The Winter Gardens

Like an old poet or civil servant.
Is that fluff on your jacket and a
Pen in your breast pocket?
Can I have your autograph?

My elder, my father, on the old
Concrete steps of the Winter Gardens.
Is that a bag in your hand or
Just the way you lean?

Planted there like some old
Shubbery, wherefrom comes your
Elegance? Can I have some?
From the ancestors of my clan?

What bearing becomes you.
Knitted vest like I wore, the
Smart Harris Tweed jackets
Were the smartest on us yet.


An Op shop candle
Heavy white globe
There’s no reason you should
Light again.

You sank like
An apple core
So deep into yourself I
Mocked you.

You burned within
And your wick
Became a stub so meek
I mocked you.

I poured hot wax
From the tall blue
Candle to drown your meek
Little flame.

Only ever thinking
It was an aesthetic
Impulse and so voila!
Blue within white.

But drowned
You went out
And the wick folded into
The deep blue sea.

My redemption
A hot wax rescue!
I took the whole white
Globe of the world.

And turned the blue
Like a corkscrew
So the wax circled the walls
And set that sun.

Now your flame
Leaps from the rim
Within the veils of pale blue
And white, the Virgin.

A Blessing Of Tea

Mint from the garden that was
Growing in the wrong place
At least you will be feast in my cup of tea.

And then to the pot tipped the lot
Of the organic lemon, cut in two domes
And squeezed down on glass.

Bright liquid lemon-shards
Mixed with hot water. Then thought I’d add
The delicate intimate chamomile flowers.

Suddenly what a feast! This calls for bush
Honey, non-vegan but raw so just the
Most generous gift of a spoon.

And then of course, the kawakawa.
A trip to the holey bush by the caravan.
Two leaves just squeezed into the pot.

Now neverforgetting the root of all teas
The ginger, two slices, and two slices
Of tumeric too, so cheap to buy the root.

Seeing them sink like little subs in the sea
My tired eyes draw nearer. And suddenly
Feel. It’s an infusion! What a bonus!

I bow now for a while to my blue and white
Teapot, to this day, to these tired eyes.
And to all of nature, grateful for your blessing.

The Body Of The Buddha

1 .

May Allah be praised.
In the Buddhahood
Where the Buddha stood,
He was a Buddha sort of


The body of the Buddha
Was pure like no other.
The wholeness there
Was wholly discovered.


The body was a reflection
Of the wholeness around it.
Wholly the other, and all
Otherwise the Holy.


Within the body of Buddha
Was a Holy Matrimony.
Shiva and Shakti getting
Along sparklingly, always
Having it on.


Loving man and loving woman
Loving man and loving woman.
Within them there was born
The body of the Buddha.


Self self-erupting
Like the flowers and the
Vegetables and all the fruit,
Like all fruits of the Universe.


The body of Buddha
Was a marriage, of evolution
And involution, the fruition
Of the endless body of Buddha.


Within the self lies the other
Hiding and running away.
Someone oughta shoulda woulda
Told him he was only the body
Of Buddha.


She! She cries and cries
All day, the involution
The reception, the Yin
And the endless reflection.


Who is this body of Buddha?
Is he a man? Seeing
As I am being seen said
The Buddha, I should say that
I am.


Shakti with a kick-ass reply,
Replied who should you say
Then of who am I? Said
The Buddha no reply.


The voice of the body of Buddha
Was pure like there was
No other, a perfect blend
Of Shiva and Shakti and
The given.


Inside himself was the body
Of Durga, the daughter and the
Mother, the lover the betrayer
The Shakti the Shiva, the


In the body of the Buddha
Was the Earth Mother herself,
The bones and the muscle and
The blood and the gristle.


The flesh of the world
Was enmeshed in the Body
Of Buddha, but the worlds
Within went to infinity
And beyond.


The Buddhahood where the
Buddha stood was arrayed
Like the froth in a bubble.
All possible worlds ever
The Buddha strolled.


In each world was the body
Of Buddha being here in
Many multiple ways, endless
Choice to be here or afraid.


In the shadows a shadowy
Figure runs and hides and
Runs away. What world
Would a Buddha deny, one
Where he went astray?


In the love of the Mother
And the love of the Father
Is no child ever led astray.
The only thing that could be said
Is someone went astray.


May Allah be praised.
Within the known is found
The knower, and welcomed
Within the kingdom this day.


In the kingdom of Shiva
And Shakti, where the two
Entwined reign, the Lord
And Lady all bless the
Blessings of the day.


The Buddha is born, the body
Of the Buddha is born this
Day, fruiting forever in
Forever far off kingdoms
Contained within.


The froth on the sea of
Every wave of every sea and
Wave, in the body of the
Buddha’s amazing multiple


Ever the one in the body
Of the Buddha, our
Cosmic conscious universe,
Male and female and all
The rainbow arrayed.


The one within is born and
Awake and awoken up today.
All the days endlessly
Arrayed in rainbow colours,
Time and space.


The body of the Buddha.
May Allah be praised.
Shiva and Shakti, Earth
Mother, Durga and a little
Yin, all in the body of Buddha.


what a trip!
take a subject like
(self-driving) ‘autonomous cars’,
and show the film from the ‘player perspective’.

and who then
is the ‘player’ in
this perspective? Just a witness,
no control, surrendered, at the mercy of these

beings, these
amazing mechanical
masters/servants! What a road trip,
so Zen in its presentation – it all looks so

ordinarily like
a scene taken while
driving – but here the only difference
is in the highly subjective ‘knowledge’ (in

you, the viewer,
not ‘it’ the video) –
the knowledge that you have that
there IS no human driver. Otherwise there’s no

difference. It’s
the difference that makes
the difference, no? Or is that
a highly subjective perspective? Driverless.

The Innocent Pornography Of Alex Grey

When you’re blessed by the vision of a goddess,
Up comes all the shame and guilt and private hell of sexuality.
Wow did that ever send one packing!

One was innocent, to be beset with such a fate,
The blessed vision of the goddess,
Being beset upon by many men.

One can only blame Google Search engines,
Those mechanical masters of synchronistic fate,
That offer such multiple variations of a delight on a plate.

A cornucopia of confessions of delight and love, and yes,
Desire like the fire to the flood of images in my mind,
Alex Grey’s legs spread all over the page.

Being beset upon by many men,
In this succulent narrative
Of possibility in this poem.

When innocence meets greed and the gorgeous
Thought of gorging in that gorge, those lips,
Those breasts, those feet.

The consciousness of the consciousness
That would ever be, ever such a goddess was open to me.
The blessedness of the duality of body and poetry.

And blame it all on Google Search engines if you please.
‘Alex Grey’ is also the artist of spiritual visionary art,
And a grey-haired high priest of the Tantric Arts.

Google ‘Alex Grey sex’ in Google Images if you’d like to now see,
The vision of the goddess as (if) it was revealed to me,
Not in visionary, non-visionary, binary, or any other space,

But simply as the innocence of your screen:
The pornographic multiplicity of sexual imagery, but
This time mixed in with the spiritual sexual art of Alex Grey!

Let it be a meditation of innocence and a goddess,
The inadvertent but very blessed body of Alex Grey.
Assure yourself you stumbled in, admittedly in a different way

By chance or impulse or desire or play, whether by chance
Or fate or synchro-nis-cios…itay! The very blessed body
Of Alex Grey, with Alex Grey’s art mixed in, all in one display!

Whether now a play of poetry or an actual experience
You can see and can now see arrayed, one would still
Have to say, it was worth the time to write and read.

And even to see – now, today – the blessed blending
Of pussy and penis almost seemingly never-ending
blended neverendingly in with the energetically deep-seeing

Visionary art of Alex Grey. Like rainbow, X-ray, hallucinogenic,
Light-wrapped, onion-skin, visionary layers, looking in
To all levels of couples coupling in sexual embrace.

You’d have to see it to believe, if it were there to be seen,
If it were there to be seen on one odd but rather blessed
Google Search engine days.

Lol (as they say), yes, hopefully you’ve guessed
The very innocence of this poem and this fate,
To be blessed by the goddess of goodness and Google.

Alex Grey’s legs spread all over the page, those pornographic
Magazines you had in your day – but here, yes here,
Between the pussy and the penis as Leonard would say:

All over your screen both Alex and Alex vision and visionary
Grey, pornographic goddess and visionary shower of the Way,
All for your delectalment of deliciousness (and wisdom)

All in one day. When one innocently Googles looking for
‘Alex Grey the artist’ but specifically his artwork of sexual
Content. Ah, ‘content’, what a pun, why would one ever be?

Content with such a multiplicity, municipalities, principalities!
Poetic profusions like words spilled all over your page; when
One is one with the Goddess that’s all that’s betrayed.