Insubstantial
And Inane
Everyone
Is the same
In this game

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

How delighted was I
To be invited
To the ‘Poet-Freaks’

Sometimes my rhyme
Goes to waste
It’s an acquired taste

Some say
When they read my verse
‘There can’t be much worse’

Well now I feel quite at home
With my fellow zanies
Who never make the ‘dailies’

Sean Hunt

Dear Jane

We have heard
you like the words
of Mister Wordsworth
We thought you might like
to join us once a week
in the lounge
as we make up rhymes
about old times
talk in our chairs
about current affairs
and focus our eyes
on the horizon

My Irish nation
Ought to change
The Wine
To water

Is reality real?
Policemen know
that witnesses
see
a different reality
"He did this
or she did that
I saw this
but she saw that
then this went here
or that went there 
What I saw was true
I swear"

All our eyes they say
work in the same way
but what we see
depends I believe
on what we ate
for breakfast
that day

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

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 20 2015

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 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

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

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 17, 2015

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

It may be today
That day that hardly anyone knows
even those with high degrees
from academies

Unless they have been tried
and lost their last appeal
unless their fate
has been sealed

Unless they have a date to fry
a date to fly up in the sky
a day to die
determined from on high

But I am not on death row
so I am not in the know
for me there is
uncertainty

Could be when I next take the wheel
and drive around a bend
blinded to the truth
that my life’s about to end

It could be in my hall
if I trip and fall and bump my head
I could be dead
then be reborn with no warning

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

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 16 2015

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

Come on Kate
It's Getting late
Fill the ****** slate

Don't you believe it my friend        
When the movie gets scary again
When the hero is gone
And you're  on your own
When everything's wrong
A long way from home                              
As bad as it seems,
It's only a dream

Don't you believe it my friend  
None of us ever will end
We're traveling together
In time and space
Body to body
And face to face
It's not what it seems                    
It's only a dream

Don't you believe it my friend
Nothing is permanent
You'll find a new form
And a new world
You may be a boy
You may be a girl
It's not what it seems
It's only a dream

Don't you believe it my friend
Be happy when you're near the end
With a mind
Of stillness and peace
Sadness and worry
All will cease
It's not what it seems
It's only a dream
It's not what it seems

We had to change our dream
yesterday
on Saturday
when the blasphemous
Catholic bells
were banging away
at our brains

We both ran
far away
from the bells
yesterday
to sit beside
a river stream
to try to change our dream

It worked

I thought I was sure
about
the nearness
of the shelter
but I was not

When the flare
flew up in the air
I knew I was
a long way from there

Then
when I froze
bullets flew
all around
and I fell
down to the ground

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

Wish you were here
and easy to find
on the tip of my tongue
inside my mind

Wish you were here
all of the time
and I wish that the weather
would always be fine

I wish you were here
and nowhere else
ringing someone
else’s bells

I wish you were here
and you never left
tied to my stake
a slave to my ***

I wish you were here
like the midnight sun
warming my night
though the day is done

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

'Unfindable'
Is now 'Trending'
So our Jerome
Is not alone!

Many people knew him
Once upon a time
When he was a little boy
And when he was a man
He used to like his whiskey
And the songs he sang
He used to break the rules
Liked to play the fool

But John is gone,  yes John is gone
John is gone, long gone

Just like the summer
And ground he walked on
Like the sound of his voice
John is gone

He used to live here
And he lived over there
Seems like John lived
Everywhere

When he was a tenor
He sang night and day
If he were still around
I’d sing with him today

But John is gone,  yes John is gone
John is gone, long gone

Was he ever here I wonder
And where did he go
The John that I remember
The John that I know

John Jarlath Hunt
Was his name
‘Tis a shame
He was not known
By some of his children
They buried someone else
Another man
With a heart of pure gold
But the John Jarlath I knew
Had a heart
Made of mixed metals
He was a better man
Because at least
He was real

“Very human” was the way
That John Jarleth
Would describe
The men he held
In high esteem
Flaws and all
Taken into account
‘Tis a pity when they
Laid my father in the ground
The words that sounded
All around
Described
A more inhuman man

Sean Hunt

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

the secret code
to separate the coin from the gold
Just try
to separate your scream from
your night time dream
Just try
to separate the parts from the car
you won’t get very far
Just try
to separate the legs from the table
you’ll find you won’t be able
Just try
to separate the reader of this rhyme
from the being that survives
death time
Just try

Just try the secret code
to separate the coin from the gold
Just try
to separate your scream from the familiar theme
of your night time dream
Just try
to separate the parts from the car
you won’t get very far
If you try
to separate the legs from the table
you’ll find you won’t be able
Just try
to separate the reader of this rhyme
from the person that survives
death time
Just try

Like a telly weather presenter
You have given
A perfect representation
Of bittersweet Britishness,
My good friend, Keith!  

I love many things about England
But the bittersweetness
Of the weather
Is not one of them  

My ideal climate
would be the same temperature
every day, all day
and all night,
all year long
  
The moon would have to become
Sun-like during the night;  
Then I would be perfectly content
(with the weather)  

The weather would stop being
Such a persistent
And consistent
Topic of conversation
And question of commentary,
On whether it was fine or not

The climate in question
Does not exist
Here on planet earth

Sean Hunt
Windermere, January 16 2016

Do you want to lose your self in the labyrinth of life
The door has been open day and night

You can be red or you can be blue
and you can decide everything that you do

The world you saw wasn’t really here
your black magic made it appear

Undo that dream, the one you don’t like
this world is not watertight

Though it seems like a circle going nowhere
in the end you will travel from here to there

Leave your car and your cases behind
they won’t fit into your new mind

Bring your umbrella and your chapeau
the one that looks like a rainbow

Bon voyage your journey now must start
as you descend down to your heart

Someone offered Kate a gun
They don’t know her well
She wouldn’t shoot
At anyone
For a pound or two
So she’s safe
For me and you
Kate looks tough on a bike
But she wouldn’t harm a fly
She is too lady-like

Sean Hunt May 17 2016

Lama Leonard
Sing me a song again,
Before your life is over
Before you leave the stage and dive
Down below the clover
Before you reap the seeds you sowed
The wild world over
Between the alphas and the omegas
In bawdry nights inside bodegas


Lama Leonard listen to  
My song before you go
I've listened to yours since sixty eight
And now it's getting late
Ukulele days are numbered now
I  finally found my key
I'd like to know,  before I go,
You listened once to me

Sean Hunt  2013

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”

Our inner eye
will not see
any thing
outside our mind
when we take away
the layers of our onion
one by one

What do we hold?
A hair in our hand
as we stare
into empty space
with our featureless face
or inner eye
will not see
any thing
outside our mind

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

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

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

Leonard

He died days ago
I didn’t know
A few knew
Now
We all know
We want details
How where when why
Who was with him
What were the last words
Heard
Before he breathed
His last breath
In The City Of Angels

He left the stage
Split the scene
This doesn’t mean
The scene was real
We dreamed him
He dreamed us
He would not want
Too much fuss

Sean Hunt  Nov 12 2016

Write a song, and make it long
Tell us all what’s right and wrong
Talk about the game
who it is we have to blame

What’s it all about my friend
that saber-rattling
the whys and the wherefores
and the wars to end all wars

Was there a beginning?  Will it end
We all wonder what lays ahead

Who did what and where
and when did it all start
in the deep darkness
of the human heart

We need some surgeons skilled enough
to open us all up
take out the tumors one by one
and fill us up with love

Was there a beginning?  Will it end
We all wonder what lays ahead


Sean Hunt   Nov 17 2017

Leonard left
****** words
Unheard
Steadily
Swimming
Upstream
Against the current
Of my mind
Determined
To spawn
For the first time

Don’t grasp at the past, just let it go by
The people, the places, like clouds in the sky
Don’t grasp, at the past, just let it go by
Like waves in the sea, and birds in the sky

Don’t wonder when, don’t wonder why
Everything happened, just say  goodbye
Don’t bother with sorrow, don’t even sigh
Your daydream is over, and night time is nigh

Your pain won’t be shared like pieces of pie
No one will be holding your hand when you die
Today may be low, and tomorrow high
Don’t be disappointed by truth or a lie

   Sean Hunt   Sept 28 2016

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

Love

Knowledge from college
Cannot explain
What love is
And the process of pain

Pop music knows nothing
About Love
We must debunk
Psychotic ramblings
From junkies

Love is liberation
Love is giving not taking
Love is not enslavement
Love is liberation
From the chains of
The 'Me' generation

Sean Hunt
Windermere April 2015

I thought I loved them
But I was wrong
All I knew about love
Came from a song?

Everything I thought I knew
About love was wrong

Who ever taught us
That love is for them
And love is not a fix
For the arm of men

Greedy and needy
Desperate junkies
Obsessively feeding
Hedonistic hunger

Could this be  a ruse
A cosmic trick
To keep the race
From disappearing?

An implanted psychosis
Ensuring that men
Will reproduce
Again and again?


Sean Hunt  
Windermere May 2015

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

Mysterious mechanism
that can brighten up my life
now finally works

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

When our daydreams are all Lucid
The psychosis will be loosened
We will walk through all the walls
Our world will be translucent

We could count the atoms if we wished
In all the galaxies
And sail or surf every wave
In seven million seas

March 2017

Lucy told me yesterday
I've got to live another way
The little bit of hair that's left
Is getting very grey

She said 'Flap that bodhisattva wing
You've got it all wrong
Your other wing, the wisdom wing
Is way too strong

You are long in the tooth
And there are two types of truth
There are two types of bliss
You're giving one of them a miss

Stop looking for laughs
Mr. Airbrush Man
You keep on covering it up
Whenever you can

Suffering is serious
And it's a sin to smile
While the mice are in such misery
All of the while”

She's not just a pretty face
She can be wicked with her words
Carving morsels of wisdom
That need to be heard

This has been forbidden fruit
For oh so many years
And I can't explain why
I've never given it a try

Maybe
Today
Will be the day?

Sean Hunt
Windermere December 17th

Mind looks
In mirror
To see
What's there.
Madness squared!

Maggie has fans
in Afghanistan
far away
in another land