JDF
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http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19256

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gravelight/sets/72157608636053847/

http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/
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We rest.–A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.–One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!–For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
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http://www.boingboing.net/2009/08/04/what-is-the-meaning.html
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is the tat a pal had done when he joined up and when to go guard the Falkland islands in the South Atlantic, half way round the world from Lancashire.

Smashing up my toys as a child: there was always one which would break if you didn’t hit it hard enough with the small lumphammer I had stolen when I was seven; from the back of a next door neightbour’s van. She was a contractor, a single mother and I stole all her tools because I hated her kids, who bullied me continually for most of my childhood – from the age of 2 and a half to seventeen.

I found a counsellor and Zen mistress in the local BYO restaraunt where I was working after leaving school at 15, after becoming something of a problem child because of the bullying. I used to do a lot of weed there with the women and one man who worked there: or rather, volunteered.

It was a Collective: BYO dining experience and Art gallery for the homeless and those afflicted by drink and drug addiction. I was in pretty mad shape back then, and had just stumbled into Mahayana (Sanskrit: महायान, mahāyāna literally ‘Great Vehicle’ – of what became love and light, eventually.

I did some pretty strange things in BYO i can tell yer. Crazee shit like levitation, after attaining the second of the eight main siddhis, or supernatural powers: Laghima (lightness), things changed forever, because no longer could no longer give an etic account of the God who claims this being – to know that god as a liddle ole fairy tinker dude – because emic it went kiddas; right out the bowl yeah and flew rogate to the court of Saint BO the cow-flower goddess of ancient Mahima (greatness); third of the siddhis that connects us to some pole of knowing held aloft and leading through attainments, to Prakamya, the fifth siddhis which is one’s indomitable willpower.

The fourth ‘attaintments’ is Prapti, which I have tattoed in invisible ink all over my body and soul babes, bodying bold y’all ‘n – you know how it is – American babe in arms.

After a few years of study and training and coming along a very well-like course, some knowing from the ineffable suchness and thusness of Tathata (Sanskrit तथाता tathātā; Chinese language 眞如 ) arose from within one’s consciousness.

It was after a Flower Ceremony I remember, at the cemetry where ole shades wear the air invisible, crickets birup and ravens craw with rook – a helluva time – and owls in nocturnal avian flight whoosh silent and, lo and behold; it was all 4×4: all lubberly juvverly mockney geezer, we’s all near a bowl of perennial flowers, pretty crocuses pinned on our L able bones that known Isita (superiority), Vasita (self-control) and Kamavasayita (control of passion) – flew threw as light to here from beyond our ken American poets.

Now, I ‘m a pretty simple living dickead without much brains, unlike Socrates, a stupid Man who’ll fork off the road more traversed in search of what happens, happening and that, lovely looking music which come o’er thine ear as Apollo’s golden horn. His ilk I can live with in the zone A; an ilk I wanna let it be known to.

Buy my Book

Love Poems

..if it ever appears in front of your ears dearest American Reader: English is us, let’s throw a ball and know

Poetry Assassin: coming soon, from a famous replacement, island winding dreams are t/here, America my love.
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Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old
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The graveyard databases are actually out there, believe it or not, and growing. Once, my brother-in-law and I thought it would be a good idea to put flat screens in tombstones so that the (wealthy) dead could tell their story to those visiting their grave. To our disappointment, this had already been done as well.
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http://www.findagrave.com/index.html

but that sushi thing, that’s probably not going to happen.
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