Magician 03

Although I know
All my tigers
Are bounding
Out of
My dream machine
Pretending to be mean
Why do I run
Why do I scream
When my
Very own tigers
Jump out of
My very own
Dream machine?

Maybe I'm
To good a magician
Tricked
By my own illusions
But
I really should know
I'm just putting on a show.

When the curtain comes down
And there's no danger
To be found
I can't be running
'Round and 'round
So scared,
Of my own,
Shadow

Sean Hunt
Windermere, Dec 19, 2015

The antisocial media
Is spying with their cyber eye

They know more than we think
They tell us where to buy and sell
what to eat and what to drink

They siphon off our code
and tell us how to vote

Their surreptitious spin
explains the state that we are in

The privacy of ancient times
has drifted away
and the piracy of modern days
is here to stay

Always on the go
Chuck is man on the move
Like a shooting star

March is NOT marching on
Here in
Jolly cold England

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

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

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 think this body that I see
Is me
But I know
That my big toe
Is not ‘Me’
And I know
My right knee
Is not the ‘Me’
That I see
And I know
My nose
Is not the ‘Me’
That I see
All the little bits of ‘Me’
Are not ‘Me’

How can this be?


                Sean Hunt        Sept 2016

Meditation is an art
But mostly
We forget
To start

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

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

Why do I forget details
some days

Why do some things stay
and some go away

Why do I wonder why
Why do I need to know why

Would I want to remember everyone
and every thing
I have said
I have done
Would I want to recall
and transcribe every flaw
into a book
that could one day be read

Actual happenings
happenstance
hiding behind
a veil in my mind
without intent
not meant to deceive

What is wanted?
a bleeding of veins
allowing it all out
a psychic healing
of sorts

A comprehensive commentary
An exhaustive exploration
of it all

an odd self-audit impulse

I thought I saw an ocean
at the bottom of the hill
I set my self in motion
hoping for a thrill

Board in hand
and supercharged
but instead of waves and sand
a mirage

Mired in confusion
wrapped in illusion
Mind dynamite
it’s all finite

A straw between my teeth
I made no sense
I needed to concede
my innocence

No shades of grey
My mind was blown
and I had to abdicate
my throne

Boris is bouncing
all over the field
with the power
he now yields
But he’ll soon
run into a wall
finding himself
‘behind the eight ball’
when he messes with Ireland

The ‘Real IRA’
may save the day
They blew Mountbatten
out of his boat
and into the sea
for messing
with history
I wonder
if  Jacob and Boris
can see
the tempting targets
they are
in British aristocracy

Rely On Your Middle Eye

Everything’s not the way it seems
Just like night and day in dreams
Rely on your middle eye

We are all like rainbows
First we come and then we go
Rely on your middle eye

If you don’t want to be a dream-seller
Or a story-teller
Rely on your middle eye

If you don’t want to beat someone’s drum
Or make sure that their bell is rung
Rely on your middle eye

If you don’t know where the road goes
Or ‘round the bend where the river flows
Rely on your middle eye

Sean Hunt    April 4 2016

Gone are the psychedelic colours
Of autumn's empty palette
The trees skinned
by the violent winds of
November
Bare to the bony branches
Braving the silence
of Mister Winter's
minimalist contentment
and the echos
of summer birdsong

We are all migrants
in time and space
traveling far
to find this place

Distance is nothing
Time is now
We are going and coming
like a passing cloud

Water over fire
steeped in our sins
the cause of creation
elemental origins

Time makes us tender
for the coming feast
When the culture of the west
consumes the culture of the east

There is no truth, there is no lie
Just a mind making up
Everything that goes by

You can shimmer,and shine
And climb high
On cloud number nine

Mirrors and smoke, horrors and hope
Mind making up
Everything that goes by

If you don’t like the movie have a glass of wine
It’s mind making up
Everything that goes by

Picaso’s paintings may make you cry
Mind making up
Everything that goes by

When we look into a mirror
There’s nobody there
Still we stop
We stop and we stare

Sean Hunt   Windermere

There is no truth,
There is no lie
Just a mind making up
Everything that goes by

You can shimmer,
You can shine
You can climb high
On cloud number nine

Mirrors and smoke,
Horrors and hope
Mind making up
Everything that goes by

If you don’t like the movie
Have a glass of wine
It’s mind making up
Everything that goes by

Picasso’s paintings
May make you cry
Mind making up
Everything that goes by

When we look in a mirror
There’s nobody there
Still we stop
We stop and we stare
It’s mind making up
Everything that goes by

Sean Hunt   Windermere  March 2016

Beware the modern mindfulness merchants
They miss the mark
They make you meditate on the extreme of existence
Cementing your psychosis

At the end of their day you’ll be far from the middle way
Contemplating waves instead of the sea
Making an inventory of things in a dream
Following their ‘Way’ you will never be free

Holy men, offended
By their fables
Wish to overturn
The temple tables

Sean Hunt  Feb 2017

You see an inanimate me,
Frozen in time,
Don't believe this subtle deception.
Focus well, my friend.
Watch the form of my face change
Ever so slowly.
In the ground of the coin
Surrounding me
I swim in a sea of minted metal
I walk through a landscape world
Breathing silver air
A regal persona
Looking like
A permanent phenomenon.
But I am not!
This is a lie!
I am worthless tender
On earth.
I am only a minted man
Don't pay me much attention
I'll melt away, one day
I am the coin,
The coin is me.
Now do you see
Who I am not?

Sean Hunt  
Windermere  2015

How misguided
And mistaken
Of me
To impute my 'I'
On bits of
Other people's
Bodies

The fate
Of these bits of bone
And flesh
Is that they will be
Enmeshed with
And buried in
The bigger body
Of Mother Earth

Of course
This me
The mistaken me
The one that we see
Will dissolve
And disappear
Forever

But what about
Actual 'Me'
The me we cannot see
Where will 'I' be
After 'I' die

Windermere Feb 6  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

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

The poetic presence
Of absent Kate
Is missed
Of late

Mission impossible once again
as our day darkens from disdain

Double trouble we're all in
as Boris twists and spins

One day he'll fall back in line
and straighten up his ****** spine

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

Mister Mac
Get back
You're giving me
A panic attack

Squeezing tight
With all your might
It's just not right

Picking my pocket
Here and there
Taking more money
Everywhere
                                         Sean Hunt Nov 2017

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

Moments

If you take some LSD
You can see
Moments
With your eyes
As they pass you by

Sixty moments per second
I am told
By a wise man
Who knows

But another wise man
I know
Who knows
Said two hundred

I suppose
They measured moments
Differently

Sean Hunt
Windermere  2015

Moment To Moment      
   or      
The Major Mental Mistake
or
The Cognitive Error

I need to watch
Moment to moment
For that major mental mistake
That I make
The cognitive error that
Causes all confusion
And disillusion.

Trusting my mind,
Trusting my senses
Is stupid.
They have proven
Time after time
Again and again
They were wrong
In the end.

Me here, thing there,
Thing free from me,
Thing will always be.
If I close my eyes
Thing stays.
Even if I go away
Thing stays.
This is the major mental mistake
That I make,
Asleep or awake!

Sean Hunt  
2015 January Windermere

Monarchic Rant

Though I was born in Britain
I am not a 'Brit'
I do not fit in
Their houses are so cold
Because they are too cheap
To turn up the ****** heat

I find some of them deceitful,
They self-righteously pretend
To be serene
And peaceful
But love to fight
All over the world
Blasting other beings
Into the netherworld

Tied to tradition
They insist
On going against the global grain
They weigh in stones
And still drive on the wrong
****** side of the road

They sing 'God Save The Queen'.
God has more common sense
He believes the word 'Excellency'
A too commonly used currency
Slapped, like a hat
On the head of a simple aristocrat

God save the common people
Living under too many thumbs
Of  pretentious and powerful people,
With utterly obscene incomes

Sean Hunt  Windermere Dec. 7, 2015

MORNING SOUNDS

Though morning sounds
Speak to me
The meaning seems a mystery
Songs sung
In a language
I do not understand

Seemingly
Entreating me
To consider
And contemplate
A message there
In the air

The break of dawn
Is no time to yawn

Sean Hunt   Windermere April 26th 2017

Now I  have many sisters, and I  have many brothers
And we're all children, of a  childless mother
And we can't complain, ever again
about the wind, or the rain, no never again

We were never born so we can’t complain
about the wind, and the rain

They say my name is Sam, but it's all a sham
Because they gave that name to a motherless man

Maybe you're wondering what it's all about
And maybe you're wondering how I found out

If I don't have a mother then my life's a lie
And it makes me wonder why, 'cause I'll never die

And if I never had a mother then I'll never have a lover,
so now I know I'll never have a lover

Poor old Sam he's a lover-less man
And Sara will be holding another man's hand
He never had a mother so he'll never have a lover
Poor old Sam, he's a lover-less man

He a motherless man, lover-less Sam
Lover-less Sam is a motherless man

Sara's also the child of a childless mother
So Sam and Sara are perfect lovers
because they'll never have a problem with their mothers
They're perfect lovers
because they'll never have a problem with their mothers
They’re perfect lovers

Mountain Men

Some people like many mountains all around
So they can keep climbing up and down
I like to stay down on the ground
And watch my wheels going 'round and 'round

When they get to the the top of this mountain here
They stand and look at that mountain there
Then they climb to the top of that mountain there
To look back at this mountain here

Then they call this mountain here
'That mountain over there'

And so it goes everywhere
Nobody really knows if they're here or there
Yes so it goes everywhere, nobody really knows
If they're here or there.

Sean Hunt
.....somewhere in Spain March 2015

I listened to her heart
beating away
for two hundred and seventy days
twenty eight million
thumps from her drum
No wonder I was
attached to her
for a while
when I was a child

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

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

My Heart

My heart’s like steel
My heart’s like ice
It’s hard for me to feel
and to equalize  

There’s a view, I’ve been told
from your mountain too
Wish I knew what I’ll see
when I see like you  
  
I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls

I’m mining for metal,
there’s no doubt
I wonder what kind
I guess I’ll soon find out  

Will it be iron,
or will it be gold
when I dig deep down
where I’ve been told  

I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls
    
Can I cross the valley
if I’m blind
If I make that climb
what will I find  

I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls

Sean Hunt  April  2017

My Horrible Habit

My horrible habit of laziness
Chains me to the ground
In the epicentre
Of the circumference
Of my life

I do what I like to do
And nothing else
Expending all my energy
On myself

My inconsideration for others
For all my mothers
Is utterly unacceptable

I must tie my mind
To the stake
And burn my self away

Sean Hunt  
Windermere April 2015

Son number one remembered the words he could have said
during the days that he stood by her bed

The Pharmacist came to pay his respects and he cried
He came and he cried when he heard that she had died

Her husband descended into his loss
With so many holes to fill in his life
He now knew the wonder of his wife

One brother placed a teddy bear beside her
as she lay inside her heaven-bound home
She had told him no one had ever given her one

The Pharmacist came to pay his respects and he cried
He came and he cried when he heard that she had died

My mother’s brother grieved when he heard the words
that some of her sons said about the other ones

Her one daughter contemplated all the things
that some of her sons ought to have done
in the days before she was gone

The Pharmacist came to pay his respects and he cried
He came and he cried when he heard that she had died

The captain takes us down
To the engine room
He says our minds ‘will be blown’
Very very soon
The mechanisms of our minds
Dissected and revealed
By the captain of this ship
The mystery revealed

Sean Hunt  March 2016

I was mystified
in the midst
of the misery
of autumn
congestion and drip
until I remembered
decaying leaves
and **** spores
are responsible
for it

My words
Come
From where
The clouds
Come from

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

Narcissus stole
My innocence,
Turned my face
From human race

Now it’s nearly midnight
the day is almost done
we had our share of happiness
we had our share of fun
Some days were so dark
we couldn’t walk or run
Felt like we were living in
the land of the midnight sun


The early days are over
merely memories
that can’t be traced anyways
to things that can be seen
Those people that I thought I saw
when my eyes were young
those songs that now come to mind
were they ever sung

Those memories of dreams
that haunt my autumn mind
if I tried to look for them
they’d be hard to find

My diary is somewhere here
I never threw it out
If I really wanted to
I’d find it no doubt
I guess I just don’t have the wish
There isn’t much to say
Nothing new has happened here
for a few days

Those memories of dreams
that haunt my autumn mind
if I tried to look for them
they’d be hard to find

I'm Never Alone

I'm never alone, there's always someone there
To walk with, to talk to, to breathe the same air

In town or in country, I'm in good company
Because I always, bring along me

I always see me!  Wherever I go
I'm not on my own, there's someone I know

He's never a bore, though sometimes a chore
Can talk up a tempest, can talk up a storm

Once in a while, he may disappear
But then in a moment, he will reappear

Sometimes he gives me, such a fright,
When I wake up, in the middle of the night

It may take a moment,  a moment or two
Before he awakes, and I'm wondering: “Who

It is in my bed, all by himself
Grasping and searching, for his lifebelt

Those moments are rare, when there's nobody there
To walk with, to talk to, to breathe the same air

Sean Hunt
Windermere, Dec 26 2015

The year is new they say
but seems to be the same
The people that I've known for years
play the same game
Cats and dogs don't celebrate
don't even know the date
To them there's nothing new
They're never early never late