We wonder, me and you
We wonder why the sky is so blue
and why the weather’s never right
why everybody’s so uptight

Is love all we need, like the Beatles say
running around in a hard night’s day
In order for them to feel so free
they needed **** and LSD

Wisdom seems to be missing, to me
not knowing so many mysteries
With wisdom we can shine a light
and every ‘thing’ will be alright

They say the climate's changing?
I say "Of course!
It never stays the same
south or north"

One thing we should know-
Everything is coming
and going
in the same moment

Will there be a war?
someone said to me today
I said "Is there ever not a war?
Peace never stays,  not even for a day?"
Until we all fly away

What a curious climate
our culture is in!
We’re tormented and trapped
in a wi-fi web
Technologically dependent
utter loss of independence
Brown blackbird *******
about the state she’s in
as a box has dropped
and she can’t sing
caged in a conundrum
that has clipped her wings
no hope for a door to open up

Footless and unfree
We all found ourselves
singing out of tune
in a vacuum

Both blasphemed and blessed
but delighted by the quietness
we reached the end of plentiness
a place of neither fullness nor emptiness

drizzles down to the ground
sprinkles all around
manic energetic eagles and doves
sweating droplets from above

The seasons were green
thankfully
if it were wintry
we’d have climbed trees

Rats running from the race
carving out personal space
to be alone on their own
in ‘no go’ zones

Sean Hunt

I wonder where it lurks,
in the rivers
flowing through the liver,
in the ****, in the heart
in the darkness of a mind
mercurial movements
from the corner of my eye
stalking and seeking
but never seeing
flickering things
passing by

Or is it a long alarm
warning of harm
coming my way
today
or tomorrow
an angel trumpeting
the coming
of danger

Fear,
friend or foe?
                                                    by Sean Hunt

They say there is a secret
known by very few
is it known by you
have they tried to sell it to you
on the internet
steps of this pyramid
they say
will take you to
a private pinnacle
shared by very few
freakishly fortunate
and especially special
people
chosen to be chosen
by the chosen ones
who were lucky enough
to be chosen
by other chosen ones
in a corporate coven

All along the precipice
we stand
unable to hold hands

as the night air
everywhere
becomes rarified

almost oxygen-free
affecting
the way we see

The red sunset
will not surrender yet
as she shouts, out loud

In Ambleside we see
the remains of a Roman fort
Though much has changed
from those times
We wonder what they saw
what kind of lives they lived
through the ticking down of breaths
from birth through ageing sickness and death

They were far from home
far from Rome
on the shore of Windermere
and we wonder
what in thunder
they were doing here
so far from home
on the shore of Windermere

There was no silver
there was no gold
but they came
and grew a little older
and then came more
boat after boat
but why
we do not know

They built a fort
from stone and wood
fit in as many
men as they could
clerks and cooks
We wonder
what they came here for
We wonder what they took

It’s Saturday
they say
so
this means we need
to behave
some way
that acknowledges
and respects
the day
unlike Mondays

Liberated slaves
free to spend
in all the stores
then bend the rules
and act wild
like a liberated child

Divert, distract
paint the town black
‘tis the day
to take care of business
be cool
and make it through
to Sunday’s forgiveness

It’s a virtual world
the one that we now
think we know
once removed reality

We see through
a series of screens
from hand-held cells
to HD screens
and every thing
in between

Who lives between
the child and the man
in the land of unfair dizziness
where one is simply
unable to rest
running a gauntlet
of tests
in tortured times
of terrible apprehension
fabricated arrogance
and insolence
not-knowing and pretension
overcompensation
for frightful fear

unknown
he comes and goes
thank christ

Unfortunately

whether we remain
in the quiet confines
of our own castle home
or whether we go out
with others
to sit down
for tea or coffee
aural torture is found
Boom boxes on four wheels
splashing sound all around
the cities
and the towns

Diesels growl
sirens howl
Swishing cars
hissing tires
Blasphemous bells
from hell

White noise is in the air
bouncing everywhere
from merry-go-rounds at county fairs
to elevators and dentist's chairs

Like lightning
silence sometimes comes around
making
a brief
but welcome break
in a surreal storm
of surround sound

The skittering fish of my memory
refuses to be food
refuses to be used
another time

Like a shooting star
from the corner of my eye
fish fly by laughing at
my hook and line

Of course they can’t be caught
because they were never there
Memories imagined
The mind is so unfair

I was steered here
when I was sixty-three
to
The Land Of The Lakes

The hills and fells
disinterest me
a lovely lake
however
can occasionally
catch my eye

One day I took
a wintry walk
wearing a chapeau
crunching snow
on a Windermere Jetty
jutting out into
the heart of the park
pretending
to intend
to continue
beyond the end

A memory was snapped
into a permanent place
by the capturing eye
walking by

Something happened while you made your plan
You walked the road, when someone ran
While you imagined, turning a bend
someone’s story had reached the end

You never knew you would be so blue
without the world, the one we knew
The sun went down, so suddenly
it disappeared, behind the trees

and the night, gave us a fright
when we were alone, on our own
seeing things, that were not there
shadow dancing in thin air

But the walls came down, at the end of the day
because there were laws that we would not obey

Something happened, unforeseen
by the king,, and by the queen
but their castle, strong and grand
was not built in the sand

and the night, gave us a fright
when we were alone, on our own
seeing things, that were not there
shadow dancing in thin air

Birthwaite Bards
are sitting at a table
in The Lake District
in Cumbria
carefully watching
''Latest Poems'
as they pop up
on Hello Poetry
Outside is a beautiful spring day
workmen in shorts
but Cumbrian poet Keith
says:
“It's not spring yet
until midnight tonight
and if your clock is fast
you are in trouble”

Why do I forget details
some days

Why do some things stay
and some go away

Why do I wonder why
Why do I need to know why

Would I want to remember everyone
and every thing
I have said
I have done
Would I want to recall
and transcribe every flaw
into a book
that could one day be read

Actual happenings
happenstance
hiding behind
a veil in my mind
without intent
not meant to deceive

What is wanted?
a bleeding of veins
allowing it all out
a psychic healing
of sorts

A comprehensive commentary
An exhaustive exploration
of it all

an odd self-audit impulse

infallible me

today the code would not work

and the door stayed closed

I can dance
once in a while
if I relax

I can dance
if instead of a dog
I become a cat

I can dance
if I don’t think of this
or that

I can dance
if I don’t look ahead
and don’t look back

I can dance
if I don’t drink beer
or cognac

I can dance
if I’m not a
nymphomaniac

I can dance
if I’m not good
and I’m not bad

I can dance
if I’m not
sad

I can dance

We think that things stay the same
but we are wrong
We think that the summer will somehow stay
but we are wrong
We always think we'll live another day
but we are wrong
We think that we will never age
but we are wrong
The code for the door didn't work today

How horrid is this love I have for me
and why am I more important than you
When I try to find this me that I see
the phantom flees far off into the blue

How horrid is this love for my body
steeped in sad suffering throughout my life
We humans all pretend to be godly
licking delights from the edge of a knife

How horrid is this love I have for things
that will come and go like dreams in the night
precious possessions of queens and of kings    
who one day will fall from their thrones on high      

Everything shifting like sand in a dune
or a woman’s mood when swayed by the moon

Before words form
then fall, like rain
from the mind of a  writer
splattering a chaste page
There is no poem

Before the pieces
of someone's peculiar puzzle
are placed
precisely
on a page
There is no poem

Before the mind
of a reader
appreciates
something special
in a word salad
there is no poem

Before a reader
pretends to hear
sounds found
somewhere
between his ears
there is no poem

Where can love be found
No one has ever told me
its shape or color

Mysterious mechanism
that can brighten up my life
now finally works

I thought I knew love
but found I was mistaken
I am still learning

The home of his skull is in Rome
His blood's in a vial in Dublin
It's the day of this lover's last breath
the day of his date with death

Love is the name of his game
They play it all over the world
Everybody knows his name
every single boy and girl

Cruel Claudius built his empire
with soldiers fire and swords
but married men full of desire
would stay behind closed doors

Engagements and marriages were banned
so they married in secret instead
Valentine kept joining hands
until Claudius chopped off his head

Chocolates, a heart and a rose
things that give you bliss
dinner and a movie or a show
then a long hug and a kiss

The home of his skull is in Rome
His blood's in a vial in Dublin
It's the day of this lover's last breath
the day of his date with death

Wire and nails and pipes
and much other builder stuff
cluttering this place

Noise from up above
Noise from east west south and north
When will building end

Preoccupied by
other's hallucinations
I ask my self why

The unfortunate character
trembled and tripped
He took a nasty spill
one day when he was already ill
The path was unlit, excessively muddy
and he slipped
Since he was into his second bottle of wine
and overstressed by his dunkenness
the cause of his fall
was indefinite
leading to the struggle
and trouble
of our kerfuffle

Snowdrops will come soon
I am wanting the summer
to come back quickly

When my friend was living in London
and all of his hope burst like a balloon
abused by a child
he did not know which way to turn
which way to go

Then he was utterly cool, London-like
up to date, suppressing his hate
pretending to be fine
drinking whiskey and wine
with many lovers and others he would dine

He had fifty proof blood at the end
when the stories would not work
any more
and a long look in the mirror
erased the enigma of his charisma

The blood vessel burst
My good cool friend was soon dead
Enigma over

Friends are enigmas
Blood brothers are very cool
But the bubbles burst

From out of the void
it came without warning
one winter morning

In a spin, out of control
no warning,
escaping an orbit

The blaze that was left
for many minutes
warmed the world

but this surprise summer
did not last very long

and we could not sing
to the end of our song

Always on the go
Chuck is man on the move
Like a shooting star

London was blinding and London was bright
the darkness was hidden behind the daylight
In a sardine sea of humanity
there was no you, and there was no me

I saw London last week and I almost cried
I saw London last week and I almost died

The pace was relentless and I could see
no one was happy and no one was free
I was shown the sights of which people speak
I saw lots of things but no mystique

I saw London last week and I almost cried
I saw London last week and I almost died

Multicultural craziness, land of excess
It’s where you can find the best of the best
but the price was too high, too high to pay
and so I only stayed for the day

I spoke to a friend who said he was sad
in spite of all of the things that he had
I saw a man who was broken hopeless and lame
he told me that everything tasted the same

In London last week I almost cried

In existential Christmas angst
we scramble ‘round
up and down hills
spilling into
rivers of remembrance
and regret
wishing for storms
and a blanketing
of bright light white snow
with a warm cold
just before the year returns
to where it came from-
the pseudo place
that no one knows
where every thing manifests
never resting
coming and going at the same time
locking us all
into
an ancient Christmas time rhyme

The inevitable always happens
whether we are black or white
or living south or north
or if we play or fight

Seaweed swims the hemispheres
landing on all shores
throughout the year
from Iceland to the Azores

Sound is sometimes split in two
discriminated sounds are separated
for both the ears of me
and both the ears of you

They call this stereo
and it adds a little to the mix
Most of the time
it sounds just fine

Out of the blue
I found the courage
to drink the wine
and I made a bee-line east

Courage (Haiku)

Bee on blue easel
Dark wind blowing from the east
Wine courage at feast

And what is this which is about to become
a part of my weary world
a shard crashed from an angry hand
smashed on the floor by a girl

wounded by words she alone heard
echos from way down below
spoken by ghosts chained to the past
in the basement where nobody goes

She sees not me but someone else
who hurt her way back then
Things were done, words were said
today she hears them again

I beg her to stay in the salon
to love to laugh and to rest
instead of descending down the stairs
to greet those ancient guests

We peer through pixels
at some ‘thing’ on a screen
We know it’s only show
but it feels as real as a dream

We ride a roller coaster
emotions pop like corn
When mirrors lie
delusions then are born

The site is full of light
bouncing through the air
but the scene that we see
is not really there

Mission impossible once again
as our day darkens from disdain

Double trouble we're all in
as Boris twists and spins

One day he'll fall back in line
and straighten up his ****** spine

Real thinkers don't think
Neither mind nor matter matters
Ego tyranny

We are all in a line
walking along a precipice
treading carefully one by one
under the warm rays of the sun

A whisper rises above us
floating in the air
as many murmer
"It simply isn't fair"

We all wish for wings
wanting to escape
from incidental tyranny
the folly of our fate

When the moon becomes the queen
reigning in the skies
all fall on one knee
lowering frightened eyes

We fear the wrath
of someone else's view
a judgement that could hurl us down
'The dropping of a shoe'

Here we have for you
A happy birthday haiku
without more ado

Behind the projector sits a man
he is what he is, he does what he can
He sits behind me out of sight
Because of him my screen’s full of light
I keep forgetting about this friend
who runs the show beginning to end
Thinking the world in front is real
I shiver I shake and I squeal
I cry and I smile with utter delight
‘til it’s over, and somebody turns on the light
One day when the cinema falls to the ground
My friend will find another no doubt
If he has any movies left to show
they'll be seen on a screen, he'll find somewhere to go

Imitation flames pretending to be real
We see with a mind that feels

Though there seems to be fire at our feet
a fake fireplace never gives heat

Animals hurdle through the chute, one at a time
A purple mist descends, darkness the color of wine

Morning paper news ignores the horrors of the state
and there are no Gandhis now, for us to imitate

paper turns purple
as it imitates the flames
licking animals