Murk

Occasionally
A very worthwhile
And beautiful verse
Will bubble
To the surface
Through the pretentious murk
Of pretender-Poets
Please
Forgive
My pathetic contribution
To the world of murk

Once In a while
Beautiful verse
Bubbles
To the surface

I am attached to words
I pop them like pills
For me they can be the same
As a videogame
Or grains of *******

In my sandbox of sound
There is no one around
I build my castles up
And sometimes take them down
To the ground

Word play for me
Can be a strategy
A way to stay away
From things I dislike doing
During my day


                Sean Hunt        August 2016

Sappy pap poetry
Does not do a thing for me

She just needs a man
To crack his whip
Sometimes

It's getting late
It doesn't take much time
To write
A line or two
Or three or four
Or maybe even more
You have it in you
All at hand
Ready for the 'Write'
Remember you can do this
Anytime day or night
You are a poetess, we know
It's not a secret now
You've proven many times
That you know how!
We miss your contributions to
Our world of verse
We all sing in a chorus now:
"Your absence is perverse!"
Once a pickle,
Your cucumber days
Are done!



Sean

My anonymous muse
May remain that way
We could die
In the light of day

She draws from a well
Deep inside
This ageing and
Wizened mind

She is my mirror
I love her hair
There are other things
That we share

We must remain a mystery
A mere potentiality
Completely unexplored
An unopened door

Nameless she’ll stay
We won’t mis-behave
I’m retired and she's still young enough
To rant and to rave

Sean

When I see you
Memories are stirred
Breath is heavy with a flood
And it sort of looks like love
But I don’t trust this anymore
I’ve been here so many times before

You make me want to dive
Once again
Into that hedonistic heaven
Where we’re surrounded by
And drowning in our senses
A place where there’s no sound
Anywhere around
There is where I’d  love to live
A little while with you
You seducing me
Me seducing you
And nothing else to do

Nowadays I’m older
The hair that’s left is grey
And I like to sleep a lot
Each and every day
I’m quiet
I’m retired
And I’m feeling free
But I have these memories
And now fantastic fantasies,
Too
All because of you

Breath is heavy
Heartbeat fast
While I wonder whether,
I may have left
The best ‘til last

Sean

Where does inspiration come from
When there’s none where has it gone

Where do thoughts come from
When they go where have they gone?

Where do dreams come from
When they die where have they gone

Where does love come from
When there’s none where has it gone

Where do memories come from
When they leave where have they gone

Where do mothers come from
When they die where have they gone

Where do ideas come from
When there are none where have they gone

Where does death come from
One day it will be gone

‘Inception’ implies
Much more
Than the word
That is commonly heard
When we dig deeper
This well has no bottom
Dive like a swan
Into that pit
And you’ll not find
The end of it

In the middle of the riddle of life and death
You’ll find the answers that you haven’t found  yet  

Tell me why tell me why do the good die young
It’s just a story in a song that’s sung  
Tell me why you don’t love me when I love  you
Can you tell me why the sky is blue

Aye aye aye aye aye we wonder why
Aye aye aye aye aye we sigh and cry  

In the middle of the riddle of life and death
You’ll find the answers that you haven’t found  yet  
            
Tell me why tell me why do we have to  die
Because you gotta find another ‘I’  
Tell me why tell me why things come and go
Because every thing is like spring snow

Aye aye aye aye aye we wonder why
Aye aye aye aye aye we sigh and cry  

In the middle of the riddle of life and  death
You’ll find the answers that you haven’t found  yet  

Tell me why tell me why is the snow so white
Because we like things dark and bright  
Tell me why tell me why I can’t live  forever
One thing you gotta learn is not to say never

Aye aye aye aye aye we wonder why
Aye aye aye aye aye we sigh and cry  

In the middle of the riddle of life and death
You’ll find the answers that you haven’t found yet

Sean Hunt

Her body broke the bad news:
‘This month she would not be much use’
For another month on earth
She’d not be able to give birth

She didn’t know why
She would spit in my eye
She didn’t know why
She would suddenly cry
She didn’t know why
She wanted me to die
She didn’t know why
She didn’t know why

Now this was a little hard for me
Because I was able to see
I really could read her mind
There were so many signs

I felt it coming in the air
I knew that life would seem unfair
She would not see, she could not see
The reason for her misery

I had to keep it to myself
And walk around on eggshells
If not, well, well, well
My life would be a living hell

I knew that once a month
We’d play this game again
And once a month
Everything would be the same

When the storm had passed
Her love would be the same
I shouldered no more blame
Sunshine after rain

One day I finally learned
What I need to know
That rainbows come
And rainbows go

Sean Hunt  Aug 2016

I do not write poems
About the world we see
Because the world we see
Does not interest me

Landscapes inside my mind I find worthy of words
Internal curiosities appeal to me
I am bored by birds,  and clouds and flowers
Lakes, and trees and bees

Sure there is sadness enough in the mind of a bird
To fill an ocean with the tears
From trillions of heart-wrenching words
But you may prefer that I write about birds
With innocent human minds
Cute as pie, flying by, in the sky
Not terrified ravenous hunters
Constant killers of anything smaller
All through the day,
Like a child’s sinister play

Or should I write of cuddly cats
Who ambush innocent birds hopping by
Silly birds who should have stayed in the sky
‘Tis nothing to do with a need for food
‘Tis wanton bird abuse for cats' amusement

Our Earth family is Dysfunctional
The truth of Mother Nature
Is not what we want poets to write about

Sean Hunt  Windermere

I don’t mean to seem misogynistic but I know I need a woman to help me clean and organize my world. I’m not a newly liberated teen caught up in the whirl of sudden liberation from mum and dad; for many years now, this freedom I have had.

I’m afraid I must admit the house is now scary and I am afraid that if I die one day and someone comes to sort the mess of all these years they will not shed a tear.

They may say: “He seemed well-dressed, his elegance suggested something else, a life more organized and certainly less smelly”

Now it seems I have every thing I need, all the solvents, ‘Hoover’ technology and a steady flow of very hot water.  I live a life of leisure and I have loads of time which I devote to pleasure.

There’s no excuse for what one sees inside my house; the fault is me.

Now a lady’s lovely touch would also warm my heart which, I am well aware could beat a little harder; but the firmness of that gentle hand is what I really need, it seems, to guide my idle mind and better organize my dream


Sean Hunt   August 2016

I don’t mean to seem misogynistic
But I know I need a woman
To help me clean
And organize my world
I’m not a newly liberated teen
Caught up in the whirl
Of sudden liberation
From mum and dad
For many years now,
This freedom I have had

I’m afraid I must admit
My house is now scary
And I am afraid
That if I die one day
And someone comes
To sort the mess
Of all these years
They will not shed a tear

They may say:
“He seemed well-dressed,
His elegance suggested something else,
A life more organized
And certainly less smelly”

Now it seems I have
Every thing I need
All the solvents
Hoover technology
And a steady flow
Of very hot water
I live a life of leisure
And I have loads of time
Which I devote to pleasure

There’s no excuse
For what one sees
Inside my house
The fault is me

Now a lady’s lovely touch
Would also warm my heart
Which, I’m well aware
Could beat a little harder
But the firmness of
That gentle hand
Is what I really need, it seems,
To guide my idle mind
And organize my dream

Sean Hunt

There were things you wanted to do
But I couldn’t let you
I didn’t want to
I had to shoot  

Although I tried I couldn’t find
Something else to do
I didn’t want to
But I had to shoot

You pointed your gun at someone
Although
I didn’t want to
I had to shoot

The sword you held in your hand
Had sliced a man in two
I didn’t want to
But I had to shoot

No time to talk or say goodbye
Time to ask you why
I didn’t want to
But I had to shoot

And although I knew
You were unwell
Fighting phantom infidels
I had to shoot

I shouted out I yelled
But you were under
Someone’s spell
And I had to shoot

Catch 22 caught me
And it caught you
Although I didn’t want to
I had to shoot

Nothing else for me to do
Though I didn’t want to
I had to shoot

You shouted blame and called his name in vain
Though I didn’t want to
I had to shoot

You chose the game you shamed his name
Though I didn’t want to
I had to shoot

If you come back from the dead
With hatred in your head
I’ll have to shoot
Again, and again and again, and again
And again and again
I’ll have to shoot

Snakes and ladders is the name
Of my game of blame and shame
Where every move that I make
Leads to even more heartache

One day I made a big mistake
I slipped and slid down a snake
I tried to climb back up a ladder
But slipped and became even sadder

I looked around for another ladder
To take me back to where I was
But they all took me somewhere new
And slippery snakes were all I saw

Snakes and ladders is the name
Of my game of blame and shame
Where every move that I make
Leads to even more heartache

Sean Hunt  July 2016

To dodge a bullet of blame
To pretend I've won a game
To protect an illusory self
From the eyes of everyone else

To turn away from a truth
To seem to be smooth
To defend my point of view
So no one can see through

To twist somebody's arm
To turn off an alarm
To take a pound or two
Maybe away from you

To protect my reputation
To cause a sensation
To play my ****** bail
To stay out of a jail

To paint a pretty picture
To get a little richer
To win a competition
To be a magician

Sean

I am a mortal man
Though I like to plan
As if my world will never end
I do pretend
That I will live forever
My links will never sever
Every day is child's play
So easy for me to say
I will not die today
Come what may
I will not die today
Maybe some day
I will die
So I'm told
And it's a story that I buy
But I put it on  a shelf
Out of sight
A little high
So every day
It's out of mind
Then like a child at play
I lose the time
Drifting on
Through the days
Down the stream
And suddenly
I'll wake up in
Another dream

Sean

We are not a thing, We're a happening

We're coming and going all of the time
Never staying still, just like my rhyme

We are not a thing, We're a happening

You can't point at me!  If you try
I will disappear in the blink of an eye

We are not a thing, We're a happening

You can't drive a wheel because it's not a car
If you try you won't get very far

We are not a thing, We're a happening

Doctors know this because they've seen
Inside our skin with an Xray machine

We are not a thing, We're a happening

Still looking for the book, for some thing to read?
Or maybe the beginning of a seed

We are not a thing, We're a happening

Without the fish and egg where would we be
There'd be no you, there'd be no me

We are not a thing, We're a happening

We're coming and going all of the time
Never staying still, just like my rhyme

A river flows from the farmer's field into two streams.

From one stream a sidestream very occasionally trickles into the mouths of men but most of this stream becomes a rapidly rushing river flowing to factories who process and put it into pretty packages.  This stream flows into global supermarkets to be displayed and sold to man.

Another stream flows into the barn and into the mouths of animals owned by man.  That stream stays there dammed-up, but only for a while.  When the stream has fattened man's animals the animals flow into a stream that flows into the mouths of men.  

Need we discuss subsequent streams?

...Or the rivers inside the body of man?

Tea and Trumpets
Anyone
No Mum, No Dad
Time to have some fun

We don’t like rules
Or to be told what to do
We need to be
Our shade of blue

Now we will build
An island fence
And run our own show
With no interference

Like Fatcat Trump
In the USA
We’re fat enough to run
Our world our way

O Happy Day O Happy Day :(

Tea and Trumpets
Anyone
It's time to have some fun

Beware the dakini
With the steamy
Serrated edge knife
She alleges
The knife
That can slice
Can tear
And equally bare
The flesh
To air

Be prepared!

I whinge for the cold
You whinge for the heat
Whether we whinge or not
The wether will be what it will be

Beware
Of the right
They just love
To
*******
Fight

Meditation
Is an art
So it can be hard
For us to start

If we write reviews
And read critiques
Before we sit down
On our seats

Sean Hunt

Meditation is an art
But mostly
We forget
To start

The Lion points the way
Touching the ground
With one hand
Stillness within
Is found
Human confusion
Is all around
Us
But
Like leaves in the wind
We will all land
And touch the ground
One day

Sean Hunt   June 15 2016

How far away am I
From that place
Called
‘Stillness Within’
Suspended in empty space
Silence
Instead of the din
Inside
This place I will find
When the waters
Of my mind
Are unrippled by
Movements from below
                 Or
Movements from on high

Sean Hunt  June 14 2016

There is only
One job  
For me to do
To meet flesh
And go right through

I wonder
How many
Brother bullets
Have I in this world
Today
And how many new
Brothers
Are born
Every day

How many die
Because of me
And how many
Suffer injury

Good thing I don’t
Have a mind
Where I go
I don’t decide

Could be any soldier
But without his body armour
If he wears a metal hat
I couldn’t go through that

Could be a baby
In his pram
In Siam
Or Amsterdam
In London Town
Or Paraguay
But
More likely
In The USA

Could be
A newly-married girl
Anywhere in the world
Or maybe
A holy priest
Anywhere
In The Middle East

Good thing I don’t
Have a mind
Where I go
I don’t decide

Sean Hunt  June 13 2016

One job
For me
To do
Meet flesh
Go through

Sean Hunt  June 13 2016

I live in the belly of the bully, And that bully is fat and bloated
after eating too much of everyone else’s food without permission.  Although he had more than enough to eat and he wasn’t really hungry, he left his island home; and sailed the seven seas to fill his sacks, and bring things back.  He pretended to pay, elbowing his way into, through and around their worlds, and because they did not speak English they did not understand his slippery words (and he didn’t learn theirs).  With sleight if hand and cannon he subdued then sold their souls to some obscenely wealthy aristocrats back in his island home.

He pushed them into the fields to farm and when they could not lift their arms from starvation he said it was nature’s predestination, so he did not shed  a tear and he did not interfere.  The natural law was all he saw.  That man was very  fat and and he was very flawed.

Sean Hunt  June 12th

We have our Rising Moon
That brings light
In the darkness of night

And the rays of our Sun
Will make our sky
Clear and dry

We have the Shade
Of a leafy tree
How lucky can we be?

And our Medicine
That works so well
Let’s now ring all our bells

And our Bridge that crosses
The Galaxies
To where there’s nought to see

Sean Hunt     June 12 2016

Where is this WORD
Is it the W
No
Is it the O
No
Is it the R
No
Is it the D
No
These are parts of the
WORD
And not the
WORD
Maybe the collection
Of the parts is the
WORD
A collection of Things
That are not a Thing
Cannot be
A Thing
A collection of foxes
Cannot be a sheep
We will have to look
A little deeper
The WORD
Exists
As mere
Imputation
Or
Hallucination
As mere
Appearance
To mind
There is no WORD
To find

It’s taken years to learn to rhyme, but now it’s time to break the chains, and I wonder ‘will my writing ever be the same?’.  With trepidation I will try to take the first step.  I lack the knowledge to predict success and wonder if this will be a mess.  I note that I am still not free from this seemingly ingrained habit of mine (I speak of rhyme).

Am I an addict, I ask my self?  Is my style of writing out of control?  Am I hooked like a ****** to the seduction of what seem to me to be siren-like sounds?  This is new!  I never knew that verse was worse than ****** or ******* ***, which I have been habituated to at times.  I never knew of the sultriness, the sensuality of poetry until, through imagining it’s end, I begin to sweat and shake, a little.

It is like a fix, and it is cheap.  No need to run around the streets to try to score.  If I stop and think, pen in hand, I can get some more.  

I fear I am still stuck in rhyme, though I have not checked yet.  Do I know what prose poetry is?   I am sure that Google does.  It may be time to stop and turn the tower on.

Sean Hunt  June 8 2016

I think I am an Irish man
As mum and dad both come from there
But only mum knew with certainty
All the blood that flows in me

I could be Greek or Israeli
Or I could be a ****** Brit
He could have come from over the sea
I may not be proud of it

I don’t dance well, and I’m not mulato
So African blood doesn't flow
I’ve never pinched my pennies
So Scotch blood there’s not any

But I had such a ****** big swallow
I drank so much whiskey and wine
I think I must admit it that it’s all
Irish blood in these veins of mine

Sean Hunt   June 8 2016

Referendum Rap

Left right Left right Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight Dark Light Dark Light
Left right Left right

Do I leave, Do I stay Do I play or run away
Which way today
Far right Outta sight Do I stay, do I fight

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

It’s me, or them, It’s now, or then
May be community, Or a  lion’s den

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

Do I tango do I talk, Do I make or break a wall
If I fly will I fall

Left right Left right Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight Dark Light Dark Light
Left right Left right

Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover

Now we come to the crux of it
Be a Bodhisattva Brit
Only self, cherishin’ spin
Explains the state we’re in
Our imperialistic past
Built the wealth of our state
Now we’d better give some back
Before it’s way too late

Sean Hunt  June 7 2016

Do I leave, Do I stay
Do I play or run away
Which way today
Go left, go right
Do I stay, do I fight
Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover
It’s me, or them,
It’s now, or then
Maybe my community,
Or a dangerous lion’s den
Do I tango,
Do I talk
Do I break
Or make a wall
Do I fly
Or do I fall

Left right Left right
Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight
Loose Tight Loose Tight
Left right Left right

Well now I’ve come to the crux of it
I’m going to be a Bodhisattva Brit
All this self, cherishing spin
Explains the state we’re in
Our imperialistic past
Built the wealth of our state
Now we’d better give some back
Before it’s way too late


Sean Hunt  June 7 2016

We’re so lucky to live in ‘The Lakes’
Every day we find new mates
Meeting people from Shanghai
From ‘Down Under’ and Dubai
From towns all over this country here
From places far and places near
From across the oceans wide and deep
They come to see our hills and sheep  

I’m so lucky to live ‘The Lakes’
A place where I can meditate
Look at the mountains from afar
Admire them like a distant star
Take a picture with my phone
All from my window in my home
I talk about mountains with my mates
I’m so lucky to live in ‘The Lakes’

Sean Hunt      June 6th 2016

Do I leave, do I stay
Which way, which way?
Go left, go right
Do I stay, do I fight
Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife and who’s my lover
It’s me, it’s them,
It’s now, it’s then
Is it my community,
Or a lion’s den
Do I tango, do I talk
Do I break or make walls

Left right Left right
Wrong Right Wrong Right
Left right Left right
Loose Tight Loose Tight
Left right Left right

Sean Hunt  June 6 2016

How many 'I''s know their 'I'?
I ask my self

Another Me

Today
Is over
Once again
Tomorrow 
A new one 
Will begin
How many more
I wonder now
Before
The sun is new
And the day
Is different
Maybe 
More moons 
Maybe  less
How many legs
Will I have
A hundred
Ten
Or one
Or none
Which label
Language
Will I learn
How many days more
I wonder
Before
There's
Another me
For me
To be

Sean Hunt June 3rd 2016

Today
Over
Once again
Tomorrow a new one
Will begin

What Can A Muslim Woman Be?

Bobbing
On the misogynistic sea
Of inhumanity

Muffled by
Mandatory muteness
Veiled in artless darkness
Horrified by heartlessness
And tasting
A terrible tartness

A gauntlet of confetti stones awaits
The rule breakers
And mistake makers
Equivocation
Or twisted motivation
Can cause a horrid hail
To happen
At any moment

I wonder
What can a Muslim woman be

Sean Hunt Windermere 2016 May

We can walk on water
We can walk on air
In dreams we walk
Everywhere

Life is lucid
Some of the time
But it doesn’t
Always rhyme

Let’s step out of the box
And break the chains
Then nothing will ever
Be the same

Sean Hunt June 2nd 2016

Now I wonder what it is
To be inhuman
Not knowing
All there is to know
Not being
All there is to be
Unable to know you
Unable to know me

I wonder what they dream
When their eyes close
And their world goes
When they drift away

Sean Hunt  June 2nd 2016

Every thing you see
With all of your eyes
All of your reality
Is shifting
Like the sand
And the sea

Do not cry
Or wonder why
Accept this truth
Like a lover
In your youth

Drink deep
With all your senses
Taste
Embrace
This wisdom consort
Of yours

She will  take you
To a place
Of bliss and grace
Far away
From the human race

Sean Hunt  May 14 2016

I am a single man
And there are some
Who cannot understand
Why
I don't want to fall
In love again
I hope my poem
Will explain

I keep telling everyone
I don’t want to take a chance
I’ll never be ready
For another romance
She held me so close
With her Latin hands
And we had such a wild
And a wonderful dance

I feel like I’ve climbed
The world’s highest peak
Already I’ve seen
All there is to see
Silvia’s her name
And drama her game
Every night and day
She took my breath away

I’ve been to the top
Of the world’s highest peak
And already I’ve seen
All there is to see
I’ll never forget
Our long goodbye
Ain’t it strange when you fall
You can climb so high

Sean Hunt   May 2016

Our aloneness we deny
And defy
Why?

We’re as alone
As a cloud
In a crowded
Sky

We’re alone when we’re high
And alone when we cry

We're alone when we're  born,
And alone when we die,

And alone in between
Our hello and goodbye

Sean