Feed on

The Battle of Grosvenor Square


March 17th 1968



I went down to the demonstration

to get my share of the view

I was standing in the crowd with Mr. Micky

when the police came charging through


I decided to tell my counselor

but she didn’t like what I said

she said the police train their horses to spare the crowd

and that’s when I saw red



the rider drifted into a stern return

not that malice held the reins

rather the joy in agency

in doing

he swung his horse round

to begin his return

moving as a lion begins its kill

the soft yoke

of havoc


two girls

like two gauche grazers

began to feel isolated



open in too much space

they moved to change

this dawning that that they stood as victims

in the unfolding pattern

they moved as cattle begin to move





as things flowed

so it unrolled

the horse upon them

they’re run into a fall

one outward one forward

the horse over a fallen body at a canter

horse’s legs and hoofs in movement

a camera might see it clearly

to me it was a flurry

of hoofs in that beautiful bent rise

that I saw

hoofs hooked like sapling

in a flurry over her coat her hair

and where is the eggshell skull?

that they are alive today is luck

and not your bourgeois claptrap about “responsible policing”


but then I



pain and death

sprung  in the instant

into to an echoing

not passively watching

but flowing

into another

and for no reason but to flow



as I started to run I could see others

coming to the aid of the girls
so I was off

pursuing the rider




luckily I never caught him

cause he was on horseback


you don’t like working class heroes do you?

well that’s probably not just class interest there
how about a but a bit of penis envy



so what did I see.

I saw the girl trampled under hoof

and saw no woman trampled



My therapist, Caroline, my ex therapist, way back then, was a woman in her thirties, middle-class, and she thought my radicalism was youthful posturing. I was twenty-four and she, Caroline, was then a friend and mentor rather than my shrink; but, and I thought that her conservatism stemmed from class interests.



what did I say?

I say what I thought I saw

but why say  “trampled?”, she asked

because the instant was an instant

and that is what I saw

I say

I saw

my  words

I call

what I saw

were the hoofs on her back or not

would I have seen different


and why indeed did I say “trampled under hoof”

I have to confess now half a century later
it was sloppy talk spoken to perpetuate my view
my fake news


but why, I thought, did she create such a commotion

it felt like she was always at my balls

I thought her at times
as a jealous frozen older woman

fighting to maintain her portion
and I asked her why she denied the death and blood

outside her door?

could it be guilt  Ms. East India Company


I asked her is this poem

an older version
which I read to her
why she said
to speak correctly





is it false memory fake news
that I saw Jagger there maybe ten yards off
by a police…
policeman’s horse’s head
Jagger with a cigarette in his hand
did he look at the horse
the fag
and walk away
cause what could a poor boy do
but to play in a rock and roll band
because in sleepy London Town
there’s just no place for a street fighting man




What If …


What if the Conspiracists are right
and they are, the Conspirators, the Illuminnazis,
are building death camps under Wal-Marts?
What if …

What if Grof has got it, caught it,
and the birth trauma underpins our sexuality,
and damn near every darn thing?
What if …

What if our life is a dream?

untitled: the hill above Taff Wells


the hill above Taff Wells
–  it’s orange brown green
and misty cloud enveloped –
says “peace” to me
while the train rattles “commerce”
and my gut ruffles
it ruffles me


the round lady across the aisle
is she frumpy or dumpy
I look away


all day I’m “judging”
exhausting my patience
am I discerning
or exhausting my soul


they say there’s an end to this journey
yeah the wheel fall off the bus
and us oldies filter through meditation
looking for relief


in the UK the autumnal trees
are yellowy browns and brown greens
a refinement of the day
on our treadmill way

oh half a year and spring will spring lime bright
and we’ll go walking through the town
clinging to promise
expecting satisfactions to be there for a prayer
say thank you and smile
we’ve been here before
in the eternal bright and blight

while the hills above Taff Wells
orange brown green
and misty cloud ‘veloped
say peace
say peace
on this autumnal day

Edit Post

I have posted an essay “three thoughts : chasing enlightenment”  (click to link)
and I’ve copied it below… (where, however, it lacks pictures)
three thoughts : chasing enlightenment 
Several friends have told me some interesting this lately… There was Dan, a few days back, asking me to ponder laughter. It isn’t just a resolution of “cognitive dissonance”, and the release of tension that comes with that, because that doesn’t explain the banana skin splat. Is the release in slapstick “thank God it isn’t me”! I don’t quite see… but, we can sense that release is… Hmm?
So then Dan asked, as a follow up to the release of laughter, asked me to ponder “enlightenment” : did he point towards zen koans tacitly positing that, again, there is indeed “release” in the light bulb “a ha!”
I don’t know if I can explain why I found this so “brill”. I guess it gave me a little ping of release….
Then I found what Brittany shared with me yesterday delightful: but… I feel I have to fill in some background here: so, with apologies, a list…
Spinoza’s substance: my intellectual friend, Terry, tells me that Spinoza said that everything can be reduced to a single essence, a substance, the God stuff.
Quiet abiding: Philips said that half a century ago, when he was first out east chasing enlightenment, meditating with gurus, he had a transportation into bliss, into ecstasy, and it lasted a full eighteen months, the high, it did indeed abided, but it was exhausting. Ecstasy is an agitation. And Philip says that the Buddha says, beyond bliss, beyond ecstasy, is quiet abiding. Tranquility.
Ananda: my friend Tee gave me a book on meditation by her guru, swamiji Nityananda. On page two Nityananda explained that the literal meaning of ananda is, that which cannot be lost or divided /diminished. (And that makes sense: the a is Sanskrit words denotes a negative sense of the whatever.) Ananda is quiet abiding, the God stuff.
“Kundalini awakening”, which In my circle might rather termed a “Spiritual Emergency”, is a rather sudden, often startling, overwhelming “waking”, associated with the subjective experience of “energy” flowing (usually) upwards. (Stanislov Grof edited an interesting collection of essays on the matter with the title: “Spiritual Emergence”)
And I want to mention Wilhelm Reich’s model of psychosis – Reich say that when the body, and the self, can’t contain the energies flowing through them, they overflow chaotically.
Finally let us note that there is an overlap of the several phenomena, psychosis, kundalini awakening/Spiritual Emergency , drug induced psychosis, and the mystic’s spiritual experience (awakening, ecstasy) are overlapping sets.
Brittany is a young woman, mid twenties: a musician. We just recently met at a writers circle. Yesterday we had our first tete a tete.
Brittany listened well while I spoke and spieled, and then told me, when I was ready to listen, some of her story. Four years ago, following on a moderately severe concussion (bicycle and an opening car door) that led to a troubled time of headaches and pharmaceuticals (pain killers and mild tranqs/diazepam’s) for some months : and then… what sparked it? She decided to cozy up to her existential and her personal; pain… and then she said, and for her this was the key, she didn’t try to transcend them. She cozied up and hung there : no rejection, judgement, and she woke! And Brittany said that the energy, the light, just fountained out of the top of her head, like water from a hose, pressure rising to the sky: and here Britany gestured with her hands above her head, a fountaining to the heavens . Then she said, “But if you try to stop it, like putting your finger in the hole to block it,” and she gestured again, finger to skull, “it goes thbbft” (something like that, like Bill the cat) … *
(Now note! this guidance, this story, isn’t for everyone. You have to ask yourself, always, about anything, “is this safe?” And, we live and die by our intuition.)
Finally, I saw Terry today, and I checked on my representation of Spinoza. Terry pointed out, added, that for Spinoza, “substance” was indivisible, like ananda, an indivisible God stuff.
Then we were talking about “oneness” and multiplexity. My realisation that in a literal sense there is no actual “duality”. There is, in some sense, oneness, and there is multiplicity. And Terry said that the mind is a singularity. Mind experiences the multiplexity: but mind itself is a oneness! Interesting. I will have to ponder this, but – curse of the intellectual – “oneness” surely is ineffable, imponderable and, quite possibly, just an abstraction. Mind, and God, as “singularities”. Hmm?
* Calvin sometimes said “THBPBPTHPT”, but I think he was quoting Bill the cat.

I’ve posted a new page on the “animal mind”

Further musings on the Animal Mind : self awareness



do take a look


Untitled: Three young women…

Three young women,    girls,
tees and jeans,    arms raised in that infamous salute
celebrating the murder of millions…    and I’m stopped.
Yes, they were teased before teasing, abused before abusing,
and love gets me where?
Shedding a tear in this Instagram world.     

Older Posts »