

(3)

 

I learn about Eastlers and Westlers/ tollerance/ Thorsen and Alia/ Anya and a disabled girl called Simone tells me of a Polish Rasta commune in Poland/ Naturally...they make Nyah Bhingi drums/ she drums Nyah/ a Naphtali wearing the colours of a Levite/ She has never heard of the Twelve Tribes/ purple and green mean nothing to her/ she plays burrah but prefers repeater/ Ras Michael and the Twinkle Bros where there/ an eight kilometer walk from anywhere/ we wan goh deh...we affee goh deh...

Insha'Allah.............................................................  

 

(4)

 

The beef and pickle bagette tastes good/ I was hungry/ the sounds of post industrial angst/ and out in misadventure playground...the warning in German says it all/ you enter this private-public space at your own risk/ a bombed out bohemia/ the type of place...where all is not well...

and a sign post that tells you your half-way/ to hell/ cos...well...all is not well.............................................................  

 

a hyperdermic nightmare built from days gone by........................

Herman Brood/Lou Reed...ëowie... The Bauerhaus and the dance of a decades relentless decadance.../leaves an after taste that has become characteristic of this place but like the poem says even/ here blak culture brings the sunshine with it/ sows the seeds of resistance/ gives the alternative colours with which to paint a bouquet of possiblities...endless realities/ that challenge the greyness and the grey reminiscent of uniforms of another long gone day...................
 

Black Dance.

Dance is very important to Black people.
It's kinda spiritual in the same way that fighting is for the Chinese.
 When I say that I mean it's linked to the study, and observance of the Laws of Nature.  
In the same way tha Kung Fu master invented things like
Tiger Claw,
Crouching Monkey ,
Snake Strikes,
and
Crane Stance f
rom watching animals move.
So too did people like James Brown and Rufus Thomas study Nature and came up with
The Funky Chicken,
The Monkey Climb, ,
The Camel Walk,
Walking The Dog,
or in Liverpool
Ringo's Dog
and my Favorite:
The Funky Penguin.
It went deeper than that.
Back in the day we took the Funk to another level.
For example; The Funky Penguin came in stylistic variations
Everyone did there own version.
There was the understated ;
'One Kool Penguin',
at one extreme,
and
'Penguin on Drugs'
 at the other end of the spectrum.
You had yer
'White girl Penguin,  
yer
'Black girl Penguin',
Yer
White girl who hung around with Black folks-Penguin,
yer
Camp Penguin,
 Yer
 'Hard bastard Penguin',
And ofcourse
yer
Creamy milk chocolate coated with a crunchy biscuit inside Penguin.
Back in the day we knew what diversity was about. And it’s like dhat.

Groover.
(A commission for a Record Label.)

I was The Groover, The Shaker, The Risk Taker
One of the boys on the corner discussing a caper
The Streets carried strife. Mischief was rife
But I didn't foresee how it would change my life.

Steel tipped stilettoes clitter-clattering
The whispering eyes of spies chitter-chattering.
Thinking nothing realy mattering
Time to move.
Time to Groove.
Time to see whats happening.

Then Five-O appeared cruising real slow.
Stalking my ass. But I didn't let it show.
I just kept wid my stride and went wid the flow.
Predators thrive on fear. You know how it goes.

I trace a face that's got The Groover marked.
Car doors swing open. A mad dog barks.
A dread beat pounds in the basement of my heart.
I try to lighten them up. The face goes dark.

Over sensitive policing teaching a lesson.
Insults punctuated by leading questions.
This is state of the art crime prevention.
To repond intelligently increases their tension.

I should have aquiecsed and simply acted the victim.
But I rarely comply with an oppressive system.
Eyes cast a complacent glance.
Reveal an attitude towards chance.
In tones that convey alternative intentions.
Not alot but just enough. Just enough to mention.
Eyes clocking the signs.They move in and unwind.
Looking for any little excuse that could they can find.

Back against the wall. The ball in their court.
Game on. The plays in motion.
It's obvious The Groover's not their sort.
So I kick up a commotion.
Forged by the searing heat of oppression.
Proud blood tipped my tongue with self-riteous venom.
Theres a swing of a baton. A duck and a scuffle.
Then I feel like the Groover's been hit with a shovel.

As I felt it I realised I shoulda known better.
You see on the way out I'd teefed our kid's leather.
From the inside pocket slipped his prized Berretta.
Pearl handled. "Bonds the name" he'd say.
Abscond was the name of the game of the game today.

Call it cause and effect or just will to survive.
Fear was choreographing the dance by this time.
Sunset's scarlett ribbons decorated the sky.
I let off a few rounds like it's a good day to die.

Five-o froze to the spot like men of ice.
I pulled my hood down low and took the keys to their ride.
Made 'em lay on the floor. Window down. Foot on the gas.
Someone yelled "Your being stupid !"
My retort "It'll pass!"
Then I raised our kid's Berretta and pointed at his ass.
The sucker leapt to his feet and put foot to flight.
I put the pedal to the metal and took off into the night.

Cos this time I aint going like that .
Left the car in Callaise with the battery flat.
Laid low till my homies relocated my pad.
Outmanouvered by The Groover and thats a natural fact.

Thorns.

Epeé displayed
I stand centre stage
Only to be upstaged
By your exstatic rage.

"Purple Silk enfolds the Gold and the Jade
That rests in Oak tree's green satin shade...
A passionate peuce the jungle-juice
That seeps from hearts impaled on Life's blade."

Venus as a veritable Valkyrie
Ever so demurely Taking afternoon tea.
Savoring the almond scented after taste
 Intimacy lurking Ninja-like
Somewhere between Love and Hate.

Love caught in the centre of
A Vortex that vascillates with the voluptuous
Eruptions of Vesuvius's Volcanic Vulva
We played Mastermind the Deluxe version
And various shades of Charades
Untill reality became frayed...

We played major league and we parlayed in minor scales...
Until reality became frayed and frail
The scenario shifts but the sounds never fade nor fail....
The scenario shifts but the sounds never fade...

Even the silences betray a secret ... far sweeter scerenade...
As we sailed on a sea of natural endomorphines
That urged us to Engage....
We Plaaayed ! But only played.......

Getting lost in your own subtext
As you strain to slip into something
Ever-so-slightly more subversive.
If talk were text you'd speak in cursive.

And at best what serendipity with which
You've been blessed to have and possess.
An unpredictable irresponsibility
That becomes the ultimate test.

Voracious and as vixen-like as ever...  In your vexation
You villify as you virrulently voice your views.
Knocking spots off Emelda-Marcos
As you gather up your Oceans of shoes...
Still there's a Blues both Sea and Sky doth share
Subjected to Sunshine's Omniscient glare
And as you appeared to glow
You were Eclipsed
Nay ! Sheltered by the shadow
Of the bimbo-limbo dancer Who'd come and go
Jangling… Nay ! Babbling
About Umm Kalthoum and Pablo Picasso
Or was it Groucho Marx and Freda Carlo

Bluesology.

The Blues is a school / And a down home place.
Where folks freely discuss / What they feels taking place.
From the darkness a treasure / Only hearts can measure.
The Soul deeper it gets, Blues-folks like it better.

This Blues is a college / Built on poor folks knowledge
Where you follow the trees / To the heart of the forest.
Pray for justice and truth /Speak with clowns and fools.
Keep your heart as your proof, and you'll always be cool.

This is a Bluesology... And I 'm a scholar of the Blues .
I graduated in Nothin' ! Nothin ' left to loose !

In the Blues University / Wisdom comes from adversity.
Taste the turmoil and strife / Pepper spice of your life.
Add some toil and struggle / And the flavour is doubled
Soulfood's on the menu, once you burst that bubble.

You can only arrive / At a sense of yourself
By confronting your fears / And through nobody else.
Ugliness comes from fear / You can take it or leave it.
The gifts of Love's tears, is Nature's way to relieve it.

This is a Bluesology... And I 'm a scholar of the Blues .
I graduated in Nothin' ! Nothin ' left to loose !

 

Threads.

In the dead of the stillness...
In the still of the night...

When the sharpest eye
could barely discern
a piece of black thread
from
a piece of white...

There in lies Love’s most hidden meanin'...

The resolution
of all the meanin's
to all a the answers
to all a the empty squares...
filled  with all of the words
from
all of the crossword puzzles
of
the Ancient World...

No matter what the time...
The radiance
of human virtue shine...
with
an ominous light...

Especially in the dread
of the stillness
of the still of dhe night !
La Shay !

La Shay was a secret treasure
Hidden within the Void
Dwelling within the moment
With nothing to avoid
No name was there nor attributes
No image form or place
All that we know has passed away
Except the yearning for His grace

And I am The One Whom I Know that I am
La Shay ! I am Nothing ! I am Only a Man !

Glory be to the One
That none can describe
Who abides in the Stillness
Where the Unseen hides
Before the first sound
Formed a single dot
Nothing was written
Not even a jot
Nothing was with Him
 But His Self alone
In an ocean of Mercy
That desired to be known

And I am The One Whom I Know that I am
La Shay ! I am Nothing ! I am Only a Man !

Lion Chant.

Kingly and  golden mained like the sun
My pride is the pack with which I run.
Slow when stalking
Carefully crawling
Healthy, stealthy, wilfully sprawling
Stretching the range of my domain
Where I am the player
And you are the game.

I am the player
You are the game.
King of The Jungle is my name.
King of The Jungle is my name.

Bounding with energy here I come
 I've cut to the chase before you can run
Pouncing, leaping,
Heart-drum beating
You will taste my teeth when it's time for eating.
It can only ever go one way
For I am the predator
You are the prey.

For I am the predator
You are the prey.
King of The Jungle as they say.
King of The Jungle as they say.
Material Lovers.

The starless shadow of a stark sales pitch stagnates.
Silhouetted against the surly sales- assistant's striped shirt.

Stratified city dwellers stand guard
Both sides of a demarcation zone.
Sterile starlets startled by instant success
Man the counter's

Consumers of lonely encounters
Via the virtual telephone.
Roam aimlessly from store to store.

As silent citizens seep out of control
Drool over shop-soiled catalogue gear.
Second hand trade secrets to wear and share.

Across the counter an odd pair.
Selling free samples of fresh air.
Ex-vending machine sachets.

Water in this desert of human compassion.
Where intelligence is artificial, drug induced
Or just rationed 'til it's out of fashion.

The wild raucous noise of wanton wishes.
Rebellious rivalries and ribald revelries.

Raunchy seretonin levels heavily disheviled.
Modern mating rituals leaving a musty mildew
On the minds of the manipulators of meaning.

Who swell with pride at the killing streets.
Of  Wilderness city.
The non-commitant non-entity.


Mayibuye 2007.

Keep your Faith as your pride but wear it with Humility
Remember your faults but check your ability
Be loyal to whatever Truth you may be fortunate enough to find.
The best of us are those who find the Unity of Human kind
That moves the Spirit to remind us
There can be no greater goal than Human Kindness
May remembrance keep us open minded to the Destiny that surely binds us.

Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for our Planet Earth.
Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for the Planet Earth.
Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmm ! Insha’Allah Hmm !

Aim as high as the sky for the freedom you seek
Know the time for silence and the time to speak
Work, rest, play, or just in your meditations
Lay the stone of remembrance as your firm foundation.
The fight for what’s right rests in the heart’s of the people
And while there is Life some will strive till they’re equal
One Heart One World One Universal purpose.
By the stars that guide us may our reason serve us.

Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for our Planet Earth.
Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for the Planet Earth.
Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmm ! Insha’Allah Hmm !

I chant the small axe mantras. Life’s inconvenient “Truths”,
As the crude-oil politicians, keep on poisoning Love’s Roots.
Ask why so many people right now, can’t sleep in peace at night
Ask our leaders why they can’t supply the basic Human Rights.

Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for our Planet Earth.
Mayibue ! Mayibuye ! Everywhere ! The struggle continues for the Planet Earth.
Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmmm ! Insha’Allah  Hmm ! Insha’Allah Hmm !


I'm Not In.

Go away now
I'm not in
Go away
You don't know me

Who I am now is known
Only to the Silence
There's nothing
Anyone can show me

I'm not in anymore
So don't knock at my door
There's no room on the couch
There's no room on the floor
I'm not in anymore
So don't knock at my door
I've already set sail
For some far distant shore


Ever felt like you
Can't wait to die
Like you've seen all
There is to be seen

Ever woken up
And realised
That Realitie's
Just God's dream

And whatever way
You look at it
Your just a flimsy
Human Being

I'm not in anymore
So don't knock at my door
There's no room on the couch
There's no room on the floor
I'm not in anymore
So don't knock at my door
I've already set sail
For some far distant shore

Garden.

Believe in the Garden for it exists
And it is real

A tangible reality
 Not an ideal

A Garden where Believers can be free from care
For no evil is allowed within there

And as no evil can exist within it
Everything is meant so everything fits

Yes ! The Garden truly exists
Disbelievers are taking one hell of a risk.

dhe return of dhe Frogs...
or
dhe good / dhe bad / and dhe lovely.

I hAdn't seen dhem since NeW YorK
dhen on SundAy in Kieth And Di's
some dAre-devil frogs jumped
out of A booK of poetry
As soon As I'd opened id.

Dhe next dAy dhey WAided
for me in dhe Ashfield Hotel
every Where I looKed.
 
Dhey Were All over reception
in dhe dining room
All up dhe stAirs...
 
And on dhe chest of drAWers
on dhe lAnding outside of me room.

Dhey Were Widh me in BAtley

Transmute.

Transmute the Energy
Turn my anger into Love
While I'm jamming with the Harmony
I'm as Peaceful as a Dove

Transmute the energy
Turn my fear into a Knowing
Flowing with the Rhythm
That's the way that I keep growing

Don't make it part of a long story
Just turn inwardly
And Transmute the Energy...

All you need is Simplicity
It's as Simple as you want it to be
It's as Simple as you want it to be...
Just come here to me
And Transmute the Energy...Hmmm…
 Transmute the Energy Turn my pain into Compassion
Confrontations on Life's stage Just disrupt your Natural pattern
Transmute the Energy turn Anxiety to Bliss
The Alchemy of Empathy is like an Angel’s kiss.

Transmute the Energy turn ferocity to Faith
Let certainty remove all doubt Till you can read it on my face.
Transmute the Energy Turn my Curses into Prayer
Beyond the ego's futile games Where the air is Fresh and Clear

Don't make it part of a long story
Just come here to me
And Transmute the Energy...

All you need is Simplicity
It's as Simple as you want it to be
It's as Simple as you want it to be...

Just come here to me
And Transmute the Energy...


Treasure.

It's hard to explain this age old treasure
No Nubian rubies, emeralds or pearls
Antiques of a quality noone can measure
Pure silver and gold from another world

Evolved at the source of the River Nile
Flowering like Human patience.
A long walk down a lonely mile
Revolutionary as the Ancients.

Love's Knowledge belongs to Believers
 It's Worldlyness to deceivers
Some seek pleasure  / Some seek leisure
Some search for that hidden Treasure
The Riches only Hearts can measure.

Human existance a fragile freedom
Saved for an second, then thrown and lost
Caught up in the endless reasoning
Truth stands alone amidst the dross.

 Source of life and human will
The stuff that makes the World go round
Ideas impossible to kill
Escape the sound of verbs and nouns.
The Wu Hu Mu Seven Step World Spiritual Codex.

THDTauhid : Principle of Total Unity. Tao. No Mind. No Self. There is nothing but the One. Kalima. The Word. Ego gone.
THL  Tahlil : Process. Mushahada. Dhikr. Japa Yoga. Mantra. Ritual Affirmation. Remembrance. Remembering the Principle in word and deed. Soul freed.
KSB  Kasab : Practise. Mujahadda. The Science of Breath. Focussing on Being. Prana Yoga. Avoid death with Mindfulness of breathing.
MDD  Madaad : Polarity. Yin and Yang. The healing Flow of Life. Qabd & Bast.  Contract & Expand with the motion. Bakhti Yoga. Love is an ocean of tranquility and strife. Chi is the self renewing energy of Life.
SKN  Sakinah : Muraqqaba. Zen. Chan. Hatha Yoga. Silent Devotion. Stillness. Centering. Serenity. Solitude in the crowd.  Raja Yoga. Smiling inwardly but glowing out loud.
WQT  Waqt : Perception. Muhassaba. Jnana Yoga. The Eternal Moment. The Ever Present Now. Self-Awareness. The Know How.
TNSB  Tanasub : Peace. Wu Wei. Harmony. Balance. Being in Tune with the Soul. Flowing. Being Oneself. Life’s only true goal.


Venus in Transit.

Venus is the planet of love
To the Children of the Earth
Sulphuric acid hangs in clouds
Above this globe of many hearths
Volcanic activity populates
It's hectic surface
Still our hearts as pure as doves
Are drawn towards it's purpose.

Venus in Transit

Essentially we long to taste
The hot kiss of your fiery face
Even though we know we'd just dissolve
It never weakens our resolve
To merge like moths within the flame
No thought of infamy or fame
No thought of pleasure, Peace, nor Pain

Venus in Transit

The yearning to become as One
The Moon that cancels out my Sun
Instinctive leap towards the heat
No wings nor feet just hearts that beat
With Remebrance of the Holy Name
That takes the Soul back home again.
What's named is constant and remains
Beyond all naming and all names.

 

Water.

Where the crystal waters flow
fresh thoughts usher forth
from the thinness of the air
take root in the Earth and grow.

The Way is of Water no illusion
Sweet and as precious as the greeness
That sparkles with the shimmering freshness of spring
And Love is a melody that floats on the wind
As gently as the sound of a butterfly's wing

Amidst the fruitful pastures of unseen dreams
The Verdiant / The Natural / The Tranquil / The Serene...
Clear is the river that began as a trickle
And grew into a raging stream.
Each waterfall a cascading dream

Silver rapids feed lakes of tranquility
Water itself becoming a living entity
Fresh, this font of inspirational profusion
Gushing in torrents of abundance
Running  with the wind
Drinking in the rain, a line, a wave, a cloud again.

This way of water it's movement is moon light
It's secret a precious gem
An amorous pearl encased in the shell
Of the solitary Love of The Beloved
 
Remembrances waiting to be freed
Oceans of eternity to vast to know
A tidal wave to wash us free of Human need
That carries us along in it's generous flow
And this Love is a melody that floats on the wind
As light as the sound of a butterfly's wing

Cleansing from the roots of The Beloved's Creation
Water springing from the rocks of purification
This is the reality of Light's variations
Where the crystal waters grow
Green shoots usher forth
Verdiant pastures of the serene
Fresh green thoughts from the tranquil, the unseen.

For His are all the forests woodlands
Hillsides, valleys, meadows and fields
Fruit ripe on the bough-Harvests in full yield
And life is as precious as the water that sparkles
With the shimmering freshness of spring
 And your Love is a melody
That floats on the wind
As natural
As the sound of a butterfly's wing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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