I have just invented a new adverb – stevenaged. This entails meeting a mad group of birds from Stevenage who get you high, laugh a lot reyt loudly, drink you under the table, & then… you know the rest. The first one I met – Helen – is lovely – & also married. There’s a theme developing to this trip I think. However, divine providence has got in the way of any shennanigans – twice. The first time was the other night when she passed me a charas joint at hers & I had my first sick-surf whitey in a long time, swiftly rushing from her pad to fall asleep in the road – the irony is I was only ten seconds from my own pad. The second intervention was when I was ‘intercepted by her lady friend on her last night before going home to the blizzards. Suffice it to say I needed two days to recover, the sole poetic product of which was my new word, Stevenaged – its not an experience for the faint hearted believe you me.

Anyhow, Helen, my neighbour, is a great lassie & Im currently at hers typing up some sonnets (see below) to the Stone Roses. Also here is my mate Kern. Ive only met him twice before. The first time was Haloween 2009, when my band drove up to Aberdeen to play his house party. We made a film about the trip & our literal first meeting – with him dressed up as vampire – is on you tube. Our second meeting was when he came down to Kijiji & played his trumpet / dance set – which was also filmed & should be ready when Steve has finished editing our Saraswathi Summer film. So there I was, wandering down Arombol beach when there he was – so let the games begin. We’ve already had our first jam session – it was this open mic night at a lovely restaurant, hosted by what can only be described as a NYC cab driver. There were some great acts on – it was like this quality international jamboree – Russians, africans, americans & me doing rabbie burns tunes. After our gig we’ve decided to make a wee movie at some point soon – like a guide to Goa – he’s got this amazing camera that also films in HD.

Arombol’s great by the way – like a mixture of Goa & Gokarna. The night life’s buzzing & there’s some beautiful coastal walks to tranquil beaches. Ive been taking this very handsome black dog that my landlords own on my wee passagio’s. I cant bear to see it on a chain all day, so ive been struttin the beach with him like a reyt nobhead, disturbing all the strays who hang about for free food. I’ve also been taking it along the main shopping street, wherefor once I dont get disturbed at all by the cowering shopkeepers – trust me, the dogs that big. The English girls I met down Palolem are also here, raving every night on a wide variety of drugs. We’ve even got this nineteen year old Los Angeles art student squatting at our pad. We’d befriended her & her mate – whose flown off to Spain for a couple of weeks to see her dad – & for some reason she’s loving mine & Charlie’s patter. I’d love to go on, but this black acrobat guy from Kenyas just dropped off some crack with Helen, Ive just fixed a bloody mary up, I am the ressurections just come on the tunes, & so for the second time this year Im thinking it’ll be rude not to.


So heres some sonnets – they’re a wee mix of memories, study & present times. Ive just started on a sequence about the Indian Independence movement (1857-1947) – those ninety years where the British Press took an imperial civilizing stance, but the books I discoverd in Arombol’s quaint wee library paint a thoroughly different picture – it turns out that most Indians weren’t happy with cricket & railways & actually wanted us to go back to where we came from asap – & were prepared to die for it.


On this hard holiday of a lifetime
I spent a night I would never forget
Sat buttock’d on a hole of solid slime
With fluids gushing thro my body’s net
For this was my first tropical disease
A brutal bout of dysentry at that
& I seem’d stranded on the silver seas
Too weak to shoo the scuttle of a rat

Ere morning rose I haul’d up from the gunk
& found the good ship’s doctor did exist
Whom with a pill this raft of ills hath sunk
With all that fleet of thoughts too dark to list

& now, tho slow, a bloated mosquito,
I’d live to see mine archipelago


Ever since an eager mentioning
I have dream’d of Diwali
Not knowing what its festival entail’d
Until today
When a rocket rushing past my cheek
Reminds me of Indian unpredictability

Awoken by the vietcong firecrackers
Echoing the brutal death of Ravana
The city night balaze in light & magic
From hotel rooves
Oer the wide smiles of fathers on their motorbikes
Carrying Cath’rine wheels to their bambini

& for once, the armswidth, one room’d shanty shacks
Are more affable than the harbours of Saint Tropez


As Indian & International
Descends on Puttapathhi
& the cult of Satay Sai Baba
They are faced with the heaving
Beaurocracy of Hindoostan


Camera / Video Camera / Calculator
Big Bag / Battery / Binocular
Tobacco / Time piece / Toffeebags / Umbrella
Mobile / plate / Time Piece / Needles
Blades / Water Bottle /Eatables
Scissors / Cassettes / CDs / Calculator
Knife / Book / Lighter / Ciggarettes/ Pen
Flowers /Footwear / Flashlight / Walkman


“The forest which has tigers should never be cut,
nor should tigers be chased away from the forest”
The Mahabharatra

Ten thousand years ago
The soul of India
Daub’d upon cavern walls
Aeons of abundance
& regal reverence
Where sages ashram sat
Midst placid Tiger packs

Fast forward to the Raj
& man-eating panics
From the Chowgarh Tigress
To Bengal’s precious cubs
& on, thro Dodo time,
Man’s fur-greed has left them
Annhialation verged


I am the Silver Rose & in these words confide
Tis better to have lived than to have died
& in this life of highlights that we lead
Preserve them in the poets where poets store their mead

& when their talent turns to focus on the times
& pattern snow with measure, mood & rhymes
Stone-jowell’d Gods must guarantee just dues
O compact curious that is the bardic muse

A bard must praise his land for in him this land lives
Praise all the best poesis that she gives
Ere epochfall, as Cornwall lost its tongue

For then, & only then, shall we these words exhume
Like finding lost papyrus in a tomb
Where Orpheus had left a mourning song


Mind in a constant state of creation
Soul with the striving to do something new
Heart of a soldier defending his station
With a still standing body long marches renew

Time – reflections on hill-walk’d projections
Days spent in attitudes purposeful thought
Months up in motion’s strict vivisection
Cutting thro time as a lifetime too short

Song, those meetings of spirits poised gladly
Dance to the music internal & out
Laugh even if your project rolls badly
Tis better to smile than succumb to one’s doubt

Tis not for nothing lives are pass’d this way
There MUST be colours pollock’d cross the grey.


Between Om Beach & Half Moon I was startl’d on the path
By a native in his ‘office’ selling charas to the tourists
I thought awhile then bought some to aid my morning musings

There is a Westerner wasting in desperate jail
They’d found a tolahs worth in his hotel hidey-hole
& four years down the line he’s still a waiting for his trial

But then there are the Saddus, allow’d to stack their chillums to the hilt
The smoke exhaled a primevil gesture to the divine
That is their Lord God Siva, pre-eminent among deism

He had discovered its narcotic properties one night
Injesting natural posions & injecting sweet quicksilver
Dying his skin a psychadelic hue of electric blue

He was the first true scientist, whose candid alchemy
Found powder’d gold’s all-powerful antigravity effects


By Golden Temple
Ghandi’s Jallianwallah
Cramm’d with protest

20,000 hearts
One hundred & fifty guns

Grisly turkey shoot
Saxons show Teutonic roots

Lass shot in the back
Where panic thought was cover
Bodies fill the well

Six month Whitehall cover up
The Raj straining at its chains


As Nature panders to her mightiest
How great a gulf is fix’d twyx Siva’s sons
& La Race Blanche, whose ruff’d up Chelsea chest
Thro taxes, churches, races, dance-a-thons
Rules haughty & imperious, whose guns
Would often hammer insolence at whims
Of English boys, fresh from shelter’d Etons –
Resentment simmers, loyal lustre dims,
They felt it in their hearts, they meant it in their limbs.

As all wars keep a catalyst
The cartridge gear’d with fat
That loadings kiss’d, twined faiths insist
Our Gods forbid us that
Soon hundreds here court-martiall’d & sentenced to ten years flat


I rock’d into Patnem with a swagger
& tinky disco on an MP3
& being born a beautiful blagger
I find myself dispensing energy
All thro teh Alpha Bar, where after ten
Sweet crickets complement the sing-a-longs
& stamping feet, as in a Goan zen
I play’d my personal penchant for songs
Where blinging with the kudos of the decks
I found myself in a flash romancing
For music elevates the fairer sex
Invigorating vixens in their dancing
& so, skinny dipping to day’s dawning
She led me to the milk of the morning


Lapsing on a ledge over Paradise
Among my beads now glows a silver rose
The first one I had found, Italia
Makes sound as India, & as those pees –
Pisa, Portovenere, mark’d that find
Me playing music nel strada a Pisa
& sleeping open air… now, up Patnem
I busk’d up money as a sleek DJ,
&, as Portovenere swept my peace
This Paradise has too relaxed my muse
Enough to think of sticking too one’s path
When all its little wonders still surround
Composing poesy thro bitter British snows
But far away, where sun & sky fair meet

this ones from a life of dante im doing in my mellower moments


The natal gasp, a wail & Dante born
At first him just another Florentine
But Heaven had for him a fresh design
& sent him inspiration, as the dawn
Illuminates the gardens nature sworn
She burst his heart when he was only nine,
Her grace & beauty swooping aquiline
His vital spirit trembling, violent, torn

From then her image always in his mind
His only happiness melts in her eyes
Too young to handle all these deep’ning sighs
The only solace he could ever find
Far from frivolity & boyish sloth
Was in the arms of poesy’s behemoth

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