I'm so glad there's an ocean
Between you and me
Distance and dreams
Are all that can be

If you were next door
What there would be
Is the danger and drama
Of proximity

I tremble to think
Of the crevice and *****
On the slippery hills of
Love full of hope

Windermere, Jan 25 2016

Mother Nature broke her water
But the baby never came
Our inundated world
Will never be the same

We watched slowly
With a growing sense of impotence
As an elemental army
Took our innocence

Some  left their homes and died
In another place
They never did return
To their own space

Politicians waded 'round
In their wellingtons
What nerve they had to even show
Their sorry skeletons

Pontificated platitudes
Filled the element of air
And those who had been flooded
Didn't really care

To hear the sly sermon
Those words were barely heard
Though so well-written
Practised and rehearsed

Mother Nature has retreated now
To her slumber state
One day soon she'll wake again
We do not know the date

Windermere 2016 February 14th

Are you a
Narcissistic
Psychotic?
Few know
Themselves
So Well!

Here on planet earth
we’re all
‘B’ Movie Makers
marketing inanity
flirting with insanity
breaking down reality
seeking peas we cannot see
When we search beneath the cup
we find that
only empty space and air
fill it up

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

Why does my body
rebel against my wishes
to walk or to talk
to tidy my house
to wander the world
or work?
Do I really need to sleep
to dive so deep
beneath the waves
of the day
to  run so far away

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

Things coming and going at the  same  time
is the most sublime Rhyme

Einstein and Siddhartha  knew this
many years ago
They told us something that we just don't
really want to know  

Things coming and going at the same time
Is the most sublime  Rhyme

Bits of seconds  passing by
Keep on looking them in the eye  
Be here now,  time will fly
As bits of seconds pass you by

Things coming and going at the same  time
Is the most sublime Rhyme

When the earth quakes
And shakes the ground
Beneath your feet
Slip into the crack and don't look  back
Let your heart skip a  beat

Things coming and going at the same time
Is the most sublime Rhyme

Sean Hunt  May 8 2016

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)

Hello
Fellow Poets
I created
Today
In cyberspace
A new collection
A new place
Where we
Can upload
twenty-word
Poems

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 was mothered by
A *** slave
And a servant
She never had
A life of her own

She was
Crippled
By Irish
Catholic
Crap

He taught me much,
All that he knew
Of poetry
And misogyny
I am still
Extricating myself
From silly
Inherited habits

No wonder
I live alone!
All the women
Have known
In their bones

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 22 2016

Inana Shlash

How I wish I knew you
I would have melted
And oozed into
Your shoes
lingering many hours
Before you finally
Took a shower

I would have been a blanket
Embracing your back
Nuzzling against the nape
Of your neck
Until you wandered away
To a cool breeze
On the deck

If the gods would have
Smiled on me
I could have been
A billion water droplets
Easing into the hundreds
Of thousands of pores
In your silken skin

Alas
Our missile
Blew you away
And I don't know what to say

 Sean Hunt  
Windermere, December 6 2015

The back-end ****** allergy
Has happened
Once  again
To Cumbrians

Birds fly
In high formation
Above nations
Unknown to them

IT'S ALL ABOUT ME  

No matter what it is I see
If I really want to be free
I've got to remember
It's all about me

It's all about me,
It's nothing you do
it's all about me
I'm telling you who
It's not about you

I used to think it was all about you
The things you would say and do
Now I know it’s all about me
And not about you

If my sky is grey
Or if my sky is blue
My sky's about me
And not about you

Sean Hunt   2011

Tricky Trump
Trying to trump
Other players
In the game

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

It's about me
Not about you
Or what you do

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 16 2015

I Am A Rainbow
I come and I go.
Where from where to?
Few know
You think you see me up in the sky
Touching the ground, from on high
In days of old, tales were told
They say at my feet,
Lay pots of gold
If you search, you'll not find any thing
The gold is illusory, just like me
Fondness for foibles, fiction and fable
You've been hoodwinked, I'm unstable
I look down below and what do I see?
People coming and going just like me
They think they're different; they don't know?
We are the same, we're all rainbows
We wear our art, iridescent garb
Like sound in a seashell
We're all special
Hello and goodbye my colorful friend
We will meet again, in the end.

Sean Hunt  
Windermere  May 2015

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

March is NOT marching on
Here in
Jolly cold England

There is a weird
And not so wonderful fetish
Particularly British
Common
Amongst commoners
In the United Kingdom

Although the aristocracy
And royalty
Are seen by all
With eyes to see
To have behaved
Abominally
Tortured and twisted
Enslaved, enchained
*****, re-shaped
With bloodstained hands
The entire planet

Sending ordinary
More innocent
English men
To do their ***** work
Their dastardly
Disastrous deeds
As slaves of knaves

Through common British eyes
These horrible people
Are placed high upon
Holy pedestals
Romanticized
Idealized, Idolized
Canonized

Perhaps there's some
Vicarious thrill
Exercising
Enforcing
Power and evil will?

But the hand no pleasure gets
When, through rubbing, wets itself!

Sean Hunt
Windermere January 1st 2016

Narcissus stole
My innocence,
Turned my face
From human race

My friend please put an end
To your dreadful thirst

Like a Flake
Of Spring Snow
We Come
And Go

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
  Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
  Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,        
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
  More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
  Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—
  Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
  And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
  As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
  And o'er the sickle bending;—
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

---------------------------------  This poem inspired my poem >>>
I Never Know
(Inspired by ‘Another Solitary Reaper’  by Wordsworth)

I never know if, out of sight
Another stands by in delight
Listening to my melody
Intended  just for me

If I sing in the open air
And only birds can hear me there
I wonder what response they have
I know they cannot clap

‘Tis very well they hear!
Though we can see no ears
I could be wrong but
I doubt that they enjoy our song

We think we are alone a lot
When we are not
Assumptions made are wrong
About who listens to our songs

Sean Hunt  May 11th 2016
(Inspired by ‘Another Solitary Reaper’  by Wordsworth)

I visited Wordsworth Trust in Grasmere this morning.  They have established a poetry blog and are inviting poems from the public for consideration.  They are selecting some for publication on their website.  They are specifically asking people to read 'The Solitary Reaper' by Wordsworth and write a poem inspired by his poem.  So this is my effort.  If anyone wishes to do the same you could publish the poem here and then contact Simon Davies at Wordsworth Trust by email or send a link to your poem on Hello Poetry.  I think I will try the latter.   Simon's email address is:  S.Davies@wordsworth.org.uk.

My idea worked well;  I copied the Hello Poetry url link and pasted it in my comment on the Wordsworth comments page.........i.e
thoughts on “Another Solitary Reaper”

https://wordsworth.org.uk/blog/2016/05/04/another-solitary-reaper/

Sean Hunt
11TH MAY 2016 AT 5:31 PM
Your comment is awaiting moderation.

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1648554/i-never-know/

I wrote a poem inspired by this Wordsworth poem and I uploaded it to a web poetry site (link above). What struck me about the poem was not the actual imagined idyllic experience of a surprised eavesdropping walker, listening to a well-sung song, it was for me, the non-awareness of the singer that she was being listened to and enjoyed; I found this to be the most interesting aspect of the described scene. Thank you for the encouragement to read this poem and be inspired by it Simon _/_
REPLY
#wordsworth

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

Don't forget
To rehearse
Every night
You must die right

When  east meets west
And  black meets white
When  bad meets best
And day meets  night

When Sad meets Giddy
Up is down
And everyone’s dizzy
Running around

Shock my culture,  do it  please
This one feels like an  old  disease
Had it so long,  it’s a  bore
I wish this culture  would  transform

I leave in winter
And land in summer
Where every body
Is a different color

My mouth is open
Eyes are wide
My face is saying
“I’m surprised”

Shock my culture,  do it  please
This one feels like an  old  disease
I’ve had it so long,  it’s a  bore
I wish this culture  would  transform

In another world
Here on earth
No border between
Death and Birth

Coordinates killed
Not sure where I am
And I’m feeling like
A liberated man

Shock my culture,  do it  please
This one feels like an  old  disease
Had it so long,  it’s a  bore
I wish this culture  would  transform

Insubstantial
And Inane
Everyone
Is the same
In this game

Either an Ocean

Or a Wave

You choose

To be


Sean Hunt  
Windermere
December 1st  2015

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?)

What's it all about?
It's time
To figure
It out

We are all Perpetual Refugees
Crossing the perilous Sea
Of Reality

Do we laugh when we are born?
Do we laugh when we die?

We do laugh in between
While we play in the waves
In the constantly changing Sea
Of Reality

Every day we play
And we surf
Those dangerous waves
In the constantly changing Sea
Of Reality

Though we should really know
And pay attention to
The undertow

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 4th 2016

I'll not procrastinate
I'll write today
about the theme
for the next day
I'll get ahead of the game
Idle avoidance
of imminence
makes no sense

While I'm standing here
with pen in hand
and relevance
in the present tense
having a sober mind
it's now decision time

Diva Trees

Aloneness gives a tree
An opportunity
To stand out
From the scene

She enters nature's stage
Like a many-armed diva
Receiving flowers
Awards
And much applause

She is painted and pictured
By people
As  her rings grow
Ever so slowly

Basking in her own glow
Of specialness
With no pretenders in sight
To steal her light

Her water transfused
From veins
Down below
Only for her, they flow

She says:
“I am here
And I will not be ignored
So feast your eyes
“Then feast some more”

Sean Hunt  Windermere  Feb 21 2016

Sarah last wrote a poem
Around  New Year's Eve
I wonder where her poems are
They seem to have drifted
Very far
She has not been seen
Nor her words heard
Around the world
As they were
Last Year
I hope muteness is not
Her New Year's resolution
As a solution
To something
I wonder how is Sarah
The angry Poet
And how are the men
At the end of her pen

Sean Hunt
Jan 9, 2016 Windermere

Meditation is an art
But mostly
We forget
To start

Actively
Disbelieve
What you see
One day
You'll be free

Good Fences

Oxymoronic mania
Infecting ordinary beings!
Through the ages.
“Good fences make good neighbours”
They say
So they say

Israel, one day
Will be the best
Of neighbours
With the wall all around them
From east to west

Buddies to Bedouins
Touted by Saudis
Lebanese unfreeze
Hamas 'no mas'!

We should all build
A wall!

Sean Hunt
Windermere  Jan 30 2015

It's there somewhere
If I tried
I would find it

Essence of
Buddha's teachings
Succinctly stated:
No Self
No Problem

Be like the spring snow
Don't be afraid
To go

One job
For me
To do
Meet flesh
Go through

Sean Hunt  June 13 2016

We behave in a strange way
you and me
trying to rearrange
the waves on the sea
or catching water while it falls
seeming as solid
as a wall

You are hidden from view
You don’t see me
I don’t see you
This makes me nervous,
You see
I know what you have done
Through history

The wars you’ve caused
The blood you’ve shed
Down so many streets
Rolling heads
Armies and power
Rows of stones
Crosses and flowers

Court jesters
And child molesters
Clowning around
Bishops and criers
Lingering liars
Towers and trials
All of the arrogant
Baying and praying
For a male child

****** horsemen
Hunting with hounds
We no longer want you
Around

Sean Hunt  May 5  2016

There is a whole lot of babble in this Babylon

It's Christmas time on earth
as we reveal
our astronomical ignorance
Poets discuss
the movements of the moon
rhymes and runes
where we are
what we see
and the direction
of our
trajectory

It’s tightrope time, tightrope time
Nobody says what they think, these days
Every word’s got to be weighed
Our mouths stay shut most of the time
It’s too easy to commit a crime
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Candid camera has your back
and has your front too
You have no secrets anywhere
Someone’s watching you
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Paper trails track you down
from town to town
Your mobile phone knows where you go
where you run around
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Your Facebook trail tells the tale
of you and all your friends
who you know, where you go
the beginning and the end
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

If you take a lady for a ride
and your car’s a little fast
make sure that all your windows
have some tinted glass
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time

Every iris is different
like a bullet from a gun
Soon an eye in the sky will be
watching everyone
It’s tightrope time, tightrope time