The crowd has waited since 5 am
there’s been much talk
about the discounts at 8.30
So there’s the long queue and this man
comes right up to the front
and the outraged crowd punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the impertinent man gets up
and walks again to the front of the queue
and the justifiably angry crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the determined man gets up
like Rocky
and walks again to the front of the queue
and again the no-nonsense crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the obstinate man gets up yet again
and he mumbles, like Rocky:
*“If these idiots hit me again, I’ll not open the store for 'em!”

free-floating, untethered
like a chimney-sweep orphan
it  swirls alone in space
no star nearby, no system to call it home
free, wandering, swaying to a symphony of
embracing silence

there are possibly millions
these drifters, these mavericks, rogues
sub-stellar, not mainstream
no pull on each

not your usual planet
with position, star-bound and mooned
but a maverick, free, solitary
untethered, untethered, indie planet
in no one’s sway
….a maverick, it does it all its own way….

there’s that flower
the ancient rock by the street
we come of a village
a sinuous path
that leads to the next
but our village has no name
it is not of specifics
there is no history here
no identity to cling to
and no exotica to marvel over
it’s all the same to us
your village or ours
and we welcome with palms open;
there’s no dogma or Heavy Books
on our tables
we start with no musings
and we shape no theology
and grand ideas
all that we have is clarity
that blooms and withers, only to bloom again
no  affiliations, no special-ness
and it is the clouds
and the earth we read
in our village
in our homes
that go by no name or labels
and no exotica to marvel over
it’s all the same to us
your village or ours
and there’s that flower

1
Marion Island, 2011 and 2008


The fur seal courts the king penguin
runs after it,
as if the penguin were a desirable female seal
and then fails
(it’s just not possible physically;
and hey, the girl says NO!)
and then tears the bird to bits
and eats it

(if you can't ***** it
you eat it)

maybe that fur seal is a loser
chased out by other dominant seals
all female seals taken for the season
and so tries in desperation
to gain entry into a penguin

2
like other losers
many life-forms do it, it seems
insects, spiders, worms, frogs
birds and fish – they just do it…
chaotic with testosterone,
exiled from female receptacles
where you pour in *****

1
Susan visits May
and May gasps,
looking out the window:
Hey! Oh no –  that’s my husband
walking here with my lover!

Oh my God, exclaims Susan
that’s exactly what I’m thinking!



2
Little Tommy is outside
crying in the street
and Old Margie walks by
and she says to the crying boy:
Hey, why the tears?
And little Tommy says:
My parents are inside the house
and they are fighting.

Old Margie scratches her head
looks close
and asks: Who’s your Dad?

Oh, says Little Tommy,
*that’s what they are fighting about

1
just watched the news
my morning ritual

2
today’s news, as  I saw it
(today and this week)
as I heard them all interviewees
them politicians, men of God,
holy ones and pure ones
organizers and statesmen and entertainers
and various personalities,
they all used sincerity terms:
“….to be honest,” one said…”to be frank…,” said another
And yet another: “I’ll be frank with you….”
“Well, frankly speaking,” declared one eminent person…

You wish the interviewer
would interrupt and say:
“You mean you haven’t been honest till now?”

3
and yet, frankly speaking,
that’s not news;
that’s old wearied news
for I’ve heard that from 1960’s
since I started watching interviewees,
to be honest

….concerning my adventures in Hell, as others have spoken of theirs in Heaven, and of the extrapolations thereof…



1
All right, you guys
I mean even neurosurgeons
are telling us now how real is Heaven
They’ve been there and back
so I guess you’d believe me
(just me an irreverent poet)
if I told you there’s Hell
for I’ve been there and catapulted back:
I mean trust me, guys

2
So in my nights
I was there in Hell
and the Red Master said:
“You’ve got a choice, buddy
to determine your eternity”
Well I knew straight away I was in Big ****
Should have read my Big Book
when I was on Planet Earth

3
Red Master showed me a room
where the inmates were
up to their necks in ****
and I said:  *“No, I’ll give this the miss”

And so Red Master showed me
the next room where the inmates
were in **** to their noses
and I said, “Pass…let’s move on to the last ”

And sure enough
the third room was comfy –
the inmates were up to their knees in ****
and each enjoying a cup of coffee
And I told the Red Master I could live with this
but then the Red Master screamed at the inmates there:
“ All Right, you pigs! Break Time over!
Back on your heads in your ****!”

4
And it was then I was shot back to Earth
and so whether Heaven or Hell
Neurosurgeon or Poet
you can be certain now
Heaven and Hell exist –
One for the Wise, one for the Fool
It’s your call, buddy -
Big Book or Big ****?

they keep missing this one
in all the TV and cinema versions
they make and re-make of Tarzan;
so it’s really my duty to set the record straight

Tarzan was running uninhibited
(that’s before Jane arrived)
and Jumbo the elephant looked at Tarzan
and looked him up and down
and Jumbo the elephant said to Tarzan:
*“That’s cute what you got dangling down there -
but can you pick peanuts with it?”

you row, row, your wooden boat,
rough, sturdy, hardy, made for wear and strain
you yourself
gathered, determined, as tough as nails
as uncouth as your boat
how long have you rowed?
How much is time, what is space and distance
as the ship behind you is never reached
for it forever recedes, as you row, row
and perennially speed the prow
towards
Towards what?
Towards that
Which forever recedes, as you row, row
You row, row, the wooden boat
And all time and effort, all will and motion
is but oil and canvas
A picture, an impression, an illusion
A verisimilitude
of what?
Capturing what?
To embrace what?
That which eludes
Past time, past space, past mind and body
you row,  row, your wooden boat
rough, sturdy, hardy, made for wear and strain
you yourself
gathered, determined, as tough as nails
as uncouth as your boat
how long have you rowed?

1 THE KIDS
it’s a simple toy
that’s all they want
these gypsy kids
Plastic discards
cups and basins
consumers-people throw away
change into toys and inventions
in the hands of the gypsy kids
Simple inventions
unique in the change
a life of the imagination
free, unencumbered
just a place on the earth
the space they play in today
That’s all the kids want this moment
not confined walls of classrooms

2  THE PARENTS
Just like the kids
Just these dads and moms
who still revel in the infancy of the earth
And their women
who cook a meal
with what the wild might offer
who are content with what’s in the basket
And who can see into the sky
and see what‘s the weather coming
this season
And so when it is time to move, and where

3  GYPSY BEAUTY
Gypsy beauty
dance your body for me
swirl it like water
spin it like a top
fly it like a kite
O gypsy beauty
with your knowing smile
and your distant eyes
O you beauty
who wears the colors of the earth
twirl the elements for me
like the winds show what’s
behind the clouds


4  GYPSY SINGER**
O gypsy singer
your voice in the air
like the voices that filled
the first days of the earth
that still echo down
the crags and valleys of the mind
O gypsy singer, sing the earth to peace
Sing hard hearts to gentleness
Raise that voice of yours
that voice pure
always so unencumbered
and bring back vision
to these tired spirits
that possess and ravage the world
sing these city-organized  minds to calm,
sing all living beings into clarity

so in ancient Rome
Caelius bumps into
his friend in the streets
and he says:
“Hey, Domitius
I thought you were dead”

Domitius laughs and he says:
“Well, you can see I’m alive”

“Yes,” says Caelius, *“but you must be dead
for I had the information
from someone more reliable than you”

the barber and the bald man
and the ubiquitous philosopher
are travelling in ancient Rome
Here below the tree at night
they rest and take turns to keep an eye
on their luggage
Now it is the turn of the barber to keep watch
and he gets bored
and he takes out his shaving kit
and he gives the sleeping philosopher
a free shave, so now you have two bald men

And now it’s the philosopher’s watch
and he wakes up
and he feels his smooth head
and he muses to himself:
*“That stupid barber!
He has woken up the bald man
instead of waking up the philosopher!”

now, ladies and gentlemen,
as you can plainly see
I am quite adroit and learned
and this lady quite occupied
I am, let me make it clear,
extremely preoccupied
keeping this lady warm and happy
as she in her turn does ditto for me
Now whether we please ourselves missionary
or front to front
is really no business of yours -
but it’s purely and ****** our business and pleasure
So, most lovely ladies and resourceful gentlemen
you must find yourself a different room each
and leave me to fiddle or ****** as I wish
O shame on you ladies -
do you not lure your men
far enough into your depths?
O shame on you men -
do you not come hard enough on your women?
go you now and find each a body
and go spiritual, ****** or *****
have no guilt, enjoy abandon
love as you wish -
but really, you busybodies,
it’s time for you to relinquish pretense of  surprise
and depart from here, and  
leave one body busy with the other

I was at the street shops, seated below the canvas
and drinking my sake
innocent to the world
and lost to my cup
when she walked past
smooth, elegant, slow-time
her eyes straight and her manner modest
O I only had eyes for her
that was all there was, that desire
as she glided through the street
her kimono red and strewn with flowers in bloom
her scent lingering in the air
the gold clips gleaming in her black hair
O the kimono was like a cloud ablaze
that wrapped a Being from the Realm of Desires
and my own being was in chaos and stirring
and then just at the other end
just at the bend
the beauty turned her head
and she cast her eyes on me,
just a flitting look
O the beauty looked back
and it is on me she cast her binding gaze

And now, for me,
as for a madman
there is no looking back
I must go where she beckons

whether it be day or night
when I am awake
I listen to the silence
and the whispers of the surrounds
to the snarls, the roars and the rage
to the creatures that are about, that may venture
I am attentive to the flowing streams
that laugh with the rocks
and to the mountains in their pensive mood
and the sounds of the house and its wood
and the growing elm, that are rich and green always
and I am witness to the sun,
and the moon and its companion stars
and the day and night
and all shades and transitions
and all presence in the air
and I am witness to the creatures that come close, curious
and so to all quiet, to all activity and all life and movement
to all color and all seasons and all urgings and motion
and when it bids me sing of these
then in that consent, in that concord
I write down these words
I write these books of the surrounds
of these moments
that shall come into your hands
that you too may see, for yourself

listen you pretty girls
and tormented boys
heed this warning tale
and avoid bloated tummies
and crushed *****


song of Bad Boy Nimko

here below this bridge
each night
I met pretty Akako
And each night I whispered
sweet nothings
and poured myself
into her
But ah, now this same bridge
of pleasure is a bridge of pain
she says she’s pregnant
and makes her claims
And so I must run away
turn my back on the village
and never return
for here is no gain



song of Bad Girl Akako

here below this bridge
each night I met Nimko
and I told him one night
he’s made me pregnant
and he said
he didn’t know about that
And never wanted
to see me again
and he called me a ****
And so I squeezed him tight
and he left with ***** crushed
flat as dumplings
under a carriage wheel




And so
listen you pretty girls
and tormented boys
heed this warning tale
and avoid bloated tummies
and crushed *****

you are walking the streets
you do not walk the boards anymore
your trousers are frayed, your shoes dusty
and the hard walkways have worn them out
you are not presented in the glorious costumes
and the stage crowns anymore
the illusion is gone, it’s reality
that’s permanent now
you’re the beggar, the recluse, the plain and shadow
you walk down to the shops
and your speech raises eyebrows
where’d he learn to speak like that?
they ask, in whispers, like conspirators on stage
your actions are too lofty, your manner too distant
it threatens them, they must crush you –
so that’s why you’ve learned to blend in as well as you can
those were the days
when they heard your words, and they felt it resonate
when they noted your pronouncements
and there was acknowledgement
but those were the days, a long time back when they
looked at you, and they knew you, and they looked in awe
now the children sneer at the old man,
and when it’s too cold, your nose runs
and you need to **** more often
and the women notice you hobble,
you leave the art of significance
and you learn the art of the indistinct
and you’ve learned
which practice is more difficult:
acting the prominent, or acting the anonymous

*Go, old man, old actor, every dog has its day;
the new breed eats the bones today

Tom of Bungles Company places an order
and  Bond of On-the-Ball Company calls back
and he tells Tom:
“Hey, listen…You’ve ordered another two shipments
of the goods? Look, you haven’t paid for the previous 4 orders
and we can’t ship your new order till you pay for the previous four”

“Oh,” says Tom of Bungles Company
quick and snappy
*“Cancel the order then
We really can’t wait that long”

It was the end-of-year exam
to qualify for the prestigious
Top Class at school
and with his paper
spoiled brat Tommy
handed in a $100 note
to his teacher and winked with a whisper:
“A dollar for each point, Sir;
I know all about percentages”

The next day the teacher returned
the papers to the students
and marked bold on
spoiled brat Tommy’s paper
was: 40%
And the teacher pointed to a $60 note attached
and he said with a wink and whisper:
*“That’s the change, Tommy -
a dollar a point, yeah”

1
What my brother-in-law said to me:
Hey, bro…glad to talk to you…
I’m flying in all the way from Canada
in 30 days’ time…yeah, whole family
Wife and the 3 kids
Hey, you ought to get leave for a week –
we’ll stay in your place,
and you can drive us about Victoria…
it’s really my sis and you we want to see…
Yeah, get back to me after you speak
to the people at your workplace


2
What I told my brother-in-law:
I asked my boss,
and he said leave’s not possible…
He needs me to be at work
says he can’t manage without me


What my brother-in-law said back to me:
Oh, we’ll try my wife’s side then
You know, the ones who live in Mauritius
We’d really like to see them…


3
What actually happened
Well, to be honest,
I asked my boss for the week off
and he said:
You’ve let so much work hang for so long
you’d need a whole year to finish
Let me make it plain, you shirker:
This year, you get NO days off

And I shook his hands enthusiastically,
and I said to him:
Thanks, boss – I knew I could always count on you



**...and now I've got my bro-in-law languishing in Canada - and my boss, my colleagues tell me,  feeling perplexed in his office...

so Old Farmer Joe is missing for breakfast
and his wife Mary goes out
to look for her hubby of fifty years
and finds him standing there
in the middle of the field

What are you doing here, darl
asks Mary
standing here in the field?

And dreamy Old Joe says:
I hear they award
a Nobel Prize to those
out standing in their field
I’m going to win, sweetie


Come, let’s go home, darl
says Old Mary
and she guides him,
as he leans on her shoulder,
and he grumbles:
*I knew you’d spoil everything

Ah, all of you young and all my children
and all of you lovely ones
You throw us this lovely 50th anniversary party
and you honor me and my beloved wife
And all this food, and all these drinks
and celebration and dance and music…
It moves my heart…and you ask me to tell you
what 50 years of marriage have taught me,
what such a long marriage teaches,
and well, this is what I have learned:
*Well, a long marriage as such teaches you
all the qualities that make one human
and such qualities
I have learned
as loyalty and love and generosity and empathy
and understanding and give-and-take attitude
and the necessity of speech and the necessity to remain silent –
all qualities, and understanding,
dearest friends and my most loved ones,
qualities I need never have acquired O if only I had remained single

1
And it’s fifty years
since Farmer Joe and Mary married
but Joe forgets;
Joe is always in La La land

Darl, do you know what day it'll  be
come Saturday?
says Mary, who’s still got all her teeth

No, says Joe
who's still got strong hands and feet
No, no, no…I don’t know – wait,
what was your question?


2
It’s our fiftieth, darl
says Mary
Let’s have a feast, invite the kids
and the neighbors
– and let’s **** a pig


O, says Farmer Joe
*I don’t know why
the pig’s got to take the blame
for something we did fifty years ago

John’s going to be
a first-time father
and he calls the hospital
late in the night
and he screams into the phone:
“My wife’s going to deliver! Help!
She’s screaming! And she says something
about contractions! Help!”

And the duty nurse at the other end
with her cool voice intones:
“Tell me - is this her first child?”

And the anxious first-time father screams:
*“No! No! This is her husband!”

I worked at the Ministry of Transport
those days,
a mere employee in a workforce of
three thousand
barked at and moved about
by bureaucrats and faceless executives
but we the meek had our ways
to assert our power some days

that day the drab announcement
came over the PA system
a speaker above each corner
snapping an order at you:
“Will all personnel
parked at Sector 4
remove your vehicles
to Sector 5 immediately”

And half an hour later
while I was having a smoke
with my friends and they with theirs
came an order from the speakers above:
*“Will all staff who went to remove their cars
return to work without any delay…”

Ah, today I was called to do
the saddest thing:
an old couple had died
in a car accident
and it was my job
as their executor
to open their separate wills
and fulfill their wishes
and the other lawyers stood around
moaning: Aren’t they the divinest couple ever?
40 years together and they died together

And I read their wills, and the Old Man's said:
This I crave be inscribed on my wife’s grave:
Cold As Ever
And in her will, the Old Woman said:
*This I crave be inscribed on my husband’s grave:
At Last, Stiff Like Never

1
I married when I was young, yeah,
a woman just as hale and hearty as me
and course I still had
to hang out with friends
and weekends I’d be off with ‘em
drinking and spending all the week’s pay
from Friday evenin’ till Sunday night

But my wifey ne’er understood that
and one Sunday night she’a said to me
“Why do you do this, mon? How’d you feel
if you don’t get to see me for so many days?”

“Fine by me, sweetie,” I said
as fast and as witty, even in drink


2
and that night I didn’t see her
and come Monday I didn’t see her
and come Tuesday I didn’t see her
and so on Wednesday and came Thursday,
the swelling went down a little
and I saw my wifey again
hale and hearty
out of the corner of my right eye

I’m known to be smart
always get what I want
I’m street-smart and savvy -
hey, I can deal with crowds

Why, only the other day
there was an accident
right in the heart of the Great Exotic City
and the nosy crowd gathered thick
but no way I was going
to be left out of a close view
so I shouted:
“Let me thru! Let me thru!
I’m the son of the injured victim!”

And sure enough
the people parted
as swift as the Red Sea –
you should have seen
the awe in their eyes on seeing me -
and I made my way thru
straight to where the victim was
lying before the car:
*...a ****** old donkey...

(a traditional Japanese ghost story, re-told by Raj Arumugam)




Preamble

Ogiwara sits in his shed
alone, sad
only memories sustain him now
in the lonely hours of his nights

and now it is the night of the obon
and he hears the light feet of women
just outside on the grass
just below the willow

it is a woman with her peony lantern
and beside her
through his window
Ogiwara sees the beauty that weakens his heart
young Otsuyu he sees
and Ogiawara comes out and bows
and he invites them in
on this the night of the obon





What Onatsaku saw

I saw the ladies come every night
and the woman with the lantern
sat out at the deck
while the young one went in
and Ogiwara as happy as in times past

every night I saw them
come as gentle as divine beings
and before the break of dawn
as I prepared for work
I saw them leave
and Ogiwara sad, as he is always now



What an elderly neighbor saw

toothless I may be
but ‘m still sharp of faculty
and I saw these two w'men
one young, and a beauty as one from Edo
and every night Ogiwara received her
and last night I went by his window
and I saw ‘m naked in his room
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
so close in love making
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull


What the priest did

And the priest came forth
And warned Ogiwara of the danger
The ravishing young girl
was the ghost Otsuyu
And a prayer he placed on the door
so she can never come in
even when invited in





Otsuyu’s song

O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
yearns for you

on previous nights
you welcomed me in
but now you have doors
shut against me  
was all your love
false, false as our days?

O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
trembles for yours

on previous nights
you cried as we made love
you cried that you had found
beauty and joy
but now you let me stand
crying out in the cold
was all your love
false, false as our days?

O Ogiwara
if I may not come in
open the door
and come with me



What the children saw

This morning we
went playing across the fields
and at the graveyard
And there in an open grave
there we saw Ogiwara’s corpse
breaking, rotting
but his blue cloak still round him
And we saw his corpse
embraced by a woman
but she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
and the skull-woman he was with
she hissed at us
and she said: *“Go away, children…Go away…”
and she was but bones, bones and smiling skull

at last, I’m dead, now a light ghost in the dark
an energetic, leaping ghost
and I’ve got abundant hair
and it’s always shiny and radiant

over here
one never worries about
eggs and shampoo, and making such concoctions
And it feels always light
airy, floating at will, gliding with ease
And one lifts off into the air
and one flies (I don’t need to worry
about ground control,
and foul weather is fine with me)
And I never worry about clothes
it’s always the same, and they stay fresh and smooth
all night long, all hauntings along
- Woooo! Woooo! Hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
And nails - wow! Do they grow!
and they take care of themselves
and you don’t need those pesky, nosy manicurists!
But the best – oh – the best – is the jump up into the air
and to descend, to pounce so effortlessly
on unsuspecting males
right in the darkest of nights
to pounce on them, as it seems, from nowhere
from up, up, up ever so light from high in the air
and with my ghostly touch
to feel them shrink in their pants
- Ha, ha, hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
and to bite off their you-know-what –
a fruitful and eventful end to the night…
they taste like cucumbers,
with water, minerals and fibre and all…
- OOOOObbooo…TooTooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
- ah, the joys of being a female ghost –
it is light revenge on those men of dark hearts

1)
see the yurei
the ghost of Oyuki…
hair free of the ornate pins
and scattered over her shoulders
she hovers in her white robe
her hands loose
and she’s covered in mist below her waist
she has a smile, her eyes turned inward
and you had better not wish
she’d cast her glance on you
just a look, just a glance

2)
Oyuki was the sweet love
of Maruyama Okyo
Oyuki was as delicate
as the plum blossoms outside her window
she sang songs of love
and covered Okyo with sweet kisses
Ah, she was young
and she played the shamisen
and she had such pleasing arts
and uttered such words
they lingered days and nights in Okyo’s mind
But she died young…
beautiful, like the cherry blossoms in the morning
and gone, faded in the evening

3)
and at nights
all Okyo could see
in dreams and in the dark
was gentle Oyuki, sweet Oyuki
hovering in the mist
floating, lingering, smiling
in his dreams, and in the dark
and he painted, Okyo painted
the Ghost of Oyuki
a portrait of his beloved Oyuki
and that freed him into sleep and peace
into quiet and calm


4)
but at nights
if you see
in dreams and in the dark
the form and beauty of Oyuki
floating, lingering, smiling
in your dreams and in the dark
then you must offer a petal, a dumpling
or what must please her
so she will go, that
gentle Oyuki, sweet Oyuki
or you might offer her a poem,
a soothing one
as I did, and she might plant a cold kiss on your cheek
a cold one
as she flits past, gliding away in all the mist
to see who she might catch
with no love of art, with no skill to please

in times gone by
Zhou Maoshu sat in his boat
and the boatman rowed it out

Zhou Maoshu went in his boat
to appreciate the lotuses
strewn about in the lake

And the vast sky was everywhere
and the willow huge in the foreground
and a line of them
receding into the mist
and Zhou Mashu sang a song
there in the lake as he sat in his boat:
*water spreads about
and the lotus
is scattered over it
I, Zhao Mashu, am in my boat
and this is neither a journey or end;
here we are but another part of the whole -
it is the seeing of beauty
and that is all there is
here and beyond
now and ever

in your painting
there is the rock
that nature’s licked into two plates
and that slides into the lake;
the rock carries with it the branches
with its show of flowers
like a suitor come to woo the hands of the gentle lake
and in the clear water below
two fish are active in their element -
they are objective, they are like scholars

and I am here, dear Bada Shenren,
three hundred years after you
(the dead have ever been my friends)
I too am come out again to see the world
like you did after forty years,
dear Zhu Da -
but like then as now, the world is not kind
to the recluse who comes to meet it

it is the scene that comes to one
that opens its palms
like a child might open its own
in delight

the fingered-bamboo on slender arms
and the smooth waters flowing
like a sage’s long white hair;
and the rocks like pauses
and the terrain sliding, gliding down
not to be outdone by the river that flows –
it is the scene that comes to one
and one must come to it, and one observes…

one comes with no preconceptions
and without creed and theology
one leaves one’s history
and expectations and conditioning
and one sees what is before one…
to this one does not bring one’s opinions
and one’s past and emotions
and one’s beliefs and one’s dogma -
for to observe is to see, not to overlay
like laying carpets on mud
or marble tiles on the mansion floor…
one observes, one sees what is before one

and from this one does not take
opinions and memories and revelations
and dogma and emotions and similes and metaphors
…one observes, one sees…
…everything else is conditioning,
structure and formation…

it’s a transient world
sweetheart
all this life and the wonders of it all

it’s like the reflections in the lake
all this being and the joys
and the excitement of the day
it’s all like the flower
that comes first as a bud and then blooms
and then is proud in its own wonder
and then is kissed to its death, deflowered

it is all but an instant
though time, events may seem long;
the only thing one can do
sweetheart
is to hold the moment

the curved mountains are at their own
unconcerned, lofty and as is
far and near
and the hills too
gathered and in groups
one here, solitary and a cluster there
some stained by a previous fire,
now most smothered in snow…
and the bamboo, scattered and thin
and resisting and resilient, and the rocks
unmoved, silent, witnessing…
and so it is my mind with all its thoughts
and feelings and emotions, all its clusters of memes
and its storms and violence and depth…
and there is the observing, and there is the silence
that hovers over it all…the stillness that is always waiting,
as the freshness in the mountains and hills
the being as bamboo is what it is

Let me not return
this day
you elements
that surround me
you spirits
that hover about and flit in the air
Let me not return home today
without a catch
A man must eat
and he must bring sustenance
to those who rely on him
I have sat here now in my boat
these hours slow and hopeful
in these winter waters
and cold and harsh times and desolation
The land is barren
and the waters unrelenting
I have used every skill and every technique
patience sits by as my desperation resides within
O let me not return empty
this day to those who have hope in their eyes -
we need to eat
that is the stark reality;
there is no mystery in that
every strategy of mine has failed
O spirits that hover in this vast desolation
let me not return
with downcast eyes and empty basket
with nothing to show for my hours and work here
alone in the boat, on this vast wintry lake

*there have been days
when you have rewarded me with your bounty
and I have shared them all
But O why
you good spirits of the air and water -
why do you desert me in my hour of need?

the sun goes to sleep in the waters
below the bridge of Edo
(ah, the Edobashi)
and rises gentle over it when it is time*

it is morning over Nihonbashi now
and the golden glow of the early sun
is the smile that stretches like gentle colours
over festive banners and a geisha’s paper fan
like a girl’s smile, in her first blush of love

the thin light spreads out and finds its children
the back-bent men are there already
carrying their heavy loads
the fishermen carry in their catch
in baskets on poles
they saunter, purposeful
though the sleepy city is reluctant
after its nightly revels
and the dogs, the stray dogs are there too
at the gates of Nihonbashi
and the sun’s rays are like
the gentle smile of a mother discovering her children

see little Tommy
no, you can’t see him in the trolley -
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert, as mom
pushes the trolley
through the aisles
And then nimbly
he crawls out
and hangs by the handle
feet on the brackets
still hidden
and suddenly drops
on the floor
light as baby Tarzan
And Mom says: “Tommy!”
and Tommy laughs
and climbs back into the trolley
like a little Alexander on a metal Bucephalus
and there he stands commandeering
the trolley: “Cheese, mum! Lollies! Lollies!”
And Mum says to Little Tommy:
“Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!”
But little Tommy
he’s the Master and Commander
and pirate
but mostly the monkey
on the shopping trolley
down the aisles and down the corridors
and the food court
sliding and jumping and hiding
in his fantasy world of the trolley
see little Tommy -
no, you can’t see him in the trolley
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert in the trolley
he so happily commands

1
Ginhoko is a slob
he ***** up to the boss
and he squeals on his mates
May his family starve and
may his wife find him always flaccid

2
You loser! You loser! You loser!

3
the woman who walks past our store
everyday when I have my tea
she is lovely and a fairy -
O will she not look at me?

4
The boss is a donkey
He eats pig ****
and his wife drugs his food
and his wife fornicates with the servant
while her husband lies drugged,
and everyday she winks at me

5
May the world go jump
in the ditch!
May I alone survive and enjoy the earth!

6
What do you eat? You smell of the backstreets
of the red light district
where the men go to ease themselves

7
who scribble here
is nincompoop

grotesque old Tomon-go
in that corner he holds in the market
he looks angry, fierce and his open mouth
inside as red as the feet of a fighting ****
Ah, his words fly like arrows helter-skelter
some miss, some strike – he does not know
what missiles he sends, what he throws
and in turn anything he receives he throws back
with quadrupled energy

He looks fierce, he looks mean
all relatives say in hushed tones -
but he’s really nice, a softie with a hard exterior

at the market his face is convoluted
there are a hundred writhing beings that make
up his countenance
(each a contortionist)
the energy of the practised old grumpy men
live in his hands
and he unleashes words that make everyone recall
the last tsunami

He looks fierce, he looks mean
all the women and men in the market say
in whispers -
but he’s really nice, a softie with a hard exterior

Ah, poor Tomon-go, his words and manner isolate him
he hurts others and is hurt in turn
Poor Tomon-go, poor all who come in contact with him
though they might whisper to one another:
*He looks fierce, he looks mean
but he’s really nice, a softie
with a sharp tongue and grotesque exterior

I scrub my armpits
I scratch the dirt off my back
I wash my nose and ears
And I’ll be honest -
I think I just ******!

**! Hey ah, po!
Jump in like fish and enjoy this water
It’s as cool as the touch of a woman
in mid-summer
Jump in and the water
is as generous as a woman in love
Who cares about the gods or Heaven
it’s water, water, that’s the beginning and the end
**! Hey ah, po!

I scrub my armpits
I scratch the dirt off my back
I wash my nose and ears
And I’ll be honest -
I think I just ******!

**, hay hay toh!
All clothes are gone
God can go jump into a pool
for all I care
All the power is in the fall of water
This is delight
This is joy, this waterfall and gathered water
I’m as naked as when I was born
well, except for the **** cloth
that covers the toys
that pleasure my woman
**, hay hay toh!

I scrub my armpits
I scratch the dirt off my back
I wash my nose and ears
And I’ll be honest -
I think I just ******!

we three send you a song
over continents, over oceans
through centuries
hope this finds you well
better than we found our times
with plague, blind beliefs
and uncertainty about us
and fragile mortality and living on the edge
when life was not comfortable
which was often for us
we three send you a song
over continents, over oceans
through centuries
hope life’s better for you
O radiant humanity of the future
not that it was bad for us
but it’s logical to assume
things always get better
and so it’s utopia you must be in
as we send you this message
and your world must be ridden
of anxiety and worry
it must be times of peace and harmony
where the peoples of the world live together
like children of one family
thus we three send you a song
over continents, over oceans
through centuries*
and so in your ease and enlightened times
such as they must be
remember us by this painting by Lorenzo Costa
and also hum along to our tune
of goodwill and cheer
that you might imagine
and if you master the art of time-travel
come visit us, and we’ll give you a song
one that you can hear, one you can join in
and perhaps you’ll take us back along with you
to such happier, happier times
such joyous, joyous bright times
as yours must be
there in your distant century

I’m not in step with the world
I’d like to go
I don’t see very well
and the metaphor haunts me too

But Life is sacred
you can’t make it
you can’t take it away
Stay all the way;
smile each day

You have no use for me
and I don’t get you past literalness
My slur interrupts meaning
and I don’t understand
your language either

But Life is sacred
you can’t make it
you can’t take it away
Stay all the way;
smile each day

I’m tired of the ways
there’s nothing I can build anymore
The doors are closed
and there’s a new image here everyday -
every one unfamiliar, and vague

But Life is sacred
you can’t make it
you can’t take it away
Stay all the way;
smile each day

You give me words
and I eat leftovers
My mind soars above
and you hang on to my tissues
I’d like to go
I have to go
This room reminds me of the womb
As was coming so seems my going;
I’ll go

*But Life is sacred
you can’t make it
you can’t take it away
Stay all the way;
smile each day

you’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
and you’ve offered praise
for what you like
(and ignored me for what you don't)
But you mustn’t think
you’ve heard me deep
or you’ve known me now
For it’s always
someone else singing
depending whose voice was last heard
whose blade keenest, whose skills superior
who has fingers extending from the murky past
You’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
but you mustn’t let me convince you
no matter how hard I try
it’s me you hear
for I’m just a valley of echoes
(are we not all?)
and a scarecrow over which linger
vultures and such scavengers
never a thought of mine
not an emotion of mine
is the subject of my song
but the words generations have spun
to make myths and radiant lies
that I can sing, and you can acquiesce
I’m just the voice of conditioning
And you too, as you listen and concur
we are but
our conditionings singing
it’s the past singing
it’s not me
it’s not you
though you put a face to it
and we put our names to it
you’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
and you’ve offered praise
for what you like
(and ignored me when you don't)
but you mustn’t think
you’ve heard me deep
or you’ve known me now
for it’s always
someone else singing

in the beginning
was BamiBami
He the True God
the One God
He wanted everything for Himself
this BamiBami
so He weeded out all competition
and ate all the food at Cosmic Meat
Yum! Yum!
said BamiBami
More! More!
Yum! Yum!
and Mighty He fell sick
and He had no mother to make Him chicken soup
and He had no woman
to scream Him out of His Indisposition
But He had One Predisposition
and so He
vomited the Sun
and He vomited the Stars and the Planets
and the Cosmos
(and He vomited with such vehemence
the cosmos and the stars and space,
they’re still moving outward)
and then He turned round and He made one final *****
and He vomited the Earth and all its creatures
that includes you and me
and think about that,
that makes you puke
(say Hi Puke
to your fellow human pukes…)
and since then we’ve always puked
look around, and you’ll see the muck and puke
we’ve even gone nuke
All Praise be to BamiBami
He of the Divine Puke

and that’s how we got here
not by a fluke
but by a puke

I wander now
in the wilderness, in the woods
on deserted paths between villages
greeted by strangers
welcomed by humble folk
but welcomed at no Lord’s castle
rejected by Masters and Authorities
shunned by those in Position, in Step
ostracised and kept in the distance by Establishment

the lonely all-embracing tree
offers me shade
the narrow cave
accepts me in the night
a kind wife and her man
offer me part of the meal
they have prepared for their children

the Order harries me on
I have to keep moving
And nothing in my past
condemns me in the present
nor does it save me

All that I’ve learned
is become my burden
All that I’ve loved
I’ve grown to hate
Of my own life
I’ve made my straitjacket
and in my footsteps you read
The Sutra of the Outsider

once I had a master
whose name lent some dignity and glamour
now I wander
free of institution
free of protocol and guidelines
I am the wandering ronin
nowhere to belong, related to none
and so coming in to freedom

when I was within Order and File And Rank
when I was within Identity and Badge and the Group
I had recognition and complacency
Now I am the ronin with no labels
wandering as I desire
unfettered as the birds of the sky
and as the ocean waves
Now I have no rules to follow, no obligations
just the rhythm of love and justice
Now I see all that I thought was necessary was but a burden;
the price for my place had been my freedom
And now I am the wandering ronin
uninhibited, unconditioned, free
as a sparrow might choose to rest where it pleases

together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
meaning become ludicrous
This become that
That become this
ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!
everything has penetrated its opposite
and the world become beastly
no beginning, no end
no origins
let us sing now
the world topsy-turvy
the brain in a soup,
the mind’s one word: baa-baa-baa
you sing one line
the other another
and then all together
the song of bad breath and yawns
ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!
we see King Lear walking
naked in the plains
and we have the Imposter
with his heavy **** on the Throne
which is a Toilet with automated cistern
let us sing then
not then, but now
together now
let us sing
the song of inanity
the song of no meaning
it is the song of the no-light
the song of the ludicrous
the ludicrous become meaning
*ding! ding! ding! ding!
ping! ping! ping! ping!

Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read
Where did I learn to read?
they taught me at home,
they taught me at school
they taught me at the camps and retreats
and at all the Assemblies and Gatherings
and at various Thought Adjustment Programs
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read and I can recite
They trained me well to recite
and to memorize and to regurgitate
and to repeat and repeat and repeat
at the Houses of Prayer
the Holy Ones stood before us
and they trained us, they drilled us
thousands and thousands of us
and millions and millions of us
and through years and years
and centuries and centuries
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
No variation, no change, just -
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
they trained us well at Animal Farm –
word for word, repeat and repeat and repeat
and when in doubt, we have our Great Leaders
Pigs for Pigs, Goats for Goats, Turkeys for Turkeys
and Donkeys for Donkeys
who will speak for us
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
so must you, if you should be pure,
if you should be saved
if you should see the Truth
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw