Forever                  

If I could live as  long as  stone

I  wouldn't want to be bound to  flesh and  bone

Forever

And if I could fly  above the  weather

I  wouldn't want to be bound to  flesh and  feather

Forever

I don't want  to be  real

I  want to be ethereal  

Forever

Rainbow-like,  made of light

Forever

Sean Hunt  
2015 Windermere

Fenced In

Yes
We are fenced in
'They' have fenced us in
But the lock is imaginary
Thus we have the key
And we are free

Sean Hunt  
Windermere   2015 January 31st

Face To Face  

when our love is aligned  
in that way
like the sun and the moon
there's no sway
each in their place
in stillness will stay      
when our love is aligned
in that way      

sweet love above
so slow below
two rivers join
into one flow
learning in love
ignited,  aglow
we never will say
'where did love go?'            

standing so still
face to face
we dance and we play
night and day
slowly we slide  
in  space
standing so still
face to face
standing so still
in embrace
standing so still
face to face        

Sean Hunt   Windermere 2015

Do We Know Peace

We know war?
Do we know peace?
Most of us only know war
From news and TV
From movies
Far removed from
Reality
But do we know peace?

Peace is an absence of war
Peace is also an absence of
Addiction,
Obsession,
An absence of
Uncontrolled desire,
An absence of
Intense emotion,
An absence of grasping
At things,
And people,
And ideas,
And theories,
And countries,
And football teams

Sean Hunt
2015 Windermere

Exits, Graceful, Ungraceful and Disgraceful

Death you dangerous guest
You definitely come
At a definitely unpredictable time
It is very rare for one
Who will depart with you
To have time
For small talk

The ambush man
Crouching down
Out of view
Suddenly surprises you,
Usually!

But sometimes there's time
For small talk
Or a walk hand in hand
Time to brace one's self

Sometimes holy men make a graceful exit
A warm embrace, an ironic smile,
A denial to beguile
The phantom ephemeral beast

Death, I know
You are mere illusion
It's up to me if I see you as real,
In my confusion

Sean Hunt
Windermere  May 2015

May we all burst like bubbles
And begin to share the air
Bubbles don't last forever
One day we'll all be free
How can it be when I look for me
There's no one to see
How can it be, when I look for me
There's no one to see, how can it be

If I look in here, or I look out there
I can't find me, anywhere
My head's not me, my leg's not me
Where can I be?
My brain is not, the me that I see
Where can I be

I see me all the time it seems
During night-time dreams
And when the sun is shining
How can it be, when I look for me
There's no one to see, how can it be

Subtle mind swimming 'round
A dream-like sea of reality
I need to know that every thing
Including me, is illusory

Sean Hunt  
2015  Windermere

Most meaningful
Creator
Of nothing
Teacher about
How
Nothing can be found
Heard, yes
Seen, no
Found, no
Not here, not there
Not on the ground
Or in the air
Never found
Anywhere
I speak of sound

Sean Hunt
October 2015

Peeping Tom
Surfs the virtual world
In an hour he can be
In over a hundred countries
What does he see?

He sees what they want him to see
He thinks he is free
To choose
But he needs to know that he is used
And abused by political puppeteers
Behind the scenes
Market-share-mad merchandisers
Twisting his arm
Elbowing him
Standing in his way
Shouting in his ear
They know exactly how to get his attention
They titillate
Create fear, desire, frustration
They only show a bit of it
A *** or two
Always something new

They make the waves
That Tom rides
They make them high
They make them long
He thinks they come from the sea, naturally
But Tom is wrong
They are man-made waves

They have him in their computer,
In their long range plan
They watch his every move
Give it to data-entry
Then to oceanography
Where they play
With the waves
That he will ride day after day,
Thinking he is free,
All alone on the sea

Sean Hunt    Windermere  July 2015

We are wondering what boredom is
Sitting 'round a table
As our days are caving in
Contemplating with our consciences
Our litanies of sins
As our bodies and our minds
Defy our wishes and our whims
We are dug into the trenches
And we are not giving in
Leonard Cohen once sang in a song
And I repeat:
We are staring in the face of our
“Invincible defeat”

Incisions in our eyes
So we can see
People all around us
Through the mist and the fog
God Bless the NHS
As they investigate the mess
And tell us what we know
That our time is ticking on
And soon we'll have to go
Boredom's for the young
For those whose songs
Are not yet sung
In desperation they fill up
Every moment with some fun

Sean Hunt  
Windermere  Sept 2015

I am so happy to hear
That we are talking
More precisely
About which 'I' is which
About which 'I'  I am
Talking about
At any given time
About which 'I' is true
For me
And which is true
For you

If 'I' is red
Or 'I' is blue
What does this mean
For me and you?

Praise the lord!
We know it's not
A photoshop
Airbrush job
On our old 'I',

No cosmetic 'I'
Surgery
For you and me

Hallelujah!

Move over,
Michael Jackson

Sean Hunt
Windermere, Nov 1st 2015

I will die
'I' will die
This 'I' will die

What a War!
Invisible weapons
Sudden surprises
Brash and bold
Suicidal  sorties
Nasty and naughty
Into our status quo

Graphic gaudy gifts
Given any time of any day
To anyone in any place
Random acts of unkindness

They make us imagine
The worst that could happen!
We're standing
On the edge of a cliff,
Wondering if the ground beneath
Will suddenly disappear
And lift our stomach to our ears

Exotic hot tourist spots?
I think not!
Now flying in a plane
Is only for the brave
Or the criminally insane

Here come our bold bedouin consequences
Of our modern day econo-crusades
Our karmic boomerang

We tunneled in their soil
And planted puppet royals
Now they tunnel in our soil
What a price we pay for oil

Sean Hunt, Windermere 2015

Either an ocean
Or a wave, you will be

The Presumptuous Poet
(Written for a monthly gathering of poets at The Wordsworth Trust)
in Grasmere, Cumbria, The United Kingdom

Am I a presumptuous poet?
I asked myself
(Through the mouth
Of an imagined
Proper poet
To this ear of
A possibly presumptuous poet)

Some, I fear
(Maybe someone here)
May find my efforts at poetry
Presumptuous
Plebian
Pedantic
Or simply
'Proper poor'

Especially
In this holy
And enchanted
Lakes and Mountains Mecca Land
Where words seem to be worth more
Maybe I need to be
Cautious
Consider my station

And call myself a
Wordsmith
Instead of  'a Poet'


  Sean Hunt   November 30  2015
Windermere

The word 'Masturbatory'
Is rather naughty,
Using it
Doing it
Talking about it

But it's perfect poetry
And I know
I need to use it

To describe
Some poetry.

Anything longer
Than a page
Is in grave danger
Of having that label
Slapped
On it!

Sean Hunt
Windermere

I have been a therapist, and
I've been therapied
The brightest and the best
Have had a go at me

It hurt like hell, I tried to hide,
I wouldn't run away
The truth would out, for all to see,
All to see, but me

I learned to face my fear,
Be more honest, and more brave
I played a silly game
You see there was no face to save

We're mistaken and mislead
Down the twisted garden path
With the weather and the leather
To the bitter Grapes of Wrath

From the poisoned pedagogy
We recover one fine day
Our long suffering Tsunami  
Will finish like a play


Sean Hunt
(Sierra de Gredos mountains,  Spain...2015?)

Five colored lights
Radiate
Illuminate
Emanate
From the me
That you do not see
From the 'I'
That will never die

From the middle
Of the riddle
Of life
And death
And the seemingly
Meaningful
Dream
Of the day

Five colored lights
Radiate

Sean Hunt  
2015 Windermere

I Think Nobody Knows
When I plan and scheme
And Nobody Knows
When I'm feeling mean

There's no one who can see
Inside my mind
So I think I'm all alone
And everything's fine

Like a spy in a foreign land
Everything is underhand
I'm buried behind the lines
Inside the bunker of my mind

But there is someone who knows
There's someone who can see
How can I be so silly?
That somebody is me

Sean Hunt   July 2015

My mysterious mind
Is predictably
Unpredictable
And fickle

Unpredictably fickle me
I never know for sure
How I'll find my mind,
Day to day

One day I love my room
Next,  I would sooner
Be in any other room
In any other country

Blown by unseen winds,
A random necklace of doldrums
Interrupted by tropical tempests
And occasional thunder

One day I am bright
Inside, I feel my mind
Is lit up by
O lovely light

Next, the bulb is dim.
I cannot see well enough
To know with certainty
The state that I am  in

Karmic  cataracts inside my mind
Can make my world yellow,
And ever so slowly
I can slip down below

No one has ever seen
The karma popcorn machine


Sean Hunt
Windermere   November 20 2015

What a kiss last night!
Ultimate exquisite bliss
From only a kiss.
I was satisfied.
It was enough.
Unsurpassable.

No yearning for more
Or for something else,
No painful neediness,
No hedonistic greedy
Begging for
Those blasphemous bells
That shake the house
And douse the mind
With dullness and deadness
Then sleep.

I awoke
With the microscopic memory
Of a slow caresssing
Of mouths
And  tongues,
Of each holy moment,
And a silent sigh
Of ecstasy.

It was only a dream

Sean Hunt  
Windermere November 15 2015

How many dreams have I dreamed
Of other worlds, and other wives
Of other laughs and other cries
Of others' terrifying screams?
How many men did I meet
Over there, where I had
Visions sad and glad
And often flew with my feet?
Blessed imagination saves
From the mundane day
From the box that we live in
From our daytime graves.
Like a child at play
We are only dreaming.

Sean Hunt November 2015

I'm stuck inside
The psychosis
I know this

I have a doctoral degree
In Reality

I have been taught
The architecture
And structure
Of the grand psychosis
I know this

I have been goaded
I have been guided
I have been shown
Inside
The minds of men
Who whirl around
Their imagined worlds
Boys and girls
Unaware
Fighting phantoms
In thin air

I should dis appear
Yet
I find myself
Still
Inextricably
Involved
In ordinary appearances

I'm inside
The psychosis
I know this

HELP!

Sean Hunt
Windermere November 9  2015
https://vimeo.com/145132005 (recitation)

What Trees Mean To me

Nothing

I could live in the desert
I could live in the sea
I could live happily
Never seeing a tree

That's not to say
I don't enjoy
The seemingly
Endless trees
Within a tree

And
That's not to say
I don't enjoy
Many tree
Analogies

That's not to say
I wouldn't welcome
A breeze
And the shade
Of a tree
On a very hot day

But I could live in the desert
And I could live in the sea
I could live happily
Without
Ever seeing a tree
Or a daffodil

Sean Hunt
Windermere Oct 31st 2015

It's such a sad scene
We're messing with our movie
Scratching on the screen
Not knowing we're projecting
A very bad dream
It's such a sad scene
And the source of it all
Is a toxic stream
It's such a sad scene

We're bathing in a waterfall
Downstream
From a dam
Made by
The mind of man
And we don't even know
Each drop is a sham
Unaware
We sit and stare
Unaware

Sean Hunt
Windermere November 9, 2015
https://vimeo.com/145128638 (recitation)

I'll stop being me
Just for you
I'll be somebody new
Just for you

I've been seeing wrong
For a long time
I have been deaf
And blind
Thinking of 'me'
And 'mine'
Singing
My existential whine

It's time to stop
Just for you
Today I'll be
Somebody new


Sean Hunt
Windermere, Nov 3rd 2015

Year after year we see
The same scene,
Tears from trees

Brown leaves on the ground
From the trees
All around

Some are sad some are pleased
With the fall of
Brown tears from trees

One day of wind, all come down,
And then the leaves are
All around

What we see is poetry
In the country and the town
Brown teary trees

We are touched somehow
Memories are always found
When brown tears from trees
Are all around


Sean Hunt
Windermere November 4th 2015

Imagined Dream (2b)

Imagine
An imagined ******
Outside the state
Of awakedness
In the middle of the night
With your eyes and  mind
Shut tight
Without a worldly boy or girl

Imagine
You can step between
Each microcosmic
Moment in time
Humming along
To the eternal
*******
Existential rhyme

Gaté  Gaté  Gaté

This is the state
Of everlasting
Awakedness

Sean Hunt
Windermere
(in the middle of the night)
November 5th 2015

The word 'Masturbatory'
Is rather naughty,
Using it
Doing it
Talking about it

But it's perfect poetry
And I know
I need to use it

To describe
Some poetry.

Anything longer
Than a page
Is in grave danger
Of having that label
Slapped
On it!

Sean Hunt
Windermere

Where is my poem
Where can it be found
Before it's written down
It cannot be found

Then when written down
And read by someone new
Do they read the poem
Read by me or you?

Is the title the poem
Or the first line
If you check you will see
It's not any single line

The poem's not a verse
The poem's not a word
The poem's not a salad
Of sounds that are heard

The poem is unfindable
Try, if you dare
You cannot point at it
Or find it anywhere

It may inspire some ire
You may burn it in a fire
Or place it in a gilded frame
To be read again and again

But!  If your poem is about a certain man
Be careful what you say
Assassins may come
And take your life away

Sean Hunt  
Windermere May 201

Extend your gaze
At any face
For a while
Beyond the
Politically correct
Deadline

The longer you gaze
At a face
The more it changes
Eventually
You may find
You experience fright
And turn away

If you stay
And do not escape
Something new
Will be revealed for you
About the person
Behind the face

You may finally know
The large part you play
In the
Person production game

Sean Hunt
Windermere April 2015

Leathered Earth

Our ground has many twigs and
Knife-like stones
That cause us to cry out

Always stepping gingerly about
We wish that we could fly
Or levitate a little
Just above the
Pointed prickly stuff
Down on the ground

We bitterly complain
Try to
Redesign and rearrange

We would like a leather carpet
Unfurled
Around our world
So our tender little feet can live
Forever
In comfort and in peace

Do we cover our infinite galaxy
Forever
With leather

Or do we wear shoes?

Sean Hunt
Windermere November 2015