Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
643 · Jun 2016
The Referendum Rap
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
Do I leave, Do I stay
Do I play or run away
Which way today
Go left, go right
Do I stay, do I fight
Who’s my brother, who’s my mother
Who’s my wife, and who’s my lover
It’s me, or them,
It’s now, or then
Maybe my community,
Or a dangerous lion’s den
Do I tango,
Do I talk
Do I break
Or make a wall
Do I fly
Or do I fall

Left right Left right
Wrong Right Wrong Right
Far right Outta sight
Loose Tight Loose Tight
Left right Left right

Well now I’ve come to the crux of it
I’m going to be a Bodhisattva Brit
All this self, cherishing spin
Explains the state we’re in
Our imperialistic past
Built the wealth of our state
Now we’d better give some back
Before it’s way too late


Sean Hunt  June 7 2016
I rewrote this poem, changed the title, added the last verse.  I think I may leave it alone now, but one never knows :)
642 · May 2016
I Never Know
Sean Hunt May 2016
(Inspired by ‘Another Solitary Reaper’  by Wordsworth)

I never know if, out of sight
Another stands by in delight
Listening to my melody
Intended  just for me

If I sing in the open air
And only birds can hear me there
I wonder what response they have
I know they cannot clap

‘Tis very well they hear
Though we can see no ears
I could be wrong but
I doubt they enjoy our song

We think we are alone a lot
When we are not
Assumptions made are wrong
About who listens to our songs

Sean Hunt  May 11th 2016
(Inspired by ‘Another Solitary Reaper’  by Wordsworth)

I visited Wordsworth Trust in Grasmere this morning.  They have established a poetry blog and are inviting poems from the public for consideration.  They are selecting some for publication on their website.  They are specifically asking people to read 'The Solitary Reaper' by Wordsworth and write a poem inspired by his poem.  So this is my effort.  If anyone wishes to do the same you could publish the poem here and then contact Simon Davies at Wordsworth Trust by email or send a link to your poem on Hello Poetry.  I think I will try the latter.   Simon's email address is:  S.Davies@wordsworth.org.uk.

My idea worked well;  I copied the Hello Poetry url link and pasted it in my comment on the Wordsworth comments page.........i.e
thoughts on “Another Solitary Reaper”

https://wordsworth.org.uk/blog/2016/05/04/another-solitary-reaper/

Sean Hunt
11TH MAY 2016 AT 5:31 PM
Your comment is awaiting moderation.

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1648554/i-never-know/

I wrote a poem inspired by this Wordsworth poem and I uploaded it to a web poetry site (link above). What struck me about the poem was not the actual imagined idyllic experience of a surprised eavesdropping walker, listening to a well-sung song, it was for me, the non-awareness of the singer that she was being listened to and enjoyed; I found this to be the most interesting aspect of the described scene. Thank you for the encouragement to read this poem and be inspired by it Simon _/\_
REPLY
641 · Jun 2019
A Healthy Death
Sean Hunt Jun 2019
Don’t get carried away
scientists say
If you savor your cinnamon-flavored tea
drink it moderately
you’ll live long enough
to reflect on your life
you may outlive
your husband or wife

With moderation
consequence causation
will be controlled
so we slowly grow old
guarding our greenness
as long as we can
But death will destroy
each woman and man

Come what may
our plane will crash one day
We will fall from a height
day becomes night
We jog and we cycle
off to our coffin
so super-fit
we jump into it
638 · Jun 2016
Another Me
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
Another Me

Today
Is over
Once again
Tomorrow 
A new one 
Will begin
How many more
I wonder now
Before
The sun is new
And the day
Is different
Maybe 
More moons 
Maybe  less
How many legs
Will I have
A hundred
Ten
Or one
Or none
Which label
Language
Will I learn
How many days more
I wonder
Before
There's
Another me
For me
To be

Sean Hunt June 3rd 2016
637 · Jan 2016
A Horrid Sight
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
I know some friends consider me
To be a dour dharma dude
That's ok because
As they say
Each to their own food
Or wine
Or entertainment  time
And their own rules
For love and hate
Of every thing
Like my silly little rhyme

One look in a clean mirror
Can give me such a fright
If all I saw were me
Out there
What a horrid sight!
That would be,
If all I could see is me!

Sean Hunt
Windermere Jan 7 2016
627 · Nov 2015
Fickle
Sean Hunt Nov 2015
My mysterious mind
Is predictably
Unpredictable
And fickle

Unpredictably fickle me
I never know for sure
How I'll find my mind,
Day to day

One day I love my room
Next,  I would sooner
Be in any other room
In any other country

Blown by unseen winds,
A random necklace of doldrums
Interrupted by tropical tempests
And occasional thunder

One day I am bright
Inside, I feel my mind
Is lit up by
O lovely light

Next, the bulb is dim.
I cannot see well enough
To know with certainty
The state that I am  in

Karmic  cataracts inside my mind
Can make my world yellow,
And ever so slowly
I can slip down below

No one has ever seen
The karma popcorn machine


Sean Hunt
Windermere   November 20 2015
To see video visit:  https://vimeo.com/146371587
625 · Jun 2016
Tea And Trumpets
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
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 :(
622 · Dec 2015
THE FACE
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
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
622 · Feb 2016
Valentine's Day
Sean Hunt Feb 2016
Valentine's Day

I live alone
And my house could be cleaner
And there's no one to comment
On my demeanor

But

I tremble to think
Of the crevice and *****
On the slippery hills of
Love full of hope

Sean     Feb 14 2016
619 · Dec 2015
The Presumptuous Poet
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
The Presumptuous Poet
(Written for a monthly gathering of poets at The Wordsworth Trust)
in Grasmere, Cumbria, The United Kingdom

Am I a presumptuous poet?
I asked myself
(Through the mouth
Of an imagined
Proper poet
To this ear of
A possibly presumptuous poet)

Some, I fear
(Maybe someone here)
May find my efforts at poetry
Presumptuous
Plebian
Pedantic
Or simply
'Proper poor'

Especially
In this holy
And enchanted
Lakes and Mountains Mecca Land
Where words seem to be worth more
Maybe I need to be
Cautious
Consider my station

And call myself a
Wordsmith
Instead of  'a Poet'


  Sean Hunt   November 30  2015
Windermere
617 · Sep 2017
Between Breaths
Sean Hunt Sep 2017
Between Breaths
take a rest
Stop for a moment or two
there’s nothing that you
really have to do
The world will keep turning
There’s a trick you must learn
Hop off the merry-go-’round
Drop out of this twisted town

A universe of time can be found
when you separate moments
and have a look around

You don’t need to breathe
the air will satisfy
like a piece of meat
When you don’t need to drink
and you don’t need to eat
and the ground just moves
underneath your feet
you can walk on the wind
from the west to the east
Just sit, and enjoy, the feast

A universe of time can be found
when you separate moments
and have a look around
611 · Dec 2015
Ode To Charlie (Chaplin)
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Why did you do it Charlie?
You showed the side we hide.
For the comic crucifixion,
On our cross you hung your pride.

You stumbled and you fumbled
In front of the whole world
But much to my surprise
You were a big hit with the girls

I wonder what they saw in you
That they didn't see in me?
Perhaps humble innocence
And vulnerability

Sean Hunt  
2015 June Windermere
609 · May 2016
Am I A Romantic Poet
Sean Hunt May 2016
I used to call myself an A-Romantic Poet, not wanting to include myself
In the group that I thought knelt at the altar of nature on two knees, writing only about the prettiness they see.

Am I a ‘Romantic’ poet, I ask myself out loud. The jury is out.

At first I thought they only wrote about flowers and hills and things outside the mind. Someone said I was wrong, that they can write about inner inspiration and movements of mind, as long as their internal spring of feeling is strong, intense and vibrant like tremors, geysers, erupting volcanoes, hailstorms, floods, and hurricane furies; or as still as a daffodil bending in the breeze.

I think perhaps I write like an already very strong and steady wind that sometimes surprises with an even stronger gust that defies expectations, and explanations, and demands attention, like an ignored diva.
  

Sean Hunt  May 13  2016
First attempt at a 'Prose Poem'.  On July 7th I will be attending a monthly meeting of local poets at Wordsworth Trust in The Lakes District in Grasmere and the topic for that meeting will be Prose Poetry.  I know nothing about Prose poetry but the first sample I saw from the poet who will be leading the discussion did interest me so I thought I would try one.
607 · May 2016
Alone
Sean Hunt May 2016
Our aloneness we deny
And defy
Why?

We’re as alone
As a cloud
In a crowded
Sky

We’re alone when we’re high
And alone when we cry

We're alone when we're  born,
And alone when we die,

And alone in between
Our hello and goodbye

Sean
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
Like a telly weather presenter
You have given
A perfect representation
Of bittersweet Britishness,
My good friend, Keith!  

I love many things about England
But the bittersweetness
Of the weather
Is not one of them  

My ideal climate
would be the same temperature
every day, all day
and all night,
all year long
  
The moon would have to become
Sun-like during the night;  
Then I would be perfectly content
(with the weather)  

The weather would stop being
Such a persistent
And consistent
Topic of conversation
And question of commentary,
On whether it was fine or not

The climate in question
Does not exist
Here on planet earth

Sean Hunt
Windermere, January 16 2016
600 · Jan 2016
Elaborations
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
I am
Exhausted
By my
Hallucinations
And elaborations
Partially plagiarized from ancient Buddhist wisdom.. 'elaborations'
596 · Dec 2015
ODE TO LISA
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Ode To Lisa

Written a few months before
My daughter Lisa died
In a drowning incident
Related to her 'dark mystery'
Illuminated by this poem

She was very angry
But she wasn't sure why
Poured ***** on the flames
And watched them fly into the sky
She lived for a while inside the fire
Holding the hand of Joan of Arc
And they were both illuminated
In her dark mystery

Just before she became black ash
She stepped out of her furnace of fire
Slept a while, drank water
And forgot the flames

But in a little while
A spark from her old life
Ignited her hidden rage
And in desperation she escaped, again
From her conventional cage
Into her dark mystery

Sean Hunt
Windermere April 2015
585 · Dec 2016
Photoshop
Sean Hunt Dec 2016
We need to stop
And see
You and me
We photoshop
The whole catastrophe
The life of you
The life of me
Why do we deny
Reality
It will end soon
And be gone
Back to the place
Where dreams come from
581 · Feb 2016
Love
Sean Hunt Feb 2016
I thought I loved them
But I was wrong
All I knew about love
Came from a song?

Everything I thought I knew
About love was wrong

Who ever taught us
That love is for them
And love is not a fix
For the arm of men

Greedy and needy
Desperate junkies
Obsessively feeding
Hedonistic hunger

Could this be  a ruse
A cosmic trick
To keep the race
From disappearing?

An implanted psychosis
Ensuring that men
Will reproduce
Again and again?


Sean Hunt  
Windermere May 2015
580 · Dec 2016
Let It Go By
Sean Hunt Dec 2016
Don’t grasp at the past, just let it go by
The people, the places, like clouds in the sky
Don’t grasp, at the past, just let it go by
Like waves in the sea, and birds in the sky

Don’t wonder when, don’t wonder why
Everything happened, just say  goodbye
Don’t bother with sorrow, don’t even sigh
Your daydream is over, and night time is nigh

Your pain won’t be shared like pieces of pie
No one will be holding your hand when you die
Today may be low, and tomorrow high
Don’t be disappointed by truth or a lie

   Sean Hunt   Sept 28 2016
579 · Dec 2015
THE MAN FROM THE EAST
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
The man from the east
Had so much to say
And it stays in our minds
Until today

“It's all about them
It's not about me;
Don't believe what you hear
Don't believe what you see”

We dream through the night
We dream though the day
Under sun or moon
We see the same way

Sean Hunt
Windermere, Xmas 2015
578 · Feb 2017
The Refugee
Sean Hunt Feb 2017
When I go down to the sea
I can float
On my own
For a while
Like a boat.......
And I can swim around
On the surface
For most of a morning
Like a porpoise
I can dive down deep
For a minute,
Maybe two or three
But I can't live
For very long
In the sea

The land where I can stand
Is meant for me
But whose land?
Will it be?

Who'll let me stand
Who'll let me sit
Who'll let me walk around on it
I can't be
Stuck
In the space
Between countries
I am a refugee
But there's not much difference
Is there
Between you and me
Don't you see
Sean Hunt Aug 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 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
575 · Dec 2015
COLOR
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Some like rocket red
Or the sheen of bright green
I prefer pastels

Some like shocking pink
Others are mellowed by banana yellow
I prefer pastels

Navy blue for bigger boys
Or **** sportscar red
I prefer pastels

Forest green seduces some
Purple for my mum
I prefer pastels

Subdued, subtle, soft
I prefer pastels

But black is cool too

Sean Hunt
Feb 13th 2015
575 · Aug 2016
A Good Meditation
Sean Hunt Aug 2016
Remember this morning
Abiding in stillness
Mind unwound
Staked right down
Nowhere to go
Nothing to do
An absence of ‘Me’
An absence of ‘You’
Inspired by the fire
Of wisdom and love

During your delicate
Dangerous days
When walls are falling
And sirens are singing
And maras are flinging
Every thing
Remember this morning
575 · Jan 2016
Did He Imbibe?
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
When he changed
The water
Into wine
Did he imbibe?
574 · Jun 2016
Only Mum Knows
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
I think I am an Irish man
As mum and dad both come from there
But only mum knew with certainty
All the blood that flows in me

I could be Greek or Israeli
Or I could be a ****** Brit
He could have come from over the sea
I may not be proud of it

I don’t dance well, and I’m not mulato
So African blood doesn't flow
I’ve never pinched my pennies
So Scotch blood there’s not any

But I had such a ****** big swallow
I drank so much whiskey and wine
I think I must admit it that it’s all
Irish blood in these veins of mine

Sean Hunt   June 8 2016
565 · Mar 2016
Dream 2
Sean Hunt Mar 2016
I can kiss your cave
Like no one else can do
The stone rolls away
You want me
To come through
Invitation urgent
No negotiation
Unspoken yet insistent
Of this I am sure
Your 'yes' means 'yes'
You are not demure
You guide my every step
Without a single word
You show the way in

Sean Hunt
Windermere March 5th 2016
I awoke with this highly unusual and exquisitely detailed dream.  I have been happily single for two years with my archive full of most satisfying journals that I have never needed to actually revisit, because I just knew they were there and any time spent going over the experiences would be a type of unnecessary self-torture.  I doubt they could be improved upon.  But recently I have begun to have new dream experiences that rival and even exceed the bliss of the archives.  I don't know what this means;  I suspect it is important but I am not sure how or why yet.  Perhaps someone is in the wings?  Perhaps some seductive spirit nymphs are playing with me?  Regardless, I enjoyed this dream very much and there were NO complications!  A few poems have manifested from these dream experiences.  Here is this morning's.  I really did enjoy this 'visitation' :)  The poem is succinct;  I don't have the time to provide a detailed one, I have a busy day.  So this is a 'quickie' poem :)
565 · Dec 2015
Do We Know Peace
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Do We Know Peace

We know war?
Do we know peace?
Most of us only know war
From news and TV
From movies
Far removed from
Reality
But do we know peace?

Peace is an absence of war
Peace is also an absence of
Addiction,
Obsession,
An absence of
Uncontrolled desire,
An absence of
Intense emotion,
An absence of grasping
At things,
And people,
And ideas,
And theories,
And countries,
And football teams

Sean Hunt
2015 Windermere
564 · Nov 2016
Here And There
Sean Hunt Nov 2016
Just like a wisp of smoke
Swirling in the air
I am here, there
And everywhere

We were introduced
But never met
We were both blind
And deaf

You didn’t stay
For very long
Maybe my memory
Is wrong

I was almost known
But not quite
Your sense of me
Was just not right

You tried to touch me
Again and again
I tried to let you
Now and then

I’m a memory of
Someone, somewhere
Who used to be
Just over there

Behind the wall
That never fell
The other three
Made up a cell

We thought we knew
Each other too
You, me
And me, you

But we were not two
We were more
We were not two
We were four, or more

I looked for you
In your limbs
And underneath
Your silky skin

You looked for me
In my heart
And in the mind
You took apart

We never found
Someone there
All we found
Is smoky air
563 · Aug 2016
Where Have They Gone
Sean Hunt Aug 2016
Where does inspiration come from
When there’s none where has it gone

Where do thoughts come from
When they go where have they gone?

Where do dreams come from
When they die where have they gone

Where does love come from
When there’s none where has it gone

Where do memories come from
When they leave where have they gone

Where do mothers come from
When they die where have they gone

Where do ideas come from
When there are none where have they gone

Where does death come from
One day it will be gone
563 · Jan 2016
Where Is New Year Now?
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
Where is 'New Year'
Now?
Where was it then,
When in happened
It went so fast
It didn't last long
And we can't
Remember it now
Anyhow

It didn't last
Long enough
For a song
Or a sigh
Or to say hello
Or goodbye

What's it all about
A burp and a shout
A wonderland
******* wish
For all to be well
With everyone
Measurably
Better than the past

That didn't last
Long enough
For a song
Or a sigh
Or to say hello
Or goodbye

Sean Hunt
Windermere
12:00 am January 1st 2015
New Year's Day
553 · Feb 2016
Misguided And Mistaken
Sean Hunt Feb 2016
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
551 · Dec 2015
A POEM WITHOUT A THEME
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Can you imagine
A poem
Without a theme?
The theme of
That poem
Would be
The absence
Of a theme.

This poem
Tried
Unsuccessfully
To be
A poem
Without
A theme

Sean Hunt
Windermere 2015 April
549 · Mar 2016
A Work In Progress
Sean Hunt Mar 2016
'Forgettable'

What an interesting theme!

I often wonder
What would I want to remember most
If I had Alzheimers
This contemplation led me to
A realization
(I'll try to memorize)
There's only one thing to remember:

'The unfindability of all phenomena'
(a.k.a. 'emptiness')
(a.k.a. 'lack of inherent existence')
(a.k.a. 'lack of true existence')
(a.k.a. 'Ultimate Truth')

I hope I can remember this
And that it helps
If I ever find
My memories
Flying into the sky
Like balloons

I must tie
A special string
To my finger

To RE MIND me

Sean
This is not a poem, ( think ) I just wanted to place it, as a first draft
of whatever it will end up becoming
549 · May 2016
Unwritten Rhyme
Sean Hunt May 2016
I need to stop being me
There’s somebody else
That I want to be
I spend nearly all of my time
Thinking of me
Thinking of mine
I seem to be stuck
In this unwritten rhyme
Since beginningless time

Sean Hunt  May 2016
Sean Hunt Jan 2018
Where is 'New Year'
Now?
Where was it then,
When in happened
It went so fast
It didn't last long
And we can't
Remember it now
Anyhow

It didn't last
Long enough
For a song
Or a sigh
Or to say hello
Or goodbye

What's it all about
A burp and a shout
A wonderland
******* wish
For all to be wonderful
and well
forevermore

It didn't last
Long enough
For a song
Or a sigh
Or to say hello
Or goodbye
545 · Aug 2016
INCEPTION
Sean Hunt Aug 2016
‘Inception’ implies
Much more
Than the word
That is commonly heard
When we dig deeper
This well has no bottom
Dive like a swan
Into that pit
And you’ll not find
The end of it
543 · Nov 2015
Five Colored Lights
Sean Hunt Nov 2015
Five colored lights
Radiate
Illuminate
Emanate
From the me
That you do not see
From the 'I'
That will never die

From the middle
Of the riddle
Of life
And death
And the seemingly
Meaningful
Dream
Of the day

Five colored lights
Radiate

Sean Hunt  
2015 Windermere
https://vimeo.com/146960012
541 · Oct 2016
Mind
Sean Hunt Oct 2016
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
538 · Jun 2016
STILLNESS WITHIN
Sean Hunt Jun 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
534 · Mar 2016
Queen Mary Of Windermere
Sean Hunt Mar 2016
Mary moved ever so slowly
At the end of her years
She was naughty and nice,
And a friend to everyone, even the mice

Her every step a journey
Through the gardens green
Announcing edicts to the mice
Our ‘constitutional’ queen

“I don’t hear so well” she’d shout
But then I did surmise
That Mary heard quite well
Through her wide open eyes

I will miss her glinty glare
Through steely eyes of blue
Her spark, and piercing stare
This queen, I’m glad I knew

Sean Hunt March 13 2016
Mary is a neighbor who recently died after having to move house because of the recent floods here in Windermere, UK.  She was quite old and it may be coincidental, but I suspect the upheaval was hard for here to manage in some ways.  Her life was quite controlled and pleasant before the flood.
534 · Jun 2016
Is This Prose Poetry
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
It’s taken years to learn to rhyme, but now it’s time to break the chains, and I wonder ‘will my writing ever be the same?’.  With trepidation I will try to take the first step.  I lack the knowledge to predict success and wonder if this will be a mess.  I note that I am still not free from this seemingly ingrained habit of mine (I speak of rhyme).

Am I an addict, I ask my self?  Is my style of writing out of control?  Am I hooked like a ****** to the seduction of what seem to me to be siren-like sounds?  This is new!  I never knew that verse was worse than ****** or ******* ***, which I have been habituated to at times.  I never knew of the sultriness, the sensuality of poetry until, through imagining it’s end, I begin to sweat and shake, a little.

It is like a fix, and it is cheap.  No need to run around the streets to try to score.  If I stop and think, pen in hand, I can get some more.  

I fear I am still stuck in rhyme, though I have not checked yet.  Do I know what prose poetry is?   I am sure that Google does.  It may be time to stop and turn the tower on.

Sean Hunt  June 8 2016
I go to Wordsworth Trust to a meeting of local poets once a month.  A poet will lead a session on prose poetry next month so I thought I should try one out.  I think I had better google 'Prose Poetry' to find out.
533 · Jan 2016
Sarasvati
Sean Hunt Jan 2016
SARASVATI


You fly upon the wings of a swan
Sarasvati where have you been
We're living in a din
Sarasvati where have you been?

Cacaphony surrounding me,
Explains the state I'm in
Sarasvati, goddess of Poetry
Eloquence, and ear-truffle Artistry
Flying on a swan
Carressing  strings
Entertaining,  
Explaining,
Singing
Sarasvati, where've you been

Where have you been?
We're living in a din....
A dissonant cacaphony
A world without harmony,
Silly little love songs,
Sounding Oh so wrong
Oh Sarasvati, where've you been?


We love your eloquence,
And poetic elegance
You speak beautiful truth,
You do!
Sarasvati, where have you been?

Maiden of Manjushri,
Mother of Minstrels

A sad state of affairs,
For my mind and for my ears
Now I wouldn't mind if I went deaf,
For the rest of my years
Sarasvati is the Hindu and Buddhist Goddess of Wisdom, Learning, Poetry and Music.
Sean Hunt Feb 2016
Where is sound
To be found

Is it in the air
Or in the ear
Seems so far
Seems so near

From where does it come
And where does it go
At the end of the day
Nobody knows

We can tango
And do the waltz too
When sound is around
We love to groove

Why we like to dance
Is a mystery to me
And why we move
To a melody

Where can sound be found

Windermere  2016 Feb 4
523 · Dec 2015
The Dance
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
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
522 · Aug 2018
The Truce
Sean Hunt Aug 2018
Your rhyme which tells your tale so well
inspired me to respond in kind
My rhyme took some time
Here we sit mystified wondering asking why
and we cry
We know we failed to catch the water at the fall
We tried to save it all
The places from which we came have different names
and so we both play our own game
The languages we speak are not the same
When neither wins both are fools
and it’s impossible to follow rules
Two vows of silence might induce
perhaps, a lasting truce
but blinded eyes still replay all the stories that we know
and so we have nothing new to say
One tries to see clearly things appearing
The other tries to see more clearly
the empty space between these things

When we recline, and embrace, we close our eyes
close our mouths and we fly
For a while every thing is pacified
then stomachs and minds grumble
words stumble we fumble, become humbled
Each has a lesson to be learned
The prize will be earned one day
but the reason and the rhyme
will take some time
Nevertheless know there is no random hand at play here
Though hidden from view for me and you
behind the mystery we will find something true
521 · Apr 2016
Tragic Magic
Sean Hunt Apr 2016
Seems like
Psychosis squared
To me
I don't see you
You don't see me
You don't see you
You don't see me
What else can it be?

So many songs are written
About this sorry state
Which always ends in tears
Sooner or later

Enjoy it while it lasts
It will only be 'true'
If it does not change
Into something new

Magic never turns into tragic

Sean
516 · Dec 2015
SURFER TOM
Sean Hunt Dec 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
516 · Jun 2016
The Lion Points The Way
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
The Lion points the way
Touching the ground
With one hand
Stillness within
Is found
Human confusion
Is all around
Us
But
Like leaves in the wind
We will all land
And touch the ground
One day

Sean Hunt   June 15 2016
Next page