The infinite which was hid’ … Detail of the frontispiece of William Blake’s Europe: A Prophecy, a book on display at Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. Poem Inspired by William Blake
I’ve been sleeping for two thousand years Waiting for the moment to turn on the light.
I have slept in clouds in the storms of the night Looking for a signal, wanting a switch.
I have journeyed inside a billion stars Staying only a microsecond away from here.
I have splashed the colours of the universe Throughout the invented histories of Earth.
I have travelled the miles in cases of thought I was tortured by dogma and politics of a sort.
I have been aware of your instruments of death You can sanctify your cross, do your worst.
I am pained for I am no longer free The Earth need is drawing heavily on me.
I am expected but your doors to freedom are closed Whilst the new gods are frantically worshipped.
I saw satanic mills flourish to yield gold To the money moguls who despise me of old.
I am grieving for the Earth waiting for it to awaken My sleeping for two thousand years is about to end.
I am crying for your clergy all have forsaken Me and my heart and the hearts of all kinds.
I am stretching out my arms, no one notices As I rise from this stone obscure tomb.
I am sure my next visit will be more worthy Melting away I went not just saving the money.
I’ve been away for two thousand years Listening for the sounds of love and peace.
I am watching a thousand guilty knives Flying through the air towards me alive.
I am blamed for wars greed and indifference Little chance have I to alter books to make a difference.
I am altered, fashioned into a nuclear missile For me to bless and for you to release.
I’m given the guilt of countless thousand deaths So that I may absorb the hatred and fear.
PART 2
No one shall sleep forever For forever demands wakefulness A gentle prodding towards awareness.
No one escapes the glare of the life force Nor shall anyone ignore the courses We tread, we dread the reality of passing over.
No one wants to see the skull and bone remains Because we were routinely taught to fear And we fear most that which doesn’t happen.
Like death as it is only an illusion But we were warped, changed by religion
The comfort from the religious when we meet teaches us of oblivion, from which we retreat is like so many nails driven into hands and feet.
No one dies because we go on to other places Therefore sleep be banished For our friends haven’t vanished They are close to our faces They are with us forever in all places All we need do is wish them to be near.
Sleep ye not, ye souls of ancient yore For thou hast a path to walk yet and more Thou walkest freely in the light of universal love A power from within, without – streams from above From below, from inside from outside, everywhere Thou walkest the highest mountains here When thou settles thy mind there.
Bring us the steepest mountains and hills We’ll make the journey one of our skills That were taught us two thousand years ago Universal lessons we cover with our egos But beware be not ever so blind Ye cannot purge thine own mind Of ancient and nameless wisdom For it resides deep within Every cell and molecule kingdom Of you, of me of us of everyone.
Make ye not a tremendous fuss Play the simple game of life for us In the manner of truth and light Make ye not false prayers For they attract white hot holes Into the spirit friends who become whole.
Lift thine eyes with gladdened hearts To the voices of those who know all parts, Mock ye not for what do we know? Only what we see that is on show What is this, some kind of Hell? Where our senses are; what can I tell Of our eyes, hands, nose and mouth – A hell invented for convenience hatred and greed An anvil for all souls to carry thinking they need Willingly for they believe is real but taken in.
The tragedy of two thousand years without name Greets my tired eyes like a bloodied torch of flame Singeing everyone with a hopeless hapless blame
No one sleeps but most are hypnotised By the goodies and rewards concocted Fashioned by mindless animals called humans.
Dull day, watching as a newspaper sails away Blending splendidly with McDonalds' cartons Coca Cola metal edged and ugly - Thought s of a new day Very much the same as yesterday Lying here next door to Primark My caps water logged virtually penniless Matching my pockets frugality Searing the unfathomed reality - Where thousands walk past.
What they see is a pile of rags and inertia Some cursing “ we’re not in bloody Asia” Soaked Big Issues don’t bring in the dosh Not do prostrate grey heaps Lining the Strand or Charing Cross. Blue coated lighted the boys with batons Use your legs for football practice “move on you bastard, or you’ll get more” “It’s the sailors life for me!”
The joke’s not lost like earrings in the hay Nights are always worse than days Junkies knifing your veins for pennies Prostitutes complaining about trade failures Blaming the begging not their aging layers It’s not only the cold that claims The street dwellers in this city It’s the absence of guilt and pity The liars of the Media affect your livelihood As sure as someone mugging your food The stories of violence leave out the frenzy Of organised scapegoating Blaming the poverty stricken With anything from litter to the Footsie collapsing.
Well meaning professional cannibals Hand you their insincerities And wait for you to smile your promises So they can keep the score’s accurate Then report you to the police Telling of drunkenness because you are a vagrant Wandering half the night for a vacant Doorway facing away from the wind Piles of grey rags and snoring.
Known as the “beggars welcome” Staggering into Mothercare’s entrance? Smiling at the irony, with a wince That triggers the aching gut rush Empty organs are painful most of the time Cups of tea sandwiches crusts or bones Forever missing off my menu.
Duller day, much the same as yesterday Only it appears to be longer It is much redder than before Due to crack heads wielding blades I’m becoming slimmer by the minute By the time an ambulance is alerted I will have become significant at last Statistically speaking anyway.
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.
I am in this café looking out towards the cars listening, To the rain as it pats the windowpane and glistening In the light of the streetlamps standing sentinel pose, The rhythm of the rain interposing thoughts I suppose. There is no control over the places the rain will fall But at least I have something to listen to after all.
I am in this living room in silence but listening always, There is only my heartbeat I notice pounding away As the quiet cuts decidedly across my concentration There are brief clatters as my keyboard is a distraction But I am not worried my thoughts are in need of renewal, As I discover past mind pictures in places I can recall.
I am in this wooded area and while listening the air is cool, The birds are all of a chatter and sing their songs in tall Trees that sway to the winds that disturb their very leaves, I love the rustling of the leaves and the fresh air I breathe, In this place increasingly I sense I’m becoming more real Listening can be a tonic but within me the sounds will still.
I am in this holiday place where gulls cry out to no one, But they sail on passed me in a cocky way; are you done They scream as I lay listening in the warm afternoon sun, The sea in the distance beckons me to join in the throng I expect nothing more than to hear my best ever song That echoes around inside my head all the day long.
I am on this doorstep listening to the people on the inside Trapped I am wondering whether the door bell on the outside Will scream obscenities to all within beyond this door, What matter is it to me if they hear the truth and much more What do I care, they do deserve an earful of fuck and bloody I rang the bell and moved away not speaking until I’m ready.
I am in this bed listening to the clock mocking my sleepy eyes I can’t sleep, as usual, the whirring of my brain I now realise Doesn’t want me to put head to pillow and get down to sleeping No it wants me at its mercy it repeats over a phrase I’m keeping, Hidden away inside my heart where I wait for its completion. It’s been a long long time, I am aware of its possible depletion.
I am on a carousel most people would call life and listening To what they say about it only makes me feel like disappearing, So I can gather evidence of an energy to discover the feeling Down inside of me that I have lost something of true meaning I see pictures of lakes, ducks dragon flies, geese and cranes, In the sunlight I spy a shadow that needs to be in light again.
DISSENTERS VOICE 