MICK’S POETRY 1998 – 1999 USA & SINGAPORE COMPILED 2001
DHARMA VALUES WAIT FOR NO ONE............................................2 A TRIP THROUGH CHICAGO..........................................................6 ESCAPE.........................................................................................7 JUMP ONCE JUMP TWICE JUMP THRICE ....................................11 NO ONE WOULD EVER GUESS, WOULD THEY? ............................12 RAW MANIFESTO - NO ZEN .........................................................15 THERE IS A TIME WHEN THERE IS NO TIME ..............................16 SO HERE WE SIT SITTING ONE ALONE .......................................18 RUN THEN NOW THE ZEN ...........................................................21 A REFLECTING ICON...................................................................23 ON THE EDGE PART 1.................................................................25
Dharma values wait for no one
What is it that shows the unseeable? What is it that seeks out the unknowable? What is it that knows us, in the looks that we never give? Strange that the newspaper sees through this mystery. Strange that the poet feels alienated from the paper. Strange that the mystery is known to no-one. I would like to read this to you, to share and to hold, with values that can explain, with words that cannot be heard, with eyes that can read. Hold that thought - search. Input. Compute. Dharma values will be with you as you press the key. Just do not try. Try not to. Try. “Golden tresses hung on clay� wrote the young poet, with words of love and theatre, to a girl that forecast his Dharma, in the fields they thought their kingdom. A missionary captured the colours of mind, glowing with the certainty of life and birth,
feeling the spirit of history blend with the clarity of the clock. No one but the student became himself, else no one followed his logic and painting, fearful of chemistry and the future, preferring Caroline in the sea. A scholar rejected his calling, urging discontent with rages of emotion and fear, calling all friends to victory with passion for improvement and stability. The ego of the newlywed fed itself, and eased that of the spouse, untold stories of love and misunderstanding with moments of giddy nonsense. A worker let go, with opportunity for the future, with planning and plans to go on and on and on, until he could not. Drift drift drift until the seashore comes to the hills and the hills leave us all behind. Drift drift drift until the future is essential, and desperation feeds our soul with painful pictures. Drift drift drift until the newspaper tells a story that no one hears lest it is them. Is it a story of success or power or sexuality? Drift. A confused man falls for a mirror vanity and leaves one life for another; “a beard is like walking down the street with your fly undone�, so he does.
Capturing the sea with differences of evening light, the painter’s lover falls for the picture of the sea, and the man, and for the breakfast at Michel, with apples. A lover feels the moment of Dharma, in union, with total certainty and no false pride, just conviction that it is right and that personality has no place. From noon to noon, a father intends to do it all with words and feelings, and teaching and caring; but he misses the test of moments by the sea, in the air, on the shelf. A teacher shuffles slowly from culture to home, and back again, without concern or feelings for those who are left, save their good intentions and words. Be fair. Be fair. Drift drift drift until the seashore comes to the hills and the hills leave us all behind. Leadership develops, fearing ability to succeed, to build upon build upon build, as people demand a piece, and a piece, and a piece. Dharma values will be with you as you press the key. Just do not try. Try not to. Try. A man became of age, his own person for a month, for a year, for his God, walking with blue notes in his mind and boots on his feet, unleashed.
The builder’s road draws no troubles, a map to guide the future and to absolve the past, with Dharma and fairness and objectivity, without pain or freedom or understanding. A voyager wanders across the sea of time and history, fearing that the future is the same as the past, which it is, which it was which it will be. Drift drift drift until the future is essential, and desperation feeds our soul with painful pictures. A stranger opens his eyes, and sees what is really there, catching the mist of love in a smile, and the purity of lust in the sparkle of the friendship. Drift drift drift until the newspaper tells a story that no one hears lest it is them.
October, 1998.
A trip through Chicago
So what is there to say when a kiss needs dinner? Or when a hug needs a drink? And a hand needs to hold the sky? Jump the beach and spy the land. Hold the girl, and hug the boy. Kiss the sky, hug the drink and hold the dinner.
October, 1998.
Escape
There is a moment of sheer horror when truth is open for all to see. When eyes that are closed are scared of the night time, and strangers that smile become the immortal. If it t’were done, said the man, then get the fuck on with it. Success is a virtue for those that don’t have it. Speed is a problem for people in slow-mo. Taste is a matter of feeling and substance. Heat is a moment with wonderful distance. If it t’were done, said the man, then get the fuck on with it.
October, 1998.
Hit the road hit the sky hit the welcome mat
There is a moment when the sun and the sky become the same, and the sea flows into the desert with a smile and a winning sigh. But that moment is less a time of mutual joy than the sky smiling at itself.
It is an instant of realization, formed by the quiet contemplation of the truth, and the inevitable nature of the cycle. Which is, to say, the time when the truth no longer hides, and the desert sees itself for its own desire, each morning swimming to overwhelm the sea.
Which is, to say, the time when the truth no longer hides and the sun welcomes the dawn as its rebirth and as its conception. For the man and the woman, the sky and the sun are the elements of their destiny. Their truth is unfolding as the sea washes across their canvas. It cannot be fought. It is one. It cannot be broken. It is whole. And it smiles and it laughs and it accepts its future. For the man and the woman, the sea and the desert are the friends that they have. They welcome the New Year, openly believing in their reality. Beat the drum.
Hit the mat. Leap on the road. The realization is that there is no realization. Only a truth that it must be, unless they do not want it to be, and then it is not. No complication. No fear. No conundrum of pain and conceit. It is here, right now, no more.
October, 1998.
Jump once jump twice jump thrice
and we feel the life that there is around us within us beside us and beyond us. Jump once and there is another jump with another beyond that. Jump twice and there is no jump just a distant measure of success. Jump thrice and the smile disappears because the jumper has lost his beat. Jump once jump twice jump thrice and the world becomes clear by comparison.
October, 1998.
No one would ever guess, would they?
Kiss kiss kiss. Is that the virtue of the moment? Hug and cuddle, beat the clock. Kiss kiss kiss. Is there a better way to reminisce? Smile and win, the race is over. Kiss kiss kiss. Is there a friend staying at your side? Caress the skin of Neptune’s lover. It was a funny day when the meeting started, with no apparent vision of personal future. It was a boring day when the people stared, and wondered why the lovers talked not hugged. It was a desperate day that started with a baggy jacket, and a tie that didn’t quite work, alone. It was an open day when the sun shined blue,
and the taps poured forth their mirth. What was the attraction, as life was perfect for the high achievers in the plastic hoods. What was the reason, for the unlikely couple to risk the wrath of their own denial. Kiss kiss kiss. Is that the virtue of the moment? Hit the sack, and kill the demons. Hit the wall, and fry the toast. Hit the moment, and kiss the heart. Hug each other, Stream across the bridge, and steal the smile. It is not possible to love so soon. It must be needs that hide themselves, or fear that turns slowly inward, and a solitary ghost that stays awake. Kiss kiss kiss. Is there a better way to reminisce? There is much to discuss and to think, There is less to fear and to deny, because the closeness is the same for them both, no matter what the spirit feels and sees.
Hug each other, Stream across the bridge, and steal the smile. Keep it going, keep afloat. Hoist the sail, tack the winds. Fly, and jump - leap. Soar beyond; hail the truth in understanding. Kiss kiss kiss. Is there a friend staying at your side?
October, 1998.
Raw manifesto - no Zen
I need depth, texture and release from self-imposed geometrics. I need mind, exchange, challenge and stillness. I need listeners, followers, engagement, where the symbiosis is complete. I need art, technology, freedom, and I need it all now. There is always more. There is now, and then there is then. Then yesterday doesn’t exist. I need anger, life, change, and the chase. I need love, and the energy to create. I need need.
October, 1998.
There is a time when there is no time
That time is not then, it is now. But the moment floats by on the wind unless we capture it, for now And then the moment questions its existence with a sigh and a smile and a hug. Two people meet at that moment, without logic or rhythm. Yet those people define the moment with a sigh and a smile and a hug. Life is a series of moments, with success and more success. And things become perfect without wonder or question. Life is a sequence of moments, to count the events And the people we trust like stars in the sand. Life is a voyage of moments, with
each journey a distance which we cannot measure in moments. Life is a story that we tell with a sigh and a smile and a hug.
October, 1998.
So here we sit sitting one alone
So what is there to say when a kiss needs dinner? sitting one alone
So here we sit
cool said the Snark who is the Snark no one remembers ... the theory of EVA too strong artist or agent or man Sitting one alone Trying to decide on how to decide Trying to decide So here we sit sitting one alone The story so far is the same as it was 'cept the news is the last time it wasn't Now when you decide you decide 'cept when you don't Trying to decide So here we sit sitting one alone The man said "jump"
Maria said "happy" The fashion was sitting to see So where does the Balance lie Freudian Slip .... in the past, or now no matter But that is not right Not cool Not alone There is a choice, Snark There is an idea, Snark There is a one that is many Trying to decide So here we sit sitting one alone Been there, done that, got the Shirt Snark Give a Chance Give a Smile "Happy" So here is how it works There is only one Path There is only one Line There is only one way to go on There is Buddha Trying to decide
So here we sit sitting one alone
November, 1998.
Run then now the Zen
Listen it must be a day to miss Now Once we are there we are fine Once we are fine Once we are there Mystics in the business of life Life in the color of blue Where will it all Lead Talk? Talk Summer boats on a placid sprawl Skies of darkest candy - mixes of sounds in the open winds of time and love for no one Green grass flies on time with grass to listen
- deep stream, stirring the spirit of belief, the spirit of us all Colors dance happily on the tide where seashells open to view the day. Stars sit heavily so they cast the dice to offer a note of consolation. Code the life the stream code the spirit of the color the spirit of us all Dear one who hears the sights of sound and voice in one accord. Ignore them Copy them Love them Dance them What is there to do when it is spirit of sky? What is there to live when it is color of time? Now Once we are there we are fine Once we are fine Once we are there
March 1999
A reflecting icon
Way to go way to go Isn’t it? So what happens to the millpond when the stone falls into disrepute? And what happens to a millstone when water turns to vapour? Is an icon real or reality an Icon? Let’s see how the story flows when the lines are scripted and the script reflects the strangeness of chance. Let’s see how the players evolve to a point of fear which is just south of the shades of ecstasy. Way to go way to go Isn’t it?
People meet by chance and the diversity sits heavily on their shoulders, but placed by others. People meet to discover their perfect reality and truth by their hands, but touched by others. People meet to stare and concede the dark necessity of their contact, but hidden from others. Touch A look A smile An apology A stream A fear A wonder Way to go way to go Isn’t it? Is an icon true or truth an Icon? Let’s see adversity appear as the time becomes one with the urgent need to talk and to suffer. Let’s see joy and laughter as the contrast of culture leads the youth to be old and the old to ponder. Way to go way to go Isn’t it?
March 1999
On the edge part 1
Listen to the speed with which things stay the same, listen to the silence. Share the edge Share the win Share the loss There is a shine to the depth which can reveal its limits whilst refusing to notice its blackness. There is a word to be said which lightens the load whilst it hastens the gathering changes. The seer once noted the multiple futures and offered the newspaper jacket. The headlines he wrote and the instant response just meant he delayed the stories. Tell me old man what is the correctness
of edge, and sorrow, and joy. Tell me the difference so I can reply with edge, and pain, and politeness. Sagas unfold with the rain in the wings, with calls to be made and tall glasses of nothing to shame. The touch is made with trembling hands and the concern they feel just confirms the need to be held. Don’t ask the question, but see what they think as the sounds descend in a spiral. Don’t hear the fragrance of purple and blue which unites the senses togetherness. Tell me young man what is the correctness of edge, and sorrow, and joy. Tell me the difference so I can reply with edge, and pain, and politeness. Hold tight for the ride, with eyes Unfolded, and grip the rail tight with wonder in mind, excited. Share the edge
Share the win Share the loss
April 1999