I see a man standing, on a wave
Such a strange thing, he never falls in
And a candle flame, still in the wind
While the wind blows, and the trees sing
The clouds are white the sky is blue
The sky stays still while clouds move through
I see a man on a mountain, he’s so wise
He stopped seeing every thing with his eyes
He told everybody what he’d seen
Said if you can see nothing, something will be seen
The clouds are white the sky is blue
The sky stays still while clouds move through

       Sean Hunt  Windermere  Dec 4 2016

I see a man standing, on a wave
Such a strange thing, he never falls in
And a candle flame, still in the wind
While the wind blows, and the trees sing
The clouds are white the sky is blue
The sky stays still while clouds move through
I see a man on a mountain, he’s so wise
He stopped seeing every thing with his eyes
He told everybody what he’d seen
Said if you can see nothing, something will be seen
The clouds are white the sky is blue
The sky stays still while clouds move through

       Sean Hunt   Dec 4 2016

She just needs a man
To crack his whip
Sometimes

How many dreams have I dreamed
Of other worlds, and other wives
Of other laughs and other cries
Of others' terrifying screams?
How many men did I meet
Over there, where I had
Visions sad and glad
And often flew with my feet?
Blessed imagination saves
From the mundane day
From the box that we live in
From our daytime graves.
Like a child at play
We are only dreaming.

Sean Hunt November 2015

SO WHAT!  
or  Ode to Uncle Chuck

"So what"....growled uncle Chuck
(Charles O'Malley)
When he'd had enough.
His almost predictable
Dissertation time
Had arrived.
His succinct
Oratorial
Platitude
Delivered
With attitude
Usually somewhere between
Three and four
O'Keefes in the morning.
Only he knew
The content of his
Hypothesis
He would only reveal
The title.
Keeping his thesis
Secret.

Korsakoff
Perhaps had a more
Intimate relationship
With Uncle Chuck.
Maybe he knew
What Chuck meant
When he said
"So what!"

Sean Hunt
Windermere, 2014

Jerome Taheny says
That the word
'Unfindability'
Sparks
His imagination

Like a Flake
Of Spring Snow
We Come
And Go

We will all be forgotten, of this there is no doubt, though we live as if a world without us could not exist.  We grossly over-exaggerate our importance, arrogantly and drastically overestimating our relevance to the orbit of all the planets and galaxies, and living beings surrounding us.

How many years will your memory remain
in the minds of men and women?

Put your self in perspective.  Reflect on how forgettable you are.

Stars and tears all disappear

Sean Hunt

We will all be forgotten
Of this there is no doubt
Though we live as if
A world without us
Could not exist

We grossly exaggerate
Our importance
Arrogantly
Overestimating
Our relevance
To the orbit of all
The planets
And galaxies

How many years will
Your memory remain
In the minds of men
And women?
Put your self
In perspective
Reflect on
How forgettable
You are

Stars and tears
All disappear

Sean Hunt Windermere 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

Stop
Be still
Mental movement
In the mind
Must cease
Now and then
And then again
Now and then
Until thought
Can be stopped
At will
We must learn
To be still

Sean Hunt  Jan 1st 2017

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

A stranger came
Landing like a fly
Stayed some days
Then didn't want to go away
He thought
This bag
Of bones
And flesh
Was his own
He thought he was home
And didn't seem to know
He'd have to go

To play another part
In another play
In another cabaret



Sean Hunt  Feb  2017

Although I had fun
Strumalong days
Are over and done

Sean Hunt May 2 2016

I think
I am a little
Lazy
And very
Succinct

Such A Unique Concoction
        or ....  'Ode To Mel'

Sartorially speaking
she has no equal
Later when she ordered a coffee
in Windermere
the waiter’s incredulity
spoke as many volumes
as her color scheme

Her order took a while
for him to grasp
as this was the first time
and the last
that anyone
would ever request
such a unique concoction



          Sean Hunt   August 2017

Sunday afternoon special
should have been
the daily destination
floating in space
an unfamiliar place
'sacred union' newly found
turned us upside down
We didn't know what to do
This was too new
for me
and for you

Peeping Tom
Surfs the virtual world
In an hour he can be
In over a hundred countries
What does he see?

He sees what they want him to see
He thinks he is free
To choose
But he needs to know that he is used
And abused by political puppeteers
Behind the scenes
Market-share-mad merchandisers
Twisting his arm
Elbowing him
Standing in his way
Shouting in his ear
They know exactly how to get his attention
They titillate
Create fear, desire, frustration
They only show a bit of it
A *** or two
Always something new

They make the waves
That Tom rides
They make them high
They make them long
He thinks they come from the sea, naturally
But Tom is wrong
They are man-made waves

They have him in their computer,
In their long range plan
They watch his every move
Give it to data-entry
Then to oceanography
Where they play
With the waves
That he will ride day after day,
Thinking he is free,
All alone on the sea

Sean Hunt     Windermere  July 2015

Peeping Tom
Surfs the virtual world
In an hour he can be
In over a hundred countries
What does he see?

He sees what they want him to see
He thinks he is free
To choose
But he needs to know that he is used
And abused by political puppeteers
Behind the scenes
Market-share-mad merchandisers
Twisting his arm
Elbowing him
Standing in his way
Shouting in his ear
They know exactly how to get his attention
They titillate
Create fear, desire, frustration
They only show a bit of it
A *** or two
Always something new

They make the waves
That Tom rides
They make them high
They make them long
He thinks they come from the sea, naturally
But Tom is wrong
They are man-made waves

They have him in their computer,
In their long range plan
They watch his every move
Give it to data-entry
Then to oceanography
Where they play
With the waves
That he will ride day after day,
Thinking he is free,
All alone on the sea

Sean Hunt    Windermere  July 2015

Don’t you know when we embrace
We’re holding empty space
That’s just how it is
In this human race

We think it’s something else
Something that it’s not
We think we have a lover
That we haven’t got

The person in our arms
Feels so very real
Then when we try to find them
Things become surreal

There’s no one there to hold
Just some skin and hair
The person that we love
Is as empty as the air

I’ll put you on a pedestal
Bend down on one knee
Though the person I adore
I cannot even see

Like a rainbow and a phantom
You will come and go
Like a dream in the night
Like a shadow in a show

Like a promise that was broken
Like a vow never kept
Like an abandoned plan
Or an unpaid debt

Don’t you know when we embrace
We’re holding empty space
That’s just how it is
In this human race

Another poet
heard my words
pulled a rabbit
out of his hat
and said
“Take that”

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 :(

I will tease you out
from where you hide
under reasons tainted with pride
behind the walls built to conceal
all of the things
we do not reveal

If I can find the end of the thread
then follow the cotton
I’ll apprehend
something of value
to barter in the market
where they sell
trinkets
and old clothes

We will come to conclusions
that serve us both
for one perhaps
an unutterable oath
for the other
a manic
depressive episode

I wrestled with techno demons
all  day long
and in the end
I won
But the price I paid
was high
The loss of a day
aged sixty eight
late in life
makes me cry

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

Most days
I make myself so small
I almost disappear
into space 
Not quite!
Its such a waste

I'll try again
‎and again
‎Then,  one day
when‎ the motherless rabbit
‎stays in the hat
‎that’ll be that

When the stones of time are turned
When our eyes are open wide
Will we see more horror
or will the tears have dried

Though the days will fly
They will seem so slow
Time won’t stay still
It comes and then it goes

In the coming year, we wonder what will be
When we look around the corner what it is we’ll see

If we hold lightly and
we don’t grasp
Time will slide by gracefully
Dissolving in the past

If we let the days flow
Like a river or a stream
We’ll hum the song that angels sing
During their dreams

My most meaningful
Creator
Of nothing
Teacher about
How
Nothing can be found
Heard, yes
Seen, no
Found, no
Not here, not there
Not on the ground
Not in the air
Never found
Anywhere
I speak of sound

Sean Hunt
Windermere October 1st 2015

Most meaningful
Creator
Of nothing
Teacher about
How
Nothing can be found
Heard, yes
Seen, no
Found, no
Not here, not there
Not on the ground
Or in the air
Never found
Anywhere
I speak of sound

Sean Hunt
October 2015

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

It’s such a big mistake we make
every single day
in many many ways
With every word we say

We’re inside out
We’re running ‘round and ‘round
like drunken turtles looking for
the end of a circle

Not knowing where we are
or where we want to go
making stories up about
things we don’t know

Desperate to explain
the source of all our pain
we play the ancient game
of finger-pointing blame

Seeing floating hairs
inside our own eyes
believing everyone is blind
and nobody is wise

Imprints of idiocy
behind  every move
and our needle never ever
leaves this groove

One day we’ll wake up
when we settle down
beyond the clouds we will find
an empty sky behind

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

The ‘Big Swallow’

My friend needs to put an end
To her dreadful thirst
It never gets better
Only gets worse
Some of us are missing
A major
Metaphorical
Mechanism
A floating valve
That rises to the top
And then insists
On a Stop!
Closing  off
Further flow
Down below.

The Rabbit never rests
never escapes
Perpetual terror
seems to be his fate

Shakes like a leaf
in the absence of wind
Tremors and trembles
come from within

Dangers around
surround that
very deep and very dark
black hat

Do not be distracted by clouds
They look and act so loud
They fill the stage
They rant and rage and pout
And put on a show
That we could do without

Behind the clouds
Is still and peaceful space
Brightness and blue
Room for all
A delightful view
For me and you

If the clouds are few
The vastness of the sky
Shines through
Otherwise
Space is displaced, replaced
Covered up
By a cumulus queue

Sean Hunt
2015

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

My journal is burning
While I write down the words
that never will be seen
and never will be heard

Burning coals cover the ground
fires starting all around
and I know the things I’ve lost
never will be found

It’s so hard to even start
when the ending is in sight
and the dreams of this night
will never see the light

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

And what is this which is about to become
a part of my weary world
a shard crashed from an angry hand
smashed on the floor by a girl

wounded by words she alone heard
echos from way down below
spoken by ghosts chained to the past
in the basement where nobody goes

She sees not me but someone else
who hurt her way back then
Things were done, words were said
today she hears them again

I beg her to stay in the salon
to love to laugh and to rest
instead of descending down the stairs
to greet those ancient guests

I wondered today
if anyone has wondered
whether there is a center
to the universe
Godgle told me that
others have wondered
not about the wondering
but about the center

I am still wondering
no longer about the wondering
but about the center

Behind the projector sits a man
he is what he is, he does what he can
He sits behind me out of sight
Because of him my screen’s full of light
I keep forgetting about this friend
who runs the show beginning to end
Thinking the world in front is real
I shiver I shake and I squeal
I cry and I smile with utter delight
‘til it’s over, and somebody turns on the light
One day when the cinema falls to the ground
My friend will find another no doubt
If he has any movies left to show
they'll be seen on a screen, he'll find somewhere to go

Do you have a little bit
Of garlic in your ***
Still behaving ordinary
Though you know you're not
When will you clean up the bits
Of garlic that you've got?
A lingering aroma
Will be all that's left
When you finally finish
Cleaning your ***


Sean Hunt
Windermere, October 27, 2015

Why were we together
And why did we part
Why did we ever plunge
That knife into our hearts?

Our love is not forgotten
It was deep and it was true
Somehow the link was weak
Between me and you

Since that day what was said
And what was heard
I wonder if there's anything
At all that we have learned

If we could listen to the clinking
Of the karma chain
We would know how and why
Everything has changed

Sean Hunt

We are all in a line
walking along a precipice
treading carefully one by one
under the warm rays of the sun

A whisper rises above us
floating in the air
as many murmer
"It simply isn't fair"

We all wish for wings
wanting to escape
from incidental tyranny
the folly of our fate

When the moon becomes the queen
reigning in the skies
all fall on one knee
lowering frightened eyes

We fear the wrath
of someone else's view
a judgement that could hurl us down
'The dropping of a shoe'

Dance with that
Momentary Man
As long as he'll let you
As long as you can
Dance 'til your very last breath
With The Lord of The Dance
The Lord of Death

Sean Hunt
Windermere Dec 24 2015

We rage at the clouds passing us by
Flashes of lightning catching our eye
Sorrow sprays down wetting our world
Both of us know what we see is absurd

This terrible storm keeps pretending to stay
Solid as stone it won’t go away
but both of us know the invisible truth
This is the way we play in youth

As shadows take shape in the space between
I don’t see you, you don’t see me
We dance with ghosts, their names on our cards
How many more will break our hearts

We smiled as we stared into the sun
on occasional days when we put down our guns
I remember our flashes of laughter and joy
when friends held hands like a girl and a boy

From out of the void
it came without warning
one winter morning

In a spin, out of control
no warning,
escaping an orbit

The blaze that was left
for many minutes
warmed the world

but this surprise summer
did not last very long

and we could not sing
to the end of our song

The end of gathering is scattering
The end of rising is falling
The end of meeting is parting
The end of birth is death

Then at the end of death there is a breath

The end of the end is beginning
The end of losing is winning
At the end of light is darkness
The end of the end is the start

With the beat of another heart

The end of winter is summer
After the moon comes the sun
At the end of work is play
The end of the night is day

The end of war is peace
The end of famine is feast
The end of wrong is right
The end of darkness is light

After we scatter we gather
Gathering ends in dispersion.
The end of day becomes night
And the end of a cry is a sigh

The end of peace is war
At the end of the sea is a shore
The end of peace is drama
And the end of samsara is nirvana

    Sean Hunt March 2017
          (First verse Buddha Shakyamuni slightly paraphrased)

When the weather's too fine
we whine
When the weather's bad
we're mad
When is too dry
we cry
When is too wet
we fret
In the hail
we wall
If it changes
we complain
If it doesn't
we go insane
We don't like
a lightning strike
Hearing thunder
make us wonder
what we've done
In the sleet
we crave some heat
and when it cools down
we frown
When it heats up
we've had enough
In the fog
we curl up with the dog
When it's too breezy
we're sneezy
Come the frost
we're lost
When there's ice
it's not nice
and in the snow
we don't go
anywhere

The face is a most
Important place
Not only is it where we
May display adverts
And worse,
To be read by others
(Mostly mischevious spin)
It is where the five
Sense doors open,
Sight, sound, smell,
Taste and touch
There isn't much more
To talk about

The rest of the body
Is only a sense door
The face has many more receptors
Feeding the greedy
And ravenous mind
With waterfalls
Of information
About
The outside world
Most of which is wrong

Sean Hunt  
Windermere April 2015