Golden Lotus

Floating free in the æther

the golden lotus

swirls on the pond

of inner sacred space


Om Ah Hum

Three Petals open

Om Ah Hum

Then three more

Om Ah Hum

Now there are nine


Perfect kernel of wisdom

still clasps tight knowledge

sealed within its naked bud

radiant magnificence


Sat upon the leaves of gold

the sea electric

whirlpools round

an ice blue vortex

all wisps and whispers


Call in the fire

the lightning snakes

Strikes once

Strikes twice


A dual conveyor

one going up

one coming down

the blue electric fire


Now tinted with indigo

deeper and more vibrant

ocean deep

and current strong


The bud rises on its

Auric pin


the snakes and ladders

pulsing now, a heart


The bud rotates

and finally yields

through open wings

peeling chrysalis back

to show brilliance


Pure ecstatic white

faceted with stardust

crispest Diamond

sparkles like February’s

coldest dew at dawn


The jewel levitates

and starts to turn

gaining brilliance

with each revolution


Behold resplendent!!


The Jewel in the Centre of the Lotus


Om Mane Padme Hum

when the reasons fade

that crinkled
brown paper bag
filled entire with the vacuum of melancholy
just as wrinkled
as it ever was

those dry autumnal leaves
an ochre, an ogre
of might

that has been and the never was
a tumbleweed
in a dry, dry desert wind

and for want of a word
or two, or three
and an asking
and a silence

the council gathers
wise, it thinks
yet crumpled

and when the reasons fade
into space
ne’er an echo

those reasons, they have no answer
and they never will

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


By Edgar Allan Poe


Armitage Shanks™

Dressed in his resplendent uniform
and his white silken gloves
each with three buttons
he shines porcelain daily

He places ancient scrolls of parchment
in the sacred reading cubicles
he wets the terracotta dreams and waxes
filling all the phials with ointment

He tinctures the air with incense
and places floral offerings in the vase
he cleans each shining altar with love
adding Naptha where it is needed

Cleanliness is his obsession
and soon they will visit his shrine
the one he cares for day after day
spick and span, spick and span

He knows his place.

Soon the Temple doors will open
and they will flock for confession
for some welcome release on their journey
just passing through, passing through

He knows that they cannot see him
untouchable the Brahmin in his Soul
does what he must always do
he shines porcelain daily

He buffs the vanity mirrors
and fills all the machines with fayre
adding blue pills and plastic
which perhaps, they might later wear.

He knows his place.

And when his shift is done
he reads Nietzsche in the night
and Lao Tze at dawn
he worries at the fading of his sight

As the eight bells toll at five
once more he becomes alive
he shuffles off the duvet warm
and reveilles at his alarm

Dressed in his resplendent uniform
and his white silken gloves
each with three buttons
he shines porcelain daily

He knows his place.

Hello Langley

Sister Gwyneth Pritchard
from Abergavenny
says they don’t wire tap
NHS hospitals
well at least, not that many

Like her colleague
nurse Blodwen Jones
she doubts that
they are interested
in my mobile phones

The firewall here is intact
says my friend Fireman Sam
they don’t hide mikes
nor fish eye cameras
on that woman, with the pram

And when I meet on Monday
with the well known august Dr Brain
he says that Mossad
are not here for me
they camp in the grounds, just to train

The FSB have now long since left
says the man in the bed next
they know he knows
all their codes
as he has sent them to Putin, in a text

Still we count everyday
the visitor’s umbrella stand
just to be certain
and be sure
for strange isotopes, might be at hand

And when the server goes down
it is just a gremlin not the Kremlin
the CIA and FBI
do not listen
to the words we send
it is of course, all pretend

Sister Gwyneth Pritchard
from Abergavenny
says they don’t wire tap
NHS hospitals
well at least, not that many

Ah but what about the Alien horde?
They can’t wait, to get me aboard
my organs are precious
can’t you see?
They want to experiment on me

Hush now baby don’t you fret
and don’t you worry
tonight we have a chicken curry
and before the lights go out
we can watch the X-Factor show
and even Langley will never know.