Early morning rain Lift the heart over again I’m sleeping in a jar For am I so very very far Into wondering where we are?
Lifting a veil to really see Wondering what’s inside of me Living a lie inside Never wanting to realise That lying is dying.
In the evening time too The thinking is like glue The pandering is heavy The movement’s are steady But I am he as we are you.
Listening to the rain Helps me stay almost sane For it has its own melody Killing time so pleasantly Soaking the brain beautifully.
Relaxing in the smell in wet Releases thoughts from a net Of intricate cage-like rooms Letting the depths of knowledge Leap out to take over the moon.
Practicing in the rain Is food value for the brain I crush the jar and sing again The dew in the leaves seep Into my heart – I avoid sleep.
Early morning gains The momentous fraction When liars sleep, a faction Called love awakes on crushes, Doubt, pain, death, bullshit.
Keeping a jar my door I laugh all the more When lairs are seen as pious When death merchants receive Their gold paid in blood and sinew.
Lying in the rain soaked grass I converse with our beloved friends Who have the knowledge that ends Fear, greed, hatred and lust I’ll introduce them, one day, I trust.
Lose my head in the crowding noises Give my heart the lance of hypocrisies Lend the meat of dancing to the mad spies Expend my words on the wriggling excuses.
Die Die the burning reasons where no one really dies, Go to the wall where no one really hears the cries Sink the vision where hell shouts hello hello Avoid the speeding train that speedily arrives.
II
No one stands, everyone lies down The increasing winds, write their own end In the eyes of hurricanes, the laughter sings My electric energies dance slower and slower.
Go to the far side of daylight Bring the fire of life to a new height For my list has melted fast The gulls in my head won’t be last.
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place your sight can knock on, echoing; but here within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze will be absorbed and utterly disappear: just as a raving madman, when nothing else can ease him, charges into his dark night howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels the rage being taken in and pacified. She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen into her, so that, like an audience, she can look them over, menacing and sullen, and curl to sleep with them. But all at once as if awakened, she turns her face to yours; and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny, inside the golden amber of her eyeballs suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell.
Born in Prague on December 4, 1875, Rainer Maria Rilke is recognized by many as a master of verse. About Rainer Maria Rilke
It is not raining in my mind today, I switched it off, If only! It is not that it makes me feel wet it is the cold That makes me look upon the rain as an adversary.
I have sat in many dusty old halls with cardboard people Who never return a smile when I smile at them, Why don’t they? Is it because they’re feeling too unwell? Probably!
For my own sake I stay away from large halls like these And places where there are people dressed in sadness. In halls great and small I’ve been involved in conversations about karma effect.
One day someone at the back of the room who arrived late Objected to the idea of allowing themselves to be abused For the sake of their karma – he was very loud too! He pointed at the heads of the people in the room.
“Will their karmas be improved by taking abuse this way?” No one answered. There was an embarrassed silence now. The man surmised that what he had said may be getting through, Who knows?
What the people had failed to notice was the Angel with him, For most people the Angel was invisible – but some could see. They were amazed by the Light and they listened carefully. “There are some among you who want their karma to grow Through doing good – over coming great obstacles, you know.
There are those of you who suffer abuse and hurt by another! Who’s to say by what course does a person’s karma glow?” The Angel posited the question "is there some kind of universal Law governing all aspects of one’s own psyche we all know?" No one spoke!
The silence was eventually broken by coughing and shuffling. At last a small voice rose from the front row a fresh faced woman, She spoke of her Karma being nourished by all kinds Of experiences – some of which she had learned the hard way
Some of which she was lucky enough to be given Light! She spoke about her friend who lived in the depths of anguish. She said it was as if her friend took the abuse to be punished, But could not recall why she was to be cruelly admonished.
The Angel turned to this woman and said steadily, “It is your Karma that you should see your friend abused – But the conundrum is that your friend’s karma is diminished!” The lady in the front row burst into tears and cried aloud
“But why does she apparently allow herself to be abused?” To which the other people around her started murmuring. The Angel went to the front of the rows before them and said, “Only your friend knows the answer to that difficult question.
Only they can say why they stand in the crossfire of pain. No one can see into this person’s mind or know the feeling That comes from feeling unworthy, it is necessary this thing Should be taken away from your friend” indicated the Angel
As she knelt down and embraced the sobbing front row woman. Agitated conversations now spread all around the hall. People were asking questions, not at all feeling small – looking for answers, and receiving them after all.
One man several rows back suddenly stood noisily His chair fell and skated across the floor quickly. “But what of the abuser? Where is their karma in this?” “clearly the person is likely to be deranged or sick, Do they avoid the justice meted out so very quick.
To those who transgress decency honour and respect?” The Angel rose from the floor and stretched out their arms “It is a good question” they returned, “but what harms Would follow by applying justice to someone who is mad?” The agitations now ceased and silence now was to be had.
The woman in the front row stood up and looked at the man She said “Do you think it is my job to interfere or stand Back and watch my friend be reduced to sorrow and tears?” The man felt cast down and a lump was in his throat, He stood still and concentrated on her words and about Why she’d said that to him at this time and this place.
Note - this is a stronger poem, the title was inspired by the name of Capt Beefheart's second album Strictly Personal - it is interesting how I used the idea of an Angel conversing with a hall of people exploring the concept of Karma.
Sitting by the window looking for The someone who was here before Waiting in vain not knowing any more Than Melinda who wouldn’t close the door.
Sitting by the fireside staring into the flames She thought she saw the face of one in blame, Leaving through death or desire it felt the same Poor Melinda cried herself almost insane.
Sitting by her father egging him to explain Why her mother wouldn’t be kissing her again Living a shadow of a life –not living but breathing Come away Melinda come in and close the door.
(inspired by the song Come Away Melinda – by Tim Rose)
In the crisp morning wind I’ve got to hang out my mind I hope you got the date right I want to see you this night.
Bring your bird song and flutter I’ll live inside your coat So stop your slow stutter, Step inside my dream boat
Step outside the TV reality trick Step along smartly - fight being sick. Bring the early sun, the warm penetrates Into every pore of the skin, just wait.
Leap into an afternoon of sunshine Leap about (be my be my little baby) Shed the cares into murk we call river Follow the bends and quietly slither
Into a green glade, sing with the birds. Let’s be so mad, let’s be absurd Sing with me brother lift up you voice Dance with me sister go with the only choice
Between living now or living in the past, Lift up your eyes to the skies don’t be last. Dance on fire, for enjoyment don’t pretend Give yourself as you know you’d do in the end.
Sing brother dance sister flutter bird All the animals too let us be heard We can drown the hurt and pain We can live and rejoice again.
Keep the warmth ready for the day When we can truthfully say Let’s celebrate Let us dance till late.
Let us free ourselves at last Ignore the future kill the past Live now, for only now exists Celebrate! Celebrate!
It never rains in my garden, the ground is parched, flowers drooped I spy the rain clouds but they pass me by again, I am stooped Over this gardening fork wondering why the water does not come Is there a shortage of liquid where I go, why do I become dumb With uncertainty about the rains that refuse to soak my skin. There is a conspiracy amongst the clouds in my regard I think.
Rain rain upon my solid unyielding ground where I stand Let me feel the pitter patter of rain drops on my dry hands, I want to look to the heavens and feel the water on my face I am desperate to experience the watery waves in this space. Let the storms of indifference go their own way, away away, Why should I really care about where they end up one day.
It never rains in my house even when all the windows are open I send personal messages to the darkening skies hoping then They will release the prize I am so keen to have all around me Their reply disappoints for they say there is a delay, I must see That it’s important for the rains to soak the more deserving, I am not counted in that number, this I have been observing.
Rain rain I beseech you train your dripping and cascading Unique cargo upon my eyes, my ears, my mind, ranging Down upon the months where rain was never going to be, I wanted to be soaked in the kindness of the waterfall, see It was my desire, it was my inspiration it is my reality, I can’t change the weather, I am now without water really.
It never rains upon the page I use to write my poetry, I am relieved that it spares me the task of drying leaves Of paper, and saves the ink from smudging, being unclear And creating patterns that laugh loudly into my inner ear, Rain rain why can’t you comfort my wild and edgy mind Why can’t I have dampness that rain always leaves behind?
It’s a Stephen King nightmare He has a cesspool in his head Where ghouls, spooks and gore Get into your bed. But no one switches him off Because you never know when he might Write about you and your death.
Delving into deep wells of blood With arms dripping flesh fading Mr King is wallowing in sores and vomit But why worry – people buy it anyway Maybe, there isn’t enough horror In most people’s suburban wonderland.
Root chakra the foundation of each and every soul, Where life can be built in tandem to the meaning Of security and stability – of wholeness in balance, To err is to disrupt the life force, increase anxiety Where feelings and desires get scattered all about.
The sacral chakra with its brave flag for creativity And sexual energies can be waved most heartily, The need for affirmation and being wanted in sex Does not have to be emphasised here, but next to the absence of intimacies there is only harm.
The sun plexus shines the light upon my inner wall Where my self-esteem is reborn and will power is all That grows from the heart of personal responsibility. Where embattled against manipulation we seek balance And curse all those who abuse their power against us.
The heart chakra beats its own rhythm, the love light Underlines our need to love ourselves in all seriousness For we would be unable to conjure the energy of happiness, To fight off the inevitable depression were we blessed With the self discipline needed to protect the heart.
The throat chakra can often get blocked sometimes Afraid to say what you really feel – ability at all times To clear the throat is testimony to the desire to speak aloud what we find our friendships and clans thus evaporating clouds That may be in our personal skies and allow the sunshine in.
With the third eye we can see beyond what there is here now Our intuition plays a major part in the orchestra we command It is why application of openness and honesty can somehow overcome the attacks that cloud the clarity in our purpose, We won’t receive anything other than what we demand.
The crown chakra opens the door to higher consciousness, Underlining natural born connections and friendships no less It can bring people together and divine purpose always readily Announces we embrace the spirits from without and within We are on course for the prize we deserve to be winning.
I draw a map inside my shelter; browning leaves fill my brain The second moment within the first minute always remains But the hours slip into the lowest gear Lower still is the concept, the idea That time has no map no form no reality nothing here. So I put down my book, Nova Express, over the cover I peer.
The darkly images of Burroughs’ world strikes a chord But the question of where did he find such strange words The answers that ensue amuse the tiniest of intellects Minds that measure existence unfortunately disconnects.
His wild antelope face creases into a slimy smile, He often refers to a line of white hot ants in miles That march along his arms, marching to the beat of strobes Sliding up one side of his body upwards to ear lobes.
The line he used was full of powder congealed into glue But the phrases he uses slouch backwards catching you But not really of this place nor as a mere substitution He rearranges his lines cut up fold in method abstraction.
While the white ants cascade into blue words, red skies we have the smouldering ant hills looking from yellow eyes that should be cleared away but no one know how to in the back rooms of the mind a white explosion ensues.
Bill gives my hand a spade full of white hot ant eggs Microcosms of metropolitan chaos and disorder His snatches my arm, the white ants are waiting Then I feel nature collapsing, the needle is still dripping Now I shall have to try and find another way out.
DISSENTERS VOICE 