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

In the bowels
Of my being
The things I've seen!

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

The great Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering here and there. In the dream he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. Suddenly, he awoke and found himself laying there, a person once again. But then he thought to himself, "Was I before a man who dreamt about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?"
Zen

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

I won't
Really
Be leaving
Anything
Behind
When I die?

Poor penguins
and polar bears
no ozone
above them
in the air
Soon in the cold
arctic ocean
They'll be selling the seals
suntan lotion

I think
I am a little
Lazy
And very
Succinct

Tzivi is becoming prolific!  
Have you seen his second poem?

Today
Over
Once again
Tomorrow a new one
Will begin

Ode To ISIS

(in the Muslim religion if a man wishes to divorce from his wife he does not have to jump through the hoops that we have to jump through;  he only has to say to her seven times:  “I divorce you!”)

ISIS says:
“We love death as you love life”
Don't speak for me, please
Not everyone is as fond of life
As you are of death!

Life has horrors
And as some of us know
We are born and we die
Time after time
We think we come, we think we go.
Some of us know

The only good thing
About this life
Is we can exit forever
Like a man from his wife

I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!
I will not be reborn!

Sean Hunt    
2015 in Windermere

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 ALL REFUGEES    2

We're not laughing when we're born
Or when we die,
We mourn and we cry
When we're born and when we die,
Yes, we mourn and we cry,
When we're born and when we die

We are all refugees running across  the Sea.
Everyone is running,
You, and me,
Trying to find a place
That's safe, and secure,
Where the air and the  water
And the people are pure,  

We keep on running away,
From every thing that causes pain,
Yes, we keep on running away,
From every thing that causes pain

We're not laughing when we're born
Or when we die,
We mourn and we cry
When we're born and when we die,
Yes, we mourn and we cry,
When we're born and when we die

In between we laugh a lot,
Sitting in the sand
By the sea of reality,
Surfing waves when they come,
One by one,  when they come,
On the sea of reality..
Every day we play,
And we surf on the waves,
In the Sea Of Reality.

On the beach, as we go, we should know,
Underneath there's an  undertow.  
On the sea, as we go, we should know,
Underneath, there's an undertow.
Down below, an undertow,
We should know.  

Sean Hunt
Windermere January 7th 2016

My poem was a 'hit'
My friend
You imputed it

You may notice
I don't like to write poems
About the world we see
Because the world we see
Does not interest me
If it interests you
May I suggest you go for a walk
Outside in the air
And take your self far away from here
Where my words may seem somewhat queer
I fear you will find they are not about
An idyllic and nice earthly paradise

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

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 would not want me to write about this, would you?
You would prefer a photoshop Disney job

You would prefer if I write about birds with innocent human minds
Cute as pie, flying by, in the sky
Not terrified ravenous hunters
Constant killers of all creatures a little smaller
Hundreds a day, every day, child's play

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

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

Sean Hunt  Windermere

Most of  the time
We have no eyes to see
Nor ears to hear
The world
Surrounding us,
The cacophony

We are bullied
And bruised
By blinders
Unwittingly fitted
By our many minders

Watch out
For willow trees
Through the day
Sit under one
And break away

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 19 2016

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

Doesn't matter
What you do
I promise to enlighten
You

She just needs a man
To crack his whip
Sometimes

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

Today
Bright green tears
Float slowly
Down
To the ground

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

She has proven
She's a poet
Now she knows it

It's so unfair!

I am unable to find something to wear
or feel as light as the air

I seem to like  sugar and spice
and have disdain for veggies and rice

Those foods that I like to eat for fun
put folds of fat on everyone

There are so many stairs I cannot climb
On and on I whine and whine

Please trend again those figures of old
fatness featured in frames of gold

I can’t remember when
I last wrote a poem with a pen
Writing once romanticised
now has been exorcised

From touching tablets or touching keys
magically
words begin
appearing on a screen

Organised as I wish
edits in an instant
easily erased
replaced or placed elsewhere on the page

A literary light show
based on binary play
then sent off to cyberspace
until another day

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

You shielded me
From your pain
Your tears all fell
Quietly like rain
Under your waterfall
I couldn't hear
You cry
You let them
Fall like rain
I never heard
Your silent cry
Again
I had to go
I don't expect
You'll ever know why
I had to go
I couldn't stay
Another day
I had to go away

Sean Hunt     Sept 2016

Jeremy Corbyn has enraged
The invisible monster

The machine is spun;
By pieces of mouth
Manipulated by
Megalomaniac
'Internationals',
Capitalistic global corporations,
Arms and petroleum merchants.

Surprise, surprise!!
It's time to climb
Up on the  cross
The global temple vendors,
Precisely placed politicians,
And media pharisees
Have been plotting
For Jeremy Jesus
I wonder who will wash their hands?

Merry Christmas!


Sean Hunt  
Windermere Xmas 2015

Master Magician

I'm afraid of my shadow
Most of the time
Wandering up and down,
And all around
The pathways of my mind

What do I see
And what do I find
I only see me
And my own mind
À mirror of madness,
Alice holding up a looking glass

Showing me things that are not there
Things that won't be found anywhere
Dream-like manifestations
From the hands
Of a master magician

Sean Hunt  
Windermere May 2015

Once In a while
Beautiful verse
Bubbles
To the surface

The poetic presence
Of absent Kate
Is missed
Of late

I am female flotsam
Standing still
In the eye of the storm
Seeing signs and warnings
And hearing all the mourning

What will become of
My unborn son?
What will be his fate?
To be filled with spite
And swim in a sea
Of horror and hate,
To become an inhuman bomb

And his reward?
“With one hundred virgins
He will one day wed
In the eternal church”,
Thus say his unholy
Prophets

Sean Hunt
https://vimeo.com/162596231  
To be fully appreciated watch the short video

Sappy pap poetry
Does not do a thing for me

I'm leaving this
a little late
I hesitate
procrastinate
but soon
I'll see my son
across the sea
I'll see him
he'll see me
Jetlag is
a horrid hell
but then we'll have
some tales to tell
I wonder what
those tales will be
when I return
across the sea
We'll have to wait
and see

I feel so alone
Floating in a sea
Of humanity
This mystery
Is beyond me

Where can I go?
If I slip
Out of the stream
They will know.
Our henchmen
Do not permit
Dissention
Or
Absention

I am frozen in time
Stuck in an unwritten rhyme

Sean Hunt

See video that inspired this poem at:  
https://vimeo.com/162596231

This little bird,
Only has one wing
Walks around on the ground,
And doesn't even sing
He only has one wing,
And he doesn't know a thing

He's a one winged bird,
He's smart  
        But he has a little heart            

All he knows, is what he sees
On the ground,
Between his knees,
Looking down on the ground
In the leaves

He's a one winged bird,
He's smart  
    But he has a little heart        

My love is unconditional,
If you do what I say
I love you sometimes,
If you love me every day
My love is unconditional,
But don't get in my way

I'm a one winged bird,
I'm smart  
But I have a little heart      

This little bird,
Only has one wing
Walks around on the ground,
And doesn't even sing
He only has one wing,
And he doesn't know a thing

Sean Hunt
  2015 Feb 12th Windermere

My good friend Keith
Is trending often
Oftener than me

May seem
Absurd
But where are
The words
You've heard?

I'll bite my tongue
And protect
Others
From
My teeth

What is 'It' all about?
The mere absence of 'Its'

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 17, 2015

She's a poet
She knows it
Maybe
A little lazy

My mind,
Like a wound,
Hurts me when you move

I wonder why
Jerome
Likes my word
'Unfindable'
Seems absurd!

a psychotic word salad
shotgun streamed
for all to see

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

Our Kate
Has a curious combination
Of girlish glee
And the fierce determination
Of a skilled surgeon
Or a motherly midwife
To save a poem's life

She refuses to leave
Bits of baby behind
And demands
A fully formed foetus

Keep it up
Kate

Jan 30 2016  Windermere

Not easily found
The figure is hidden
In ground
The bell and it's sound
The mind and the body
Me and humanity
The gold and the coin
The sky and it's blue
Your universe
And you

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 31st 2015

Inside
One day
I will
Finally find
My
Actual 'I'

Could this
Possibly,
Finally,
Be,
A poem
Without
A theme?

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 20 2015

I appreciate your kindness
And attention
Giving me a moment or two
Of your precious time.

I will try to make this meaningful for you.
I will not say too much,
I will try to say just enough.

I used to use so many words
That none were heard.

Like olives,
Or a piece of cheese,
Like any delicacy,
Less is enough,
Washed down
By Ale that's brown,
Or wine that's fine.

Sean Hunt
Windermere July 2015