Words Not War

400 Billion Stars

2011-03-29T14:17:00.010+01:00

The quill has recommenced
Of boundary or of fence
The universe has realigned
The murky waters its sublime

Four hundred billion stars exist
Float free from all it can resist
Marked with a name they do become
A message of truth it will succumb

The stars they hold a story you see
The light it shines words do decree
What is written is not for us to know
For each step we walk is each word we stow

Our eyes are yet to share a glance
Our bodies yet to make the dance
His words tame my ego and my heart
Of brevity no less it is a start

The quill is free to scribe once more
The stars they guide an open door
For all is written so high above
All living things such bond they love

MCARB 2011

Sweet Words

2011-03-25T17:45:00.003Z

Sweet words, oh sweet words
What purpose do you serve
To lure, to tempt, to simply state
Sweet words, oh sweet words

The quill has now stopped
The elevation has been dropped
A simple fact alters direction
Changing his faltering affection

The human skin he cannot resist
A male why should he so desist
The lion roams his field so wide
Free to move like rhythm and tide

The word ‘friendship’ used in distinct ways
A guise, a mask, to hide true pains
A clever device keeps open the doors
The space it creates the endless shores

A fool am I for being so blind
My eyes could not see beyond such kind
Yet all makes sense in retrospect
The irony I shall never forget

Sweet words, oh sweet words
The power and force of your deceit
A weapon my heart it feels such defeat
Sweet words, oh sweet words

The quill has stopped.

MCARB 2011

The First Time

2011-03-23T20:09:00.003Z

New technology so advanced
Pictures on walls paraded they danced
Erotic displays of contrast a gun
Or perhaps a water pistol not to stun

Such weapon of delectable destruction
Or simply a virtue of sweet seduction
No need for such steel devices
Only enhances evil its vices

My wife she did seek to clarify
Not all it seems is on the eye
Plastic and unintentional deceit
Not convinced my heart still skips a beat

Words of reaction it did provoke
A comment expected of many a bloke
Enticed by suggestive human skin
Primitive perhaps not a complete sin

An intervention it did require
For such comment alone one may decipher
Words of construction may lead to confusion
A wire is threaded to ease the delusion

Words were indeed profoundly written
Received with intent to openly listen
Words were indeed profoundly replied
And so it begins the quill of first time

MCARB 2011

Free D or 3 D: A New Way of Thinking

2009-06-19T08:38:00.003+01:00

What is it about the human condition that makes people think that the only way to operate is in two opposing ways? In a crisis the human condition chooses either ‘flight’ or ‘fight’, in a battle it is either ‘win’ or ‘lose’, and in a relationship it is either ‘stay’ or ‘leave’. Similarly in conversation it seems that most will opt for either a ‘for’ or ‘against’ position, as evidenced in debates.

Is the only way of operating by taking this rather unhelpful ‘either/or’ position, a polarity which inevitably results in disagreement and conflict, achieving very little but two stated positions that sit on the north and south poles? Is not the aim of relating and talking with each other to find middle earth so to speak, to find resolution and agreement or a new perspective, so that people can evolve and grow from those experiences, making peace rather than making wars? Would it be so bold as to postulate that perhaps the reason why so many world leaders find it difficult to reach agreement is because they feel their only option is to hold on tight to their position, too frightened to step into middle earth and experience what lies there? It would be naive, of course, to think that this is the answer to all the world problems, but it would be equally careless to underestimate the power of how two people relate in conversation.

I wish to propose the idea of 3-D thinking which adopts a ‘both/and’ approach as the best way to tackle the many issues facing students and universities in today’s current climate, not through debate. This is not to say that debates do not have some purpose. They raise issues which need discussing and they put forward two opposing views highlighting differences of opinions, the extreme views if you like. That is the nature of debate, to argue your side of the story. But how useful is that and how appropriate is it in a university setting when one would hope that the intention of raising issues is to do it in a way which promotes free and open thinking without such opposing views? Debates only perpetuate the polarity of extreme views rather than promote conflict resolution. It seems fitting that a new way of thinking is introduced to enable change and promote closer relationships between students and the universities.

The idea of a ‘both/and’ approach is not new. It has been theorised in psychology, in theology, and only this year did Barack Obama promote the idea by stating that the only way to build a new financial regulatory system was to switch from an ‘either/or’ position to a ‘both/and’ position. But what exactly does the term mean and how can it help students and universities? One of the best ways of illustrating its usefulness is to apply it to two opposing views. Let’s take two principles in the Human Rights Act 1998 - Article 8 Freedom to Privacy and Article 10 Freedom of Expression. If we view these Articles from an ‘either/or’ position, and put two people in a room and say argue for and against, all that will be achieved is the voicing of two opposing views and reasons for those views. However, we all know that at different times in our lives we both want privacy and the right to express ourselves. In this way we are both private and public beings. The ‘both/and’ position allows us to move away from extremities and see things from a third dimension, like 3-D viewing. Once we accept that there will always be two sides to a situation, if not more, a fresh and new perspective emerges, resulting in infinite possibilities and preventing extreme views. If it achieves that one single outcome then it is worth thinking about, in a 3-D fashion of course.

*This article was submitted to The Guardian for their competition called Free Debate. The article was selected and made it to the finals, but unfortunately did not win. Here are the winning articles: http://www.guardian.co.uk/free-d

THE TRILOGY

2009-05-09T21:14:00.006+01:00

I met a boy on the train and wrote a poem about him. Four years later he contacted me having only met him once in those four years, by pure coincidence, for about 10 minutes. He has inspired a further two poems which I have now called The Trilogy. Our story continues.

Funky Glasses

2009-05-09T21:00:00.004+01:00

Young and sexy delicious as fruit,
I’ve not seen him here before,
Does he travel to Brighton, what for?

Alone he travels with pen and paper,
Has he come from a tall skyscraper,
He looks not like a business man,
Perhaps in fashion, designer he can.

Whatever his profession, a mystery he is,
Unable to read him like a magazine quiz,
In his own world, he is quietly asleep,
Meditating peacefully or just counting sheep.

His glasses are totally with the funk,
And his good looks make him a bit of a spunk,
I hope he knows he has a special charm,
And a disposition of peace and calm.

The Brighton to London Poet

Mysterious Delirium

2009-05-09T20:59:00.006+01:00

A man so stylish my eyes did greet,
Never before had I wanted to see,
Reaction to my words how would he be.

The smile so natural perhaps he’s pleased,
Must remain hidden so the moment is seized,
To give such pleasure a selfless act,
The intention is such not fiction just fact.

The beauty of art expands far beyond,
Moves with grace white swan in a pond,
The power of words entices the soul,
For life is most beautiful when it is whole.

The poem is given my work is done,
Never to see him contact is none,
Yet fate will lead him to me once more,
It’s a mystery with so much delirium in store.

He appears from nowhere on stage am I,
The timing impeccable I thought I would die,
Not knowing how he truly did feel,
My heart beat increasing where is my shield?

That brief encounter my question unanswered,
He later requests no more emails I’ve tampered,
It seems there will be no contact no more,
As long as my poetry he did once adore.

Three years have passed a message he sends,
What calls he now what flavour he blends,
The mystery unfolds the illusion now clear,
Touched by my words no longer I fear.

To meet or not the question remains,
Elusive and brave beguiling it wanes,
The delirium seduces the erotic it stays,
The silence of touch forever the days.

The Brighton To London Poet

Wheels of Fate

2009-05-09T20:58:00.006+01:00

What brings him to me is unclear,
We met by pure chance you can see,
And now the forces bring him near,
No explanation perhaps by a seer.

As I ride this train listening to the kooks,
The situation leaves me feeling somewhat spooked,
Yet the exciting shivers do outweigh,
And all I can do is ruminate all day.

His face so sweet and full of stories,
Of ancient wisdom and future glories,
He lives a tale of varied moments,
Spontaneous in motion the thought his sense.

A transitional position an axis he sits,
Waiting for the wheels of fate to persist,
His destiny it spins in all directions,
For where it lands is not his own fruition.

He has lurked about and entered my mind,
In an unforeseen and unpredictable sublime,
But who really cares about applying such logic,
For the feeling inside is purely wild magic!

The Brighton To London Poet

© 2009 MCARB

LOVE

2009-02-13T21:05:00.006Z

These poems have been inspired by love, the love I have observed, the love I have given, the love I have received, the love I wanted, the love I didn't want, the love that is conditional, the love that is infinite, the love I crave, the love that I seek, and the love that just is.

Unfinished No End

2009-02-13T21:04:00.002Z

His skin on mine ignites
The flame of indiscretion unites
A past love unfinished no end
Moroccan spices exotic blend

His body so strong and robust
The passion of sin full of lust
Temptation unable to resist
He slides his hand I cannot desist

His mind once free from scandalous desire
The chemistry sparks a ravenous fire
The heat protrudes the layers of my heart
Our bodies infused the wanting now starts

Moist and burning sensation he craves
The touch he can no longer refuse he stays
The fight he gives up for pleasure arrives
Pulsating rhythms extreme sexual drives

There’s no point fighting such powerful desire
A natural force from a place much higher
Electrifying energy from the touch of his skin
On my naked body the intensity begins

The magic our bodies know so well
Time passes yet we commence from our previous farewell
It’s like the touch was never meant to fade
Perhaps our love story is yet to be made

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

The Steps of Love

2009-02-13T21:03:00.002Z

To dance the steps of love
Rids the toxic waves of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

To dance the steps of love
Expels the poisonous vacuum of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

To dance the steps of love
Transcends the bitter taste of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

To dance the steps of love
Dispels the potent forces of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

To dance the steps of love
Eradicates the viral nature of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

To dance the steps of love
Stunts the contagious growth of hate
The more you dance
The less you hate

The more you dance

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Rushing Love

2009-02-13T21:02:00.002Z

I see him standing on a corner
From a distance he starts to rock my world
Could this be the man who holds the key
To my heart its closed who could this be

Love seems so far from my infected mind
It hurts the past tempered sores remind
That love can’t be true only full
Of lies and secrets of push and pull

I can’t fight this feeling no more
Its love I know it’s rushed before
Letting go of toxins from the core
Its love I know it’s rushed before

You walk toward and close to me
I can no longer hide behind the wall
You look into my soul so deep
The key you hold it’s yours to keep

The love you show powerful and raw
The pain extinguished from my sight
The rays of lights from bright high
For love and happiness my soul does cry

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Ignited Flame

2009-02-13T21:01:00.001Z

They dance so close together,
It seems they will be united forever,
The passion runs wild you can see,
Arm in arm, eyes to eyes they perfectly be.

Together they look like one,
Their energy shines as bright as the sun,
Dancing to roaring twenties they appear,
Fresh and exciting with nothing to fear.

Their flame is ignited so intensely brave,
For love surrounds their world untamed,
Laughter and unrequited happiness,
They move in harmony such sweet caress.

Enjoy this precious moment in time,
For it is a blessed with an ever soft sublime,
The warmth you create is wonderfully bliss,
Your tight embrace and excitingly filled kiss.

I witness this love amongst friends so new,
Lust or love, they question it too,
For it seems so raw, can it be so?
Five years long it’s true love can grow.

I’m pleased for them but for me it means,
That perhaps true love I am yet to have been,
For confusion rests on what is love,
In time my heart will open and fly like a dove.

That day will come and the feeling will flow,
The stars will shine brightly with an earthly glow,
And light up my world for now it is clear,
For love is so radiantly pure with nothing to fear.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Erupting Emotion

2009-02-13T21:00:00.007Z

Our bodies meet and erupt with emotion,
For the closeness creates a rhythm and motion,
He touches my skin blood starts rushing,
And I feel intense passion my face starts blushing.

He begins to caress my body from low,
And gently and slowly kissing my toe,
His soft lips my legs he does kiss,
And the feeling amazing such total bliss.

The thought of him going higher drives me insane,
Teasing my body and mind I have no gain,
Unable to control his actions to me,
I close my eyes and heaven is all I see.

My legs moist and body throbbing so,
Wanting to climax I tell him where to go,
Touch me inside he refuses my plea,
And continues his hand moving all over so free.

The womb a sacred and powerful place,
Of childbirth and orgasm a wonderful space,
He uses such care as he reaches my breasts,
Licking them fondly around and in between the crest.

He says he can smell and taste all of me,
Into my eyes he looks so deeply he can see,
Our special connection that I so treasure,
For now I wish for this feeling to stay forever.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Senses

2009-02-13T21:00:00.001Z

Touched by his sense, gifted by God,
Held by his father, together they plod,
Reaching for my cheek, a softness to his kiss,
His touch is so tender, so totally bliss.

He listens to my voice, what does he hear?
I wish it’s my courage, more so than my fear,
He travels from Madrid to visit his brother,
Seen as his equal there is no need to smother.

I prepare him some food, how will it taste?
He devours it completely, leaving no waste,
This pleases me immensely, smiling to show me,
I have done good, this fills me with glee.

His head wanders knowingly, what does he smell?
Unable to see, like a child in a well,
Aromas in the air, flowers and incense,
Unlimited senses, a boundary no fence.

A brief moment in time, his touch in my heart,
For here it will stay, never to part,
Making this world brighter, ridding its tenses,
For you bring a lightness, with all of your senses.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Sad Love

2009-02-13T20:58:00.002Z

A chemical infusion that is so intense,
Between two people unbearable it makes no sense,
Impossible to be with or without their love,
Yet while apart one can fly like a dove.

Unable to sit in a room without wanting to touch,
And kiss their lips the feeling it’s such a rush,
Like an addiction a hit heals the pain,
Yet dependant and destructive unable to gain.

Lust perhaps or purely a strong connection,
It’s like a fast and growing viral infection,
Unable to treat or find a cure,
Except to remain far so never to lure.

When distant the flower is able to grow,
And the pain extinguishes never again to show,
Independence is reached a higher plane to travel,
And no more jigsaw puzzle to unravel.

It’s a ‘sad love’ for two cannot be united,
Or experience the fondness when lovers delighted,
Feel sure that ‘sad love’ stops the healing,
From the past pains that life’s cards have been dealing.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Chemical Flame

2009-02-13T20:57:00.001Z

He says that I am soft such perfection,
I make him smile glass eyes reflection,
It feels like together we have been,
Many years and lives together we’ve seen.

Past, present and future we’ve had,
Times of fun and pleasure so glad,
His world unites with my domain,
Age obscure on similar plane.

We connect in spirit so very well,
The west sounds of chimes and funky doorbell!
Our tight embrace lights dark sky,
Our wings expand so we can fly.

His eyes brown with nature’s green leaf,
Oceans blue waves collide crushing reef,
Earth and water we are one,
For now we meet to have some fun.

The connection rides a rounded wave,
Courage and passion together so brave,
Our bodies make a sparkling chemical flame,
Burning brightly goat and crab perfectly tame.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

A Woman Does She

2009-02-13T20:47:00.002Z

By the coastal waters this woman does live,
A gentle mind and open heart she does give,
My mother she befriended in recent years,
Together they have shared joy and many a tears.

Three sons and a husband this woman does share,
Her love and compassion it is thee she does care,
For peace is her message to spread to all,
Always available to those who do fall.

Softness and warmth this woman does show,
Walking the central coast streets so thoughtful she does go,
Touching people’s lives in a very special way,
Leaving them content to get on with their day.

In her spare time writing and reading this woman can do,
Her talents are endless and she is creative too,
The coastal waves reflect her clear crystal eyes,
And brightens this planet below the heavenly skies.

This woman she does and a woman does she,
Her strength and courage she shows for all to see,
I wish her success in her future life,
For I know she is a remarkable woman and wife.

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

Tree Surgeon I

2009-02-13T20:47:00.001Z

I see his eyes from afar,
And feel a beat, a shining star,
Appearing right in front of me,
Does he hold that special key?

Approaching him I find I can,
Queuing and waiting here we stand,
A local boy lives by the sea,
Seven Dials not far from me.

We travel along to different places,
Never to see one of those faces,
A brief encounter for me today,
To work I leave I’m on my way.

I take a seat on London train,
To write and read with such lovely terrain,
My mornings often a fun filled ride,
What today will bring in my great stride.

A familiar face I see get on,
A great surprise the sun has shone,
I smile and feel glad to see,
He approaches and sits next to me.

We talk and talk so easily,
Two common souls how could this be,
I share my stories with him so,
He listens well, his eyes don’t go.

He looks into my soul he sees,
An innocent child and all her fears,
Yet his stare makes this go away,
A moment in time or here to stay.

Food now trees his daily tasks,
A surgeon he oh what a blast,
He works with nature by his side,
He’s made my day, a fine delight.

© 2005 MCARB
The Brighton to London Poet

Tree Surgeon II

2009-02-13T20:46:00.002Z

I see him at the station again,
He purposely misses his morning train,
To sit with me and travel together,
We discuss my poetry and the weather!

I read to him along the way,
His body moves to things I say,
I mention love and soft kisses,
I feel his pulses and hear his wishes.

My tree surgeon, good or bad?
Chopping trees would make me sad,
He reassures me that he’s a good one,
Protecting nature, conserving, he feels the sun.

His eyes seem lighter with lashes so long,
He liked my poetry what could be wrong,
He looks intensely deep within,
Perhaps its lust, that’s no great sin.

Today he asked me for my name,
With quiet confidence and no shame,
His sweet demeanour attracts me so,
He likes my name, he’s charming and I must go.

My train not ready I hang around,
Reading TIME and taking in the sound,
Of people bustling off to work,
Today I meet not one single jerk.

How exciting for me that he can see,
That something special, that spark in me,
Trees and cats, two precious items,
What a catch, a sexy indictment.

I wonder if we will ever kiss,
His tight embrace, a feeling of bliss,
Will he ever find courage to court me,
Only the future, only time can see.

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

A Blanket of Unlimited Love

2009-02-13T20:44:00.000Z

To a woman so close and dear, when far and near she weeps, for the longing creeps in for the closeness conceived at birth.
The umbilical cord did tie the connection of such wondrous affection,
from mother to child with no affliction.

This woman her world she made, her children their life came first, for sickness and for worse, her choice made clear, to wipe our tear, in sadness and in joy,
the foundation of her story.

Three children the love she shared, forever her role she declared,
to see our growth, our failings, our strengths, a mother the love she dared.
Her courage, her faith, her will, to offer us a chance in life,
to give us what she wanted so, far places we would go.

Her desire to love did not tire, unrelentingly putting out the fire, of our misdoings, our mishaps, and our naive misperceptions.
Her mind is blind to deception, her heart open for all to see, and her soul blessed by the gift of the power of high above.

Such love, such grace, such tender feminine touch,
she walks this earth with pride hiding her self-doubt, her self-inadequacies,
so no-one can see, her tear, her fear, her own timid story.
All, so we can be free to experience the fullness of life, refraining from strife, and excelling in our own individuality with an abundance of humility.

A true mother she has been, her strengths and weaknesses I have seen, and I love her even more, the times she has let go of her role and shown me her core, for that person deep inside no longer run and hide.

For Emily is her name and as her daughter
I have no shame to write these words for her –
Mother I love you so and thank you for teaching me to go, into this world alone with a blanket of unlimited love.

And in times of doubt and fear, I wrap my blanket and remember, the person you taught me to be, the individual who is free.
From the deep pockets of my heat I forever shall thank thee.

Happy Birthday Mum

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton To London Poet

FAITH IN HUMANITY

2008-05-05T16:26:00.002+01:00

I have decided to title this collection 'Faith In Humanity'. An idea I have been exploring for some time now. Only today I had a phone call from a friend of mine who is also traveling through India and she recalled her experiences of how her faith in humanity has been restored. Traveling teaches us to have faith in humanity, as well as it showing itself to us in so many unexpected ways, usually when we let go of all control. And when we travel we are often forced to let go, so we have little choice but to trust humanity. And what a great joy it is to let the universe provide for you. These poems are from my time in India and you will notice that it is a much shorter collection. That is because my time in India was not spent talking and writing or using my mind in that way. It was spent contemplating, meditating, observing, all things great and divine. It was spent being in every moment and breathing. And it was through each breath, and staying present, that faith in humanity was possible. From the times when I thought I had nowhere to stay in cold Dharamsala, to getting my mobile phone stolen, at all times I tried to not react and trust in myself that everything would be ok. And it was, more so than if I had tried to control what lay ahead of me or react to fear. Because lets face it, everything is ok until we make it not.

The Sweetness of Love

2008-05-05T16:25:00.010+01:00

Will I ever experience the sweetness that only love can provide?
A ride filled with infinite joy beyond the great depths of the earth which we walk,
Too great, for love is greater than all things,
And thus I fear I may never reap the wondrous rewards which only love can bring.

The love of self holds itself in great esteem,
For no love can be greater,
And yet its heights seem beyond human reach,
Beseech me for I wish I could attain such love.

For what must I do to experience,
The free flow of lightness of love,
To let go of such heaviness which sits deep below,
Unable to undo the knot of tension.

My landscape of love is yet to be refined,
But I will not lose hope,
For hope may bring me the eternal happiness,
For which my heart desires.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

The Intrepid Traveler of India

2008-05-05T16:24:00.005+01:00

What does a girl do when she loses her mobile phone in a big Indian city after having just achieved a great feat like driving a vehicle in peak hour without smashing the car to bits? Well, she initially reacts by having unnecessary negative thoughts, she gets a lump in her throat wanting to cry, scream, yell, blame someone for such an injustice.

But stop. The girl reminds herself that the phone is an object worth nothing. Yes it contains all her contacts but hey doesn’t she have people’s emails and doesn’t this mean she can get these numbers back? Of course it does. The girl then reminds herself that in life one must take the good with the bad and most importantly she reminds herself that bad things happen everywhere in the world, restoring her faith and love of India.

She takes a deep breath pushing the lump in her throat downwards so that her feet remain on the ground withstanding any further negativity so she can smile once again remembering that objects serve only the purpose an object serves, very little.

For life has a much greater purpose than a mobile phone. The purpose to love. For to lose a phone means loss of nothing except the attachment we carry. But to stop loving means a loss of life and that is worth more than one can imagine.

The girl takes another breath and with that breath she reminds herself that for every person who steals, cheats and lies, there are millions of Indian people whose generosity and hospitality is the best in the world.

The girls smiles and in her mind reflects on all the people who have helped her during her trip in India. From the reservations counter in Mumbai CST Train Station, to the couple from Pune who rescue her from a poisonous snake bite, to the Ayurvedic doctors and their family from Latur who show such kindness. These people are living saints whose energy will eradicate the energy of the desperate people who must steal to survive.

So the girl resolves herself, her unnecessary pain and grief for her materialistic object that has been lost. The girl has one final message to the people who have her phone. ‘Please remember when you use my SIM card it will cost you lots of money as it is from the UK. Best you buy an Indian SIM card, AIRTEL works for me, and happy phoning!’

And the girl has a message to India. ‘India, I love you, thanks for being such a wonderful country full of life, full of love and full of learning. May you develop in a way which benefits the whole human race remembering your spiritual values so deeply engrained in your society giving your land a unique richness that only India can sustain.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Arba Mistika

2008-05-05T15:58:00.003+01:00

A place which stands on the top of a hill,
A place which offers people peace and much good will,
A place of serenity and mystic,
A place of pleasure you can seek.

A place called Arba Mistika,
A place of fortune no weaker,
A place with palm tress and rice paddies,
A place of love and sweet green trees.

A place a sandy road it reaches,
A place of magnificent sunsets it teases,
A place of blessed and sacred magic,
A place where time sits still and static.

A place of great and far reaching wonderment,
A place which leaves the heart with fulfilment,
A place to take your breath away,
A place which transcends night and day.

A place for all faces,
A place for all places,
A place you must visit and stay,
A place which will bring happiness all day.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Lover

2008-05-05T15:57:00.006+01:00

We make love like the perfect harmony,
Orchestrating the natural sounds so blissfully,
Skin to skin, lips to lips, such sweet caress,
The rhythmic movement two bodies collide so blessed.

His hand he did giveth to me,
The beat of his heart racing I did see,
We seek each other out like hunt for the prey,
Our paths crossing leaving our destiny to fate.

What made him come sit by my side,
Drawn to my being like the moon and the tide,
A musician and a fish he swims in the sea,
A scorpion his ascendant feelings so free.

The kiss of perfection a taste so divine,
Flavours created when two bodies intertwine,
My body is full with rich and delicate spices,
Of pure love a virtue no vices.

My body trembles from his touch sensation,
Leaving me content with each vibration,
Is it possible to love someone in an instant,
Our worlds depart our bodies now distant.

Time will pass but this moment will stay,
In my heart forever the feeling I furthermore pray,
That I will experience once more the warm sounds he makes,
To the tune of my heart when it is awake.

Play a beat so my body can dance,
To the rhythm of such a sensual trance,
For today I leave your warm embrace,
And the memory of you in my heart a special place.

This poem I find hard to end,
For meeting such love I did not intend,
And now I must go to travel a vast land,
And I hope that one day I can giveth you my hand.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

A Bus Ride To Hampi

2008-05-05T15:56:00.003+01:00

From Israel a man he does travel,
Unravelling the marvellous delights of India,
We met by the shady shores of Goa,
A bus to Hampi we did ride together.

The boulders, the rice fields, the palm trees,
A place so rich in colour and ancient histories,
Together we breathe in the gentle air,
And feel the serenity of a place that cares.

We share the same bed such strangers,
Yet his eyes remain far from mine,
Perhaps a sign of respect he is showing,
Or his desire for me is simply unwanting.

A chess game he finds intriguing,
He sits with the Nepalese and local people,
Worldly and open his mind remains,
From vices and cravings he does refrain.

To Thailand he will next explore,
New smells his senses will endure,
For now I get to spend time with him,
Such wonderful energy so free from sin.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

A Couple They Live

2008-05-05T15:55:00.004+01:00

A couple they live upstairs,
Three years together is theirs,
For love has crossed their path,
Immense joy to make them laugh.

A beach they travel as two,
Listening to nature’s sounds they do,
Days governed only by sun and moon,
Stood still in true beauty until monsoon.

A sonnet, a ballad, a note to play,
An instrument he acquires a sound he makes,
Brave and courageous he seeks to know,
The secrets of music lie below.

And she her hair flows so enticingly,
The water her friend a feeling so free,
Sweet pleasures she tastes so lovingly,
The menu of life is how it should be.

Together they attain life’s purest emotion,
Two souls they merge human devotion,
Delving the depths of passion and fire,
The flame burns brightly so love will not tire.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Father And Son

2008-05-05T15:55:00.003+01:00

By the lake a father and son they go,
A road together they stroll,
From a race they proudly call their own,
And now they wander the lands of rocks and stone.

The lake its waters have mysteriously emptied,
The son surprised a jump he now fears,
Nature’s rhythms its cycle changes,
And now we sit in awe such strangers.

The father sits alone in contemplation,
Absorbing life’s wonders in quiet anticipation,
His mind seems peaceful a full life he lives,
To travel he loves his wisdom he gives.
The lines his face tell such deep emotion,
His son he shows such sweet devotion.

The lake makes moving patterns and shimmers softly,
To the beat of an echo its sounds so playfully,
The father and son now leave the lakeside,
And together they travel to lands so far and wide.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Sandy Feet

2008-05-05T15:54:00.002+01:00

Sandy Feet,
A place to chill out and eat,
Sandy Feet,
The best food cooked by gorgeous Nepalese,
Sandy Feet,
From morning to night,
Sandy Feet,
Its charm will make your day so bright.

Sandy Feet,
Like the colours of a butterfly,
Sandy Feet,
Your wings they stretch so wide and high,
Sandy Feet,
May you attain happiness and success,
Sandy feet,
Accept only the best my friends, no less.

Sandy Feet,
You will remain special in my heart,
Sandy Feet,
The memory of you will never to part,
Sandy Feet,
Thank you for sharing the love you so freely part.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

Distraction Departs Her

2008-05-05T15:53:00.001+01:00

Today her lover leaves her,
A moment distraction departs her,
For time has granted space for her,
To experience the joys so intimate to her.

How conscious was this decision for her?
For the plans she decided now lay behind her,
No sin committed for lust does blind her,
A traveller she striders eyes wide open for her.

A new day beckons now alone for her,
Bringing forth those plans before her,
Creativity and inspiration must now become her,
To complete a cycle so dear to her.

Thy pen so might still unaware to her,
She must seek courage and sing prayers for her,
To lift the hand which has been granted to her,
So powerful words can righteously bestow her.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2008 MCARB

AFRICAN TALES

2008-04-01T23:00:00.007+01:00

I had always dreamed of going to Africa, I just didn't know in what capacity. An opportunity had arisen whereby I had 3 weeks off work and I decided I would volunteer for a HIV/AIDS organisation in Africa. That seemed both a righteous and noble thing to do. Not for one moment did I think it could possibly change the way I viewed the world forever.

I went to Africa expecting to volunteer and make a documentary about HIV/AIDS, I should have known better than to control what was in store for me, I should have known better to control my destiny.

I had imagined providing education on HIV awareness, training nurses and being busy with the NGO Hope For Living. Expectation is always based on our own values, judgments and hopes. It is no wonder we feel surprised when our expectation is not met as it is fuelled with so much personal gain.

I felt very ready to give myself to Ghana however was Ghana ready to receive me? In Ghanaian custom, 'time' has a very different meaning to what I was use to. 'Time' is governed by the sun and the moon, by the light and by the tide. Hence, I did not expect to spend my first week doing very little. Well, that's what I thought. I was in fact doing quite a bit. I was adjusting to a new way of life, a foreign culture, built on ancient custom and tradition.

The following is a collection of poems called 'African Tales' and is a personal account of my experiences as a white industrialised woman, traveling to a foreign land, holding firm ideas and thoughts about how I could save the world. I had also met a new lover just before I left for Africa. This, combined with my outlook for my trip, was always going to be a recipe for some wonderful poetry, if nothing else!

New Insights

2008-04-01T19:26:00.003+01:00

For those who do not know,
To Accra I could not go,
A visa slipped my mind,
Returning to fly another time.

A week later I board my plane,
Running late with many delays,
Amsterdam to Ghana I now soar,
In six hours I arrive at their door.

The unknown and new experience,
To explore a land of such deliverance,
A continent with history so ancient,
Their hurts and crimes so blatant.

Africa a land so rich and poor,
The great divide, a paradox no more,
For its riches have led to its demise,
Greed and gluttony the clever device.

I sit with two sisters sweet delight,
A large continent they leave from their sight,
Passionate and eager to participate,
To improving society’s future fate.

North Carolina the accent so strong,
To Ghana a group they will bond,
An itinerary which schedules their time,
Historical perspectives a wondrous sublime.

We share this space, our travel,
As we reach a place of great marvel,
The airport will be our goodbye,
As we part to gain our new insights.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

The Sound of Africa

2008-04-01T19:24:00.002+01:00

I woke to the sounds of African women singing,
To birds ringing,
And roosters whining.

I woke to a beat,
Which one cannot sleep,
For it keeps you alive,
As you rise,
To welcome it

The sunbursts a loud hello,
Alone and amidst the bright blue sky,
And banana leaves sway in time,
With the warm breeze,
With ease,
The day begins,

And my sense of sound has been ignited,
Coupled with the oh so familiar smell of Africa.

A sensory explosion,
For it has long been touched,
I have desired this much,
For my land of origin sings the same song.

My blood longs to dance this fine tune,
Of morning dew,
And summer nights.
For England has made my blood thin,
And the greyness dim,
Perpetuates the longing for something grin.

I am but a mere stranger to this land,
Yet unknown of its foreign sand.
I wait in anticipation of future elation's,
Or perhaps deflation.

This is but the pure anxious excitement
Of entering naively the adventures of new,
As I weave a unique thread,
And wed the fabric in stitch,
To which a blanket is made.

This blanket will guide me,
From the pitfalls of human frailty,
And I must believe in the power of the higher deity,
To keep me safe on my path of desirability.

I now leap off the mountain,
A fool wise and unnerved,
For I deserve to be free,
And see how life can be.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Food and Water

2008-04-01T19:22:00.002+01:00

In a foreign country I sit,
My visit testing new ground,
Of unfamiliar territory and sound.

A place taken by one in-charge,
I sit hungry and thirsty I want to discharge
How I feel.

Yet in respect for this foreign land,
I remain silent and suffer alone,
For soon I will go somewhere close by,
Where food and water,
I shall not die.

Comforts I surround myself with and rely,
And now I have been removed from that safe womb,
Into a forest of wild and inextricably sun drenched landscapes,
that shape a continent so vast,
Where things stay slow not fast.

And my body is adjusting to the pace,
Confused and delirious the space it creates,
For I am hungry and thirsty, and anxious to go,
To that somewhere close by.

Yet I know I will not die,
Yet comforts call me home.

I shall display courage and strong will,
To remain still,
And far reaching content,
By the bewilderment I now sense.

The person in-charge in now asleep,
And I could sleep for this strange course of events
That blends my anxious desire for food and water,
Put out this fire.

I reach a point of being out of control,
My role now much more submissive,
Leaving me unable to be completely decisive.

My choices taken away,
And the day drifts from morning to late,
My hunger a symbol of life,
Of primal instinct my strife.

To refuse my need so basic would be wasted,
And I now crave to taste a sweet smell,
To hear a soft touch,
And see a safe tune.

Yet I know I will be somewhere close by,
Where food and water,
I shall not die.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Sweet Seduction

2008-04-01T19:21:00.003+01:00

What sweetness can I speak?
When the taste of you is a memory,
But a memory I relish and yearn,
For when you return I will relearn the memory of sweet.

But don’t let these mellifluous words deceive,
Because despite those memories,
Redolent with every colour and hue,
I can still taste the sweetness of you.

Oh how you speak such aromatic words so naively,
Could be a fool if you deceive me,
For a fool leaps into the wild unknown,
Searching for seductive sweetness alone.

When I do return shall you taste,
And my absence will be no more to waste,
To devour the intricacies of our human make-up,
For passion and frenzy will lead to our inner wake-up.

For words refined yet speak so blind,
For how are you yet to feel the decline,
Of my sweetness it has been so raw,
Of protem time unlike before.

Perhaps you speak from heart alone,
And for this I fall for such sweet tone,
My mind restricts the flame to rise,
I long to feel and still be wise.

I fear the union may travel near,
The distance far our time may sear,
I thus remain the valve enclosed,
To open and release engorges inner woes.

Fear not your questions will be answered,
Our time surpasses all you've wondered,
But what do I receive in turn,
Or is my role to help you learn?

I feel for you and hasten to be close,
Talk no more, silence rules verbose,
One day you may waken and be alone,
Yet your heart will glisten like a precious gem stone.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

The Dream

2008-04-01T19:20:00.001+01:00

I visit you at night, despite,
The distance our bodies disunite,
I can clearly envisage your face,
Whilst I engage in acts of much disgrace.

A dream, a reflection of mind's altered state,
The thoughts and feelings encircle and berate,
I travel to a place of discontent,
A temptress I become I now relent.

But what does this dream really mean,
And is it to cause me pain I have seen,
Or is it simply the projection of anxious thoughts,
And in this way it's a mish mash of sorts.

Yet I awake feeling the guilt of such misconduct,
And I question the accuracy of ill-fate or of luck,
For dreams extend to a realm of inner conscience,
And become entrenched in my waking inhabitance.

Such vivid and alive images do prevail,
Awoken by African women who sing to hail,
I re-enter the state of another plane,
Regardless of my conscious emotional disdain.

Two men I surround Aphrodite she calls,
A barrier erects and I collide with the wall,
My choice and unreluctant acquiesce,
Abates my character such power unbalanced.

In disgust today I willingly search,
To seek redemption whereby I may,
And if this fails I will now perch,
My dream instructs a new seed to sow.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

The Professor

2008-04-01T19:19:00.001+01:00

I met a professor from Ghana University,
He challenged the nature of spirituality,
A background in physics and solar energy,
The University of Sussex he did his PhD.

What are the chances of meeting him so,
In such a vast country and many places to go,
A small village called Ashoma I do reside,
A precious moment in time I do oblige.

A solemn service the ‘prof’ does so desire,
Or is that the rationalization for his faith has tired,
Unsure which religion to now participate,
To question and challenge may be his fate.

A scientist by trade his dogma is told,
Reason and logic a formula so bold,
Religion and science are foundations for truth,
Subjective, objective, they can be so crude.

Is truth the search for so many today,
And what do these dogmas really say?

Today I attend a service to observe,
For many to worship God creator of earth,
A report to the ‘prof’ I am to provide,
An honest account no feelings to hide.

But how to I describe these feelings inside,
My confusion of the intrusion of one so high,
And who am I to judge this place,
Christianity its dogma to many a safe space.

Prof, I leave you with my words to ponder,
Your faith, your truth, all such wonder,
Together we share a similar story,
To question and challenge religious dogma our fury.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Accra Central

2008-04-01T19:18:00.002+01:00

Today I traveled alone to a foreign ground with ancient sounds,
Transported amongst the locals, peered on by strange and curious looks,
I felt strangely like a minority, of lesser than white man’s superiority, and this felt gratifyingly apt.

For white man has destroyed this land with its demands and somewhat gruesome strands of leadership. But I am a white woman, what has this got to do with me, can’t they see I have not infected their earth yet today I felt the mirth of a people subjected to politics of dirt their hurt runs deep and why should they trust a white woman who travels alone.

External influences infiltrate my thoughts and myths, morals and misperceptions seep through and judgements and values creep in yet they are not deep and I trust in the people of Ghana for they are my equal and history shows they have climbed great heights of their steeple and survived the demonstrative results of colonialism, imperialism and many other isms.

The people of Ghana showed kindness to me, yes they can see I am a white woman with no harm to cause, others have created the wars. Yet I remain mindful I can be perceived as part of those who deceive with ulterior motives and this in mind I act in kind and show my utmost respect to the people of Ghana.

Perhaps it is my own internalized fear and I subconsciously seek to reprieve for past hurts. Maybe the people of Ghana do not project the hurt of their ancestors and do not detest white people at all. I shall rest tonight with this foresight, feeling deep inside the pride I feel for overcoming my own prejudice and move forward blessed with a new knowing to help me keep going in this world free from judgement and the ability to overthrow the incredulity of external forces which poison and divorce me from the soil which grounds me.

I am pleased for today I was able to see, and subsequently be free.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Age Sabotage

2008-04-01T19:17:00.001+01:00

I meet a young man from Canterbury,
He leaves me with such frenzy and fury,
A lion so courageous is he,
I wonder how long together we will be.

Again I find someone their age unlike me,
I fret for one day he will go to farewell our time,
Am I sabotaging my happiness this way,
Is the universe testing my character I dare say.

Perhaps I must walk away now and hurt no more,
Ethics and morals I decree as my law,
A social construction no need be a limit,
Yet my instinct says the contrary oh god dammit!

We seem so perfect in so many ways,
His charisma, his mind blow me away,
Physically the chemistry is gratifyingly intense,
His taste, his smell leave me blindingly entrenched.

His age discriminates and leaves me wondering,
To end it now to save a future blundering,
To do so will require a greater person than I,
To my grave I will crave for him and on earth I will die.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Wonderment

2008-04-01T19:16:00.001+01:00

Eyes wide open his lens a landscape great,
Absorbing which surrounds so that little dissipates,
Dark colour outlines the cornea he seems so eager and so willing,
To embrace the shades he shall collect to be part of his worldly filling.

He unknowingly strides the soil and emulates,
An innocent young prince he captivates,
The awe of small and precious stones,
He exhumes a sense to him unbeknown.

What lies behind and deep below his sight,
Of mystery not unlike an undiscovered plight,
To venture beyond the shadow of his capacity,
Searching for external love and prosperity.

His eyes sing a song of wild and rhythmic beats,
He dances Brazilian steps with no defeats,
His blood flows like a rapid limits unseen,
And his mind articulates profoundly all that has been.

I witness a rare and an exuberant being,
And observe his desire and intent on seeing,
The world from hidden angels he’s been sent,
To offer a picture of such wonderment.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Marginal Difference

2008-04-01T19:15:00.001+01:00

I look for the difference in worlds apart,
At first to witness an equal start,
A race if colour their familiar desires,
Seeking to survive in a place which tires.

Money, religion and sugar tend to dominate,
No different to developed places I do relate,
Yet amongst this forest the trees do shape,
A unique and individual printed drape.

The people so poor basics necessitate,
Politicians corrupt and speak debate,
Chickens, goats and mangy dogs walk the streets,
Markets array with sounds of African beats.

No shopping mall, air conditioning not heard,
Broadband non existent dial-up the word,
Time takes new meaning of ebb and flow,
Be careful not to judge it as backward and slow.

The people such grace and deference,
White man the source of a dividing fence,
It’s too late now the damage is done,
And African culture fights so the war is won.

The food such delicacy of taste and spice,
Of beans, of meat, of chillies and rice,
Water as precious as blood to the sick,
One treats it as gold knowing when to pick.

I struggle to understand the marginal difference,
And feel somewhat confused and rather incensed,
The indiscriminate access to resources and life,
Once can only summarise this is the African tide.

But where do I go with no conclusion to reach,
Do I lay my own values in order for Africa to peach,
It’s a land like many others I have seen,
Can it not grow evolving from its own means?

Education a privilege the rich can seek,
For others the situation remains quite bleak,
Little access to books, computers so rare,
The government dictating control they dare.

The people are dying alone they suffer,
The aid received acts as a useless buffer,
It doesn’t reach those in need and affected,
By poverty and inhumane acts inflicted.

Fear did bring slavery to light,
And commenced the history of the colourful fight,
As a white woman in Ghana I felt the power,
Of being unequal, inferior so sour.

The taste of bitter unripened fruit,
Eaten with hasten fermentation in pursuit.
No trust in the indigenous tribal land,
Unable to communicate to the song they chant.

Nelson Mandela fought for equal rights,
However he failed to consider capitalise plights,
Race his main issue he fought and raised,
Ignoring socialist approaches as alternative ways.

Thus black people remained victim to financial gains,
Allowing equality to fall short from the reigns,
Classism blocked a fair distribution of wealth,
Leaving Africa in poverty no powers no stealth.

Now America controls all its richness,
Although the locals are blind to this deceitfulness,
They strive to work in offices and suit,
Ignoring the land and the delicacies of their fruit.

How does one begin to overthrow capitalism,
It’s woven in every aspect of the world’s complex prism,
Yet to delay that money so toxic a peril,
Is to disregard the essence of corruption and evil.

With no resolve my case remains open,
And my concern remains true rather than token,
Africa must reclaim what has always been theirs,
And walk proudly amidst their colours and flares.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Missing

2008-04-01T19:14:00.003+01:00

What is this thing called missing?
A human weakness or pure emotion,
The thought of him stays constant,
And only him I crave, I have wanted.

Away from him I lie,
Unable to smell or touch his skin,
The longing runs deep in my veins,
The missing kind of hurts.

The more I think of it the worse it gets,
Perhaps ‘missing’ is like a virus which mutates,
And the more you fuel its life,
The more you feel in despair and strife.

I’ve never been one to miss or be missed,
And shy away from those who declare it,
It frightens me that someone would need me,
Because what if I’m not able to sooth their missing.

Yet those times when I have truly felt it,
I understand it more and fear it less,
It’s almost endearing to know someone misses you,
A comfort so tender it leaves you yearning.

Despite this I don’t know how I feel about it,
The minds’ consumption with something unattainable,
The frustration and longing pains in my soul,
Perhaps the reward is worth the wait.

And in the missing does the mind wonder recklessly,
Constructing realities based on fear,
Or is this a symbol of a deeper conscience,
Meaning the missing takes different shapes and forms.

I have missed before fearlessly,
When love was solid and assured,
I suppose this missing did not pain me so,
And in a way my heart a fondness did grow.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Intensity

2008-04-01T19:13:00.001+01:00

Intensity reaches maximum density,
And my body rides on a function of uncontrollable sensibility.

Intensity overrides all means of rationality,
No logic survives the banality of such unreasonability.

Intensity cures lonely moralities,
And up surges and shoots deep beneath the layers of human skin with little controllability.

Intensity leads to obsessive analities,
Creating new vocabulary unrealistic and unheard of are these profanities.

Yet humanity desires intensity,
And intensity desires humanity, respectively.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

My Hunger

2008-04-01T19:12:00.002+01:00

It starts with a craving,
A mild yet unrelenting craving,
An itch yearning to be alleviated,
The craving increases in intensity,
Now wanting to be fulfilled,
It requires a response.
A mild craving transcends to a somewhat persistent desire,
Which one can no longer refuse what it requires,
The persistence becomes consistent,
And the imagination of the consumption runs wild,
Like a snow leopard hungry to devour its innocent prey,
With no consequence.

The craving now remains nothing more than the beginning of my hunger,
And like the snow leopard I shall not be deterred on reaching my satisfaction,
I have imagined the taste, the smell, the sight of that first bite,
I am hungry beyond my capacity to control myself,
And in my audacity I think of nothing but my object of desire,
I can not go back to the craving for the hunger dominates,
And I run naively for the sweet taste that only he can provide,
Without him I remain hungry,
And I shall starve whilst away,
Yet this day I rather starve that have no hunger,
For the hunger drives me to ambitiously gratifying starvation,
And amidst my painstakingly, poverty stricken organs,
I relish and embrace the hunger,
For it means I am alive.

My object of desire has unleashed my hunger,
He has awakened my spirit,
And it is my spirit which will protect me from dying from starvation,
This hunger is unlike any other hunger,
For it feeds off the absence of my object of desire,
And as my hunger increases my spirit becomes enchanted,
Filling the frenzy with mystical and magical qualities,
Leaving the spirit energised and satisfied in the hunger,
If I were to be hungry for him for eternity I find myself assured and my spirit rested,
I shall crave the hunger rather than despise it,
For to be satisfied breeds greed,
To be hungry breeds an enlightened spirit,
Feed me no more,
I remain content in my hunger,
And I thank thee for the revelation of my starvation.

This is my hunger,
I crave no more,
But seek to ambitiously desire you form afar,
You are the hunger of my heart,
The hunger which keeps me alive whilst we are apart.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Coming Home

2008-04-01T19:11:00.001+01:00

The knowledge of my return eager's me to leave,
To begin the foundation a new quilt to weave,
Excitement flows freely in search of new hope,
I feel empowered having given up the dope!

Anticipating the sense of my new beau,
And in trepidation to observe a heart will grow,
Despite the future this Sunday I will,
Be coming home to be with him, to be quiet and still.

I can not begin to describe the patient longing,
For leaving him so soon increased the craving,
The clock now turns in his direction,
And in his arms I shall feel the sweet perfection.

Three days, two sleeps anxiously I wait,
My concentration detracts from my present state,
Unable to shift from the thought of you,
Coming home is all I really want to do.

Reluctant to lose where I am now,
For my purpose here I must endow,
To reap the rewards of a place so great,
Stories and proverbs to share with inspiring debate.

This land has up surged a new heightened spirit,
And I am grateful for the power that made me do it,
To travel and witness such raw terrain,
And leave me full of delicate gain.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

SWEET REVENGE

2008-03-22T07:12:00.006Z

The following is a collection of poems written on the train commuting from Brighton to London where I was having to deal with crowded trains, stressed out human beings and a fast paced life where people seemed to care for only themselves. People can be so annoying sometimes! Instead of reacting to these situations verbally, and then stressing myself out, I would write about it in the form of poetry. And to thank the person for inspiring the poem, whether the words were of a good nature or a negative one, I would give it to them. It was my sweet revenge. I would always give them the original copy, and I would keep a copy so I could share it with the world. I was often pressed for time and nervous about giving them the poem but this only added to the excitement and drive for me to write. I believe words can fix problems and it is a much better tool than raising a gun to someone’s head. Wouldn't you agree?

London Burning

2008-03-22T07:10:00.001Z

London, a fire was had,
Pita has now spread ,
People are sad and down
Their face showing a frown.

I leave here happy to go
A city so blocked and low,
Negative energy alive,
The spirit in such strife.

The black people give it life,
Style, rhythm helps it strive,
Treated as lower class,
A city that is going too fast.

Oh London you can stop burning,
Your stomach will keep on churning,
Drink peppermint tea to calm,
Open your heart and your palms.

England, not mother at all,
The feminine has taken a fall,
The power you yield is too much,
Let go of imperialism and create a new touch,

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

City Life

2008-03-22T07:09:00.001Z

Skies low, building high,
Smog thick, people die,
Congestion rules, traffic jam,
Tempers fly, doors slam.

Hectic city, patience low,
Crowds push, where’s the flow?
Population climbs, housing drops,
Weather changes, dying crops.

Rock bands play on, music made,
Children being born, people getting laid,
Nature holds its course to where,
Another world not far, a new creative flair.

Poets write, singers sing,
Fundraisers walk, door bells ring,
A time of change, a time of pace,
Heads held high, humility and grace.

These glimpses of hope do prevail,
Society erupts and does not fail,
Good and bad worlds collide,
Goodness shines, love and pride.

Skies low, building high,
Smog thick, people die,
Congestion rules, traffic jam,
Tempers fly, doors slam.

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

Who Do You Think You Are

2008-03-22T07:08:00.000Z

I enter the train exhausted and flat,
Passing a carriages where could I have sat,
Nowhere to go I see a seat with a bag,
Asked a man to move it, oh what a drag.

He says ;'it does not fit above',
But that's not the issue is it love?
I suggest moving it to the other side,
The look on his face was like someone had died.

He said I was rude,more polite I could be,
Didn't realise he was God higher than me,
Explained I was tired and sorry for that,
Continued to treat me like a low life rat.

His energy negative I decide to move,
To find a space with a little more groove,
A typical male I told him so,
But I now I realise, a powerless human with nowhere to go.

I send him happiness, love and care,
So he can see light and learn to share,
I do hope these words show him the way,
So he can smile fulfilling his day.

2005 MCARB
The Brighton to London Poet

Who do you think you are?

2008-03-22T07:04:00.002Z

I enter the train exhausted and flat,

Passing carriages, where could I have sat?

Nowhere to go, I see a seat with a bag,

Asked a man to move it, oh what a drag.

He says ‘it does not fit above’,

But that’s not the issue is it love?

I suggest moving it to the other side,

The look on his face was like someone had died.

He said I was rude, more polite I could be,

Didn’t realise he was God higher than me,

Explained I was tired and sorry for that,

Continued to treat me like a low life rat.

His energy negative I decide to move,

To find a space with a little more grove.

A typical male I told him so,

But now I realise, a powerless human with nowhere to go.

I send him happiness, love and care,

So he can see light and learn to share,

I do hope these words show him the way.

So he can smile fulfilling his day.

Brighton To London

2008-03-22T07:00:00.002Z

Brighton to London a daily chore,

Regular event at times a chore,

Things we do, momentum we keep,

Maintaining a lifestyle to laugh not weep.

Regular faces encounter we do,

Men in suits, women in blue,

Mainly white not very diverse,

Middle class people work they rehearse.

Two months I’ve been travelling so far,

A job in Brighton no need for train or a car,
London’s fumes my energy it feels,

The layers of my skin slowly it peels.

The landscape changes with every distinct season,

The mist now heavy close to Autumn the reason,

Summer ending England’s chill sets in,

The travelling will soon be glum not grin.

Brighton to London a daily chore,

Regular event at times a chore,

Things we do, momentum we keep,

Maintaining a lifestyle to laugh not weep.

The Brighton to London Poet

How Dare You

2008-03-21T17:51:00.003Z

A woman frustrated by someone else’s poverty,
Or perhaps annoyed at her own expense,
For the things she works hard to achieve,
The gap between rich and poor, a dividing fence.

‘How dare you’ she retorts to her,
‘Go work and earn your pay today’,
Yet this woman is poor and has no skills,
How can she work like how you say?

Do you realise that not all people have had,
A life so fortunate like you and I,
For this woman struggles to get by each day,
And you seem blind to her melancholic cry.

How does her poverty affect you so?
Your wealth has made opinion you core,
And by doing so you contribute,
To the widening gap of the rich and poor,

Next time this happens to you my lass,
Be grateful for what you have achieved,
Leave poor people alone to fight their battles,
Empower through silence not what you conceived.

‘How dare you’ I say back to you,
Judge a poor person’s life over yours,
‘How dare you’ I say, can’t you see,
That compassion goes far from you and me.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Respect

2008-03-21T17:43:00.002Z

I came on the train his tunes turned up loud,
It seemed to bother a somewhat conservative crowd,
He was asked to turn his music down,
Preteens and stubborn he rejected with a frown.

The girl beside me and I explain respect,
He partially listens to our polite request,
Before we know it he turns up the dial again,
Disturbing Anglo-Saxon people on the train.

The next thing that happens train guards board,
And people start shouting to remove him, oh my lord!
Out of hand and control this situation has risen,
What do they want to send him to prison.

In his defence we make sure he is okay,
And ensure he stays on so he’s safe in the day,
To travel to his destination on time,
And not be harassed by people so unkind.

A beautiful boy life’s limits he tests,
Pushing boundaries he does his best.
To the girl I travel with I thank her so,
For together we managed to be his friend not foe.

The Brighton to London Poet

Under My Skin

2008-03-21T14:06:00.002Z

Negative energies sit under my skin,
A battle with positivity it tries to begin,
Weighing me down a heaviness I bare,
Making me feel like I really don’t care.

An oil assists in bringing it out,
To ensure the battle is won with no doubt,
Exhaustion creates a breakdown in aura,
Creating a blindness to all fauna and flora.

Pure light my soul rests wanting tranquillity,
To hear the peaceful waves of crashing sea,
To see rays of sunlight beaming afar,
To taste the brightness of above’s shining star.

I am a wanderer by nature my name,
Meeting strangers and lost souls can be the game,
Protecting my aura is essential to thee,
The game can blind and burden oh me.

Under my skin an energy dark matter,
Its atoms and particles so clever to scatter,
The toxins it breeds and manifests anger,
Leaving me vulnerable and open to danger.

Rise from the fall white energy to surface,
Eradicating evil forces and highlighting goodness,
An ancient battle of extreme polarities,
Golden chambers hidden secrets its keys.

Unlock pandora’s decorative box,
Of hope and joy no more scandalous fox,
Past memories that haunt and block thy heart,
Let go of black sheep and make a new start.

A new road a new path I now can walk,
The dialogue of past I no longer talk,
For the future holds a brand new dream,
When life is viewed for how it must seem.

The Brighton to London Poet

Japanese Tale

2008-03-21T13:02:00.000Z

He enters the train and sits his favourite spot,
By the window first carriage is his lot,
He reads Big Issue and a Japanese tale,
And wears his glasses and sleeps as quiet as a snail.

I saw him yesterday and noticed his book,
An epic story of courage a woman she took,
To escape oppression poverty and shame,
Her heart did guide her and lead her to fame.

To work he travels a briefcase in toe,
Filled with papers instructions they show,
His head is needed to complete his tasks,
Whilst his heart fights off capitalistic sharks.

A wedding band his finger he wears,
A loving wife at home he does care,
The breadwinner perhaps he works so hard,
And at Valentines he send wife flowers and card.

I wish this man happy thoughts and every success,
For his efforts will be rewarded for his utmost respect,
May your heart continue to be filled with peace today,
And enlightened you feel to guide your journey, your way.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Addiction

2008-03-21T12:46:00.000Z

He comes on the train smelling of smoke,
Does he realise the impact on his fellow bloke,
The smell it causes so revoltingly bad,
And the harm it generates to his heart so sad.

The paper he reads a sportsman it seems,
Football he follows and England cricket his team,
His chest in infected he coughs to show,
And tobacco his addiction he is full of woe.

Smoking a pastime to fill the gap,
Avoiding life’s real breath and whaling crap,
For addicted to a substance nasty and cruel,
Can he not see that it’s a choice for a fool.

I hope one day that he sees the light,
And he opens his heart so his eyes are more bright,
Filling his life with a natural pure way,
And gives up tobacco this is my message today.

The Brighton to London Poet

Morning Light

2008-03-21T12:31:00.000Z

Morning light, so clear and bright,
Water oil, clear skies a sight,
Tranquil sounds leaves so green,
To the eye it glistens oh sweet scene.

Morning light, smells so pure,
Everything appears oh so sure,
Movement smooth and all very calm,
Skin so soft with oil and balm.

Morning light, please stay all day,
Guide us through our path and way,
To leave would feel so obsolete,
Help us with our daily feat.

Morning light, I love thee so,
Although I know that you must go,
Yet one thing remains very true,
Tomorrow I see your light shine through.

The Brighton to London Poet

The Onion’s Peeling

2008-03-21T12:26:00.000Z

Now that I am clear of toxins
And see the world much clearer,
My view of those who still are blind,
Makes me feel intolerant and very unkind.

This is not how I would like to be,
For my heart wants to stay open,
Yet detox isolates you so much,
I want to keep my special touch.

With only a little more than one week to go,
Where do I go from here,
Everyone seems to be on a different path,
Whilst I oil my body and take Epsom salt baths!

This has been my life for five weeks,
A commitment I made and followed through,
Feel pleased to be so close to completion,
Yet trepidation creeps in with a feeling of depletion.

For I am now closer to the truth,
A self knowing that comforts and protrudes,
A feeling anxious that tears apart,
My foundation of illusion that has comforted my heart.

Remove the foundation and what is left,
The core self, the id and super id,
My mind, body and soul now tri-connect,
The detox is in total force and effect.

I love the feeling of natural highs,
I wish the rest of the world could see,
To share with me the joyous feeling,
And free yourself, the onion’s peeling.

Dark matter is a powerful force,
It controls your feelings, actions and thoughts,
Light energy and anti-matter can prevail,
I have released my toxins to tell the tale.

Thank you to those who have helped me,
The detox queen and my lady beetle friend,
Your patience and humility is valued so,
Your healing presence my love to show.

The Brighton to London Poet

Funky Glasses

2008-03-21T12:08:00.000Z

He wears dark glasses and a suit,
Young and sexy delicious as fruit,
I’ve not seen him here before,
Does he travel to Brighton, what for?

Alone he travels with pen and paper,
Has he come from a tall skyscraper,
He looks not like a business man,
Perhaps in fashion, a designer he can.

Whatever his profession, a mystery he is,
Unable to read him like a magazine quiz,
In his own world, he is quietly asleep,
Meditating peacefully or just counting sheep.

His glasses are totally with the funk,
And his good looks make him a bit of a spunk,
I hope he knows he has a special charm,
And a disposition of peace and calm.

The Brighton to London Poet

A World Free

2008-03-21T09:18:00.000Z

Will this world ever become,
A world free from violence and glum?
Important to listen, open your heart,
Let go of attachments, and make a new start.

Understanding and compassion, traits we must sow,
Nurture the soul let go of what we know,
For knowledge of the mind can cause so much pain,
And so often is used in spite and disdain.

Concrete jungle, technology abundant,
Oxygen is lacking, everything is pungent,
Smell the flowers, where have they gone?
A place so free where the sun has shone.

A violent free world I so wish for,
No conflict existing, no crushing law,
Where people trust their fellow friend,
Perhaps this could be a future trend.

Idealist perhaps, no harm in that,
Moneyless society, a witch and her cat,
No more burning, women must be heard,
They will make a difference, it’s in the written word.

The Brighton To London Poet

Six Weeks

2008-03-21T08:39:00.000Z

I must stay strong, finely even,
Maintain the focus, keep believin’
This is your body, soul and mind,
No more toxins for once it pined.

You are close to truth and resolution,
Energies shifting, fading pollution,
New hope for my future I now see,
To explore creativity a person to be.

My future holds a new beginning,
The lion roars a tune she’s singing,
Proud achievement completing six weeks,
Richness abundant like Arabian sheiks.

The end is near letting go of fears,
Its time to celebrate no more tears,
A joy she feels delighted in self,
Ready to fly encompassing life’s wealth.

The Brighton to London Poet

Sweet Perfume

2008-03-21T08:34:00.000Z

A couple they sleep arm in arm,
Peacefully in love they cause no harm,
Pure love its beauty at its best,
They cuddle tightly and make their nest.

They dream of happy times together,
Happy to support each other and smother,
Two souls connect as one in harmony,
They travel side by side in comfort they will be.

I wish them happiness and true love,
To continue to see things from high above,
Be proud for you have a special place,
Your bodies connect with rhythm and pace.

You show the world love is possible,
Your cup is whole and very full,
What lovely energy you both exhume,
Like pretty flowers and sweet perfume.

The Brighton To London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Pink Not Blue

2008-03-21T08:26:00.000Z

He comes on rushed and very late,
An oh so flustered and kaotic state,
He helps himself to my belongings,
What a nerd, such grave misdoings.

He did not even pardon himself,
For touching someone else’s wealth,
What makes him think he can do,
Inconsiderate bastard and impolite too.

Oh this world is made up so,
Of rushed and panicked, bad and woe,
Unaware and ignorance bliss,
For he not knows pure love and kiss.

I asked him nicely to touch not to,
His defences rise, cranky and blue,
A simple request went unheard,
He cannot fly, broken wings of a bird.

He then continues to be a shit,
His actions smelling a hairy armpit,
He drops his bag on my feet,
A lovely way for a morning greet!

I find a seat, nice and quiet,
And a beautiful woman with a healthy diet,
Its often men who make me feel,
Come on you jerks what is the deal.

The power game is oh so wrong,
It’s weak and dumb, not too strong,
Grow up boys, the world needs you,
To make this place bright pink not blue.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

About Me

2007-05-27T16:00:00.004+01:00

I am the Brighton to London Poet and I first started writing poetry as a way of release. I was commuting to work for hours on end on the train, and people's behaviour annoyed me so much that it was a choice of either writing a poem about it and getting it out of my system that way, or going to prison for committing an offence! I chose poetry.

I decided that even though the person who inspired the poem had done something annoying that they should get a copy, after all it is still inspiration, albeit of a negative nature, if one can call it that. As far as I am concerned inspiration is inspiration. And anyway, they might read the poem and think twice about being so annoying! This inspired my first collection 'Sweet Revenge'. I soon became known as the Brighton to London Poet and, as the local newspaper called me, I was Brighton's commuter gorilla poet. I hope you enjoy these poems, they have been inspired by people, places and things, but most of all by love.

IDAHO and SIDACTION

2007-05-24T10:37:00.000+01:00

In 2008 I exhibited a piece of work for the first time both in Sydney and in Paris. The Sydney exhibition was part of International Day Against Homophobia which is a global campaign. And the exhibition in Paris was to raise money for SIDACTION, a HIV/AIDS organisation.

The piece I submitted is called Age of Anti-Discrimination and I have titled the medium as photographic poetry, which combines images, taken of me by Laura Stevens, with the poem. The term 'mixed media', for me, does not reflect accurately my art, that of poetry, and for this reason I prefer to use the term photographic poetry.

Often people associate art with drawings and images but poetry offers the same effect, that of aesthetics. It simply moves the senses in different ways. Click on image to read poem.