Shapes of trees recall to mind the Power behind shapes of projections on the Chariot temple at Konarka, which in Turn reminded of the power of Magnificent music to lift and Educate the spirit till all Imagination is alive with liberated Dance. Then the shapes of lakes and Rivers, and the various arboreal Patterns, and their subtleties of Colour, set alight mental and Physical experience with a green Resplendent burning. Nor is it a Fire which parches, though I long for Cool clear water, all I lack is Cool clear water, to slake the Inside of my body, that my throat and My digestive functions might Participate in this my Orissan natural Ecstasy. If sexually not. Critically thwarted With what he thinks he knows By this civilisation Late as it goes.
Poetry is certainty Baudelaire knew.
In a road named Arodene Twenty years old Her name is Maxine. As I walk to Brixton station In a very light rain I consider exhilaration And intolerable music As part of the pain. Among forget me not and catseye Bluebell, dandelion, ragwort, Bumblebee and magpie. Among the myriads, the overcrowded Legions of the dead, a tiny Aristocracy of living. A girl, desired, standing on A grave with a guilty look, smiles and Photographs a tree.