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As a youngster he had dreamt of moving to a potato farm in Ireland

To escape from the brown rot of German post-world war II contamination

Just another plot on the map to sufficient existence and to break rusty chains

Blight or might but the famine of established ways had yielded necrosis

Naïve teenage rebellion no doubt but the grass is greener where it rains

To drop out of established offerings into a commune seemed like a valid idea


He is not certain whom his middle finger was for but a green digit it was

Field stone cottage wild roses blue outside loo with a heart carved into the door

To find existential experimentation and leave excremental increments behind


He opted for a solid university degree and career with a doctor’s white coat

Without mud on his ‘healing’ hands a syringe pointing away from himself

No digging of tubers but life support and psychoanalysis fresh from exams

Meaningful job good income and latex instead of mucky gardening gloves

Alternative medicine became a fig leaf for big pharma and the Buddha was far

Lotus flowers don’t grow well in hospitals or conveyor belts of remedial curing


A life planned out well with star chart rewards under a canopy of performance

Suddenly the Sun and the Moon took him hostage into a hermit’s eclipse

A man cave of an unpleasant kind without tools to conquer life’s lesson

The exit was barred by thistles stinging nettles and a thicket of brushwood

Blackberry hedges grew in abundance with fruit only on the far side of his hole

Stethoscope rusty reflex hammer bent in half and leaking blood pressure gauge


Mindless days and nights merged into a long meaningful void of oblivion

An endless loop of dire thoughts provoked reverberations of vacant echoes

Myopic eyes reflected a mirror opposed to a mirror and the prism fell foul

Cave art resembled a child’s drawings only with melancholy charcoal on grime

A gong measuring cacophonous illusion became a provocative token of time

His voice choked on memories and all he could taste were rumination of bile


He found a way out of his self-imposed (?) gaol once he ground through debris

Inched his way forward away from the  underworld and electric currents of pain

Let go of what would not sustain his wilted soul and thirsty dehydrated mind

While he made progress the bramble’s fruit were luscious tasty and quenching

As he gathered courage nuts and seeds the winds attached wings to his roots

Which guided him to a beach by the mountains to find Source ever more


Today he lives more removed from temptations of self-destructive torture

Left behind toxic waste and poisonous venom of false promise false friends

Gave up on potatoes and has settled in an orange grove of sufficient Self



11th June 2019
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