Welcome To The Transcendental Elephant

Welcome to The Transcendental Elephant,
So if I can just read your order back to you all,
Clockwise round the table :

Mushroom masala with saffron rice,
Cucumber raita,
Two lentil samosas with mint and coriander dip, yeah?

And you'd like:
Moong daal,
With the aubergine thing, number twenty-seven,
That's nice that - had some earlier,
And two naan.
Okay, thanks.

And you'd like:
Chips, peas, very English jam roly-poly,
And two poppodums? Is that right?
Uh yes,
The poppodums are good today sir,
Very fresh: straight from the fields,
..And?
And a mineral water.
No problem sir.

And madam?
You'd like to have the transcendental cosmic consciousness platter,
That's number fifty? Yeah,
Um..with a complete obliteration of self,
With Hindu yogic flying past life Ayurvedic regression therapy?
Anything else?
A pistachio kulfi,
And..
Twelve lagers.
No problem..
Sorry?
You think you may have been a yeti,
In your previous life?
Oh well done madam.
May I ask,
Would you like your lagers before or after you have obliterated your selfish ego?
What do I recommend?
To be honest,
I think,
If you think,
You may have been a yeti in your previous life,
You're half way there already,
But I have witnessed some of our more spiritual customers,
After they've had a few lagers,
Connect with the universe,
Sometimes very successfully.
So it's up to you really.

Okay then.

Well thank you all for your order,
It should be with you in no more than ten or so minutes,
So until then,
Please help yourselves to the complimentary Bombay mix,
And my psychic transference of good karma energy to you all,

And thank you again for visiting The Transcendental Elephant.

Any Minute Now

Any minute now,
She cannot help but fall in love with me again,
And,
I will have to gently turn her away.
Any minute now.

Any minute now,
She will text me,
"We really need to talk",
And for a fair while I will not reply.
Any minute now.

Any minute now,
She will confess her new relationship isn't rating ,
Then ask do I have another girlfriend.
Any minute now.

Honestly.

I know women.

Any minute now..

Pretty Nascent

Over there,
Many people are killed,
Being killed,
By surgical strikes.

I suppose that,
In a True Democracy,
The right to strike,
Is an absolute right,
And,
A given,
I suppose,
In a True Democracy.

But over there?
There, the democracies,
Are pretty nascent,
Aren't they?

So I do hope,
These surgeons,
Call their strikes off soon.
Doesn't it contradict their Hippocratic Oath,
Or something?

Maybe our surgical strikers,
Over there,
Have gone a bit,
I dunno,
..Militant?

[redacted poem]

For reasons of national security,
This poem,
Has been redacted.

Please move on,
There's nothing to see here.

Please move on.


NOTICE FROM HM GOVERNMENT INFORMATION SERVICES
Protecting you from your need to know
Saving us from ourselves l

Ldstdh Ooaaee

I've had to eat my own words,
I stuffed them in some humble pie.
Quite nice actually.

So-called own-grown words,
Taste much fuller-bodied,
Juicier,
And flow sweeter off the tongue,
Than words sold on supermarket shelves;
Although I've been told
the new M&S range of organic Tuscan words is,
Truly,
Bellissimo!

Most supermarket words sold - even free-range,
Contain preservatives,
And E numbers,
So every time you consume a word,
Such as,
"Mermaid",
You have to consume its E number,
Such as,
E218.
Munch munch "mermiad", munch munch "E218",
See what I mean?
Hope that makes sense.

Eating other people's words,
Can be more than a little disconcerting too,
Don't you think?
Always leaves me with a feeling of,
Dislocation,
And bewilderment,
Eating other people's words.

I know it's always lovely,
On romantic occasions,
To devour words succulent,
Plucked like harpoons from our surrogate lips.

And I have to share with you,
This one amazing time,
When I ate the words chanted,
From a Siberian shaman trance,
Incredible!
Intensely smokey and nutty they were,
With a hint of pine.
Had some quite amazing dreams afterwards too!
I'll tell you about them sometime,
Only if you're interested though!
I can imagine listening to someone else
wax lyrical about their shamanic-word-dreams,
Is, well, probably an acquired taste.
But if you ever have the chance,
To inebriate yourself on Siberian shamanic trance words,
Please try,
And I promise,
You wont regret it.
Just make sure you don't drive afterwards!

When I ate my own words,
Marinated in pieces of my own humble pie,
I saved a piece for you,
And in case you are curious of the words,
I prepared earlier for my filling,
Here they are:
Glitzlivibro,
Twimmillee,
Llibamliwah,
Uv wxyz (pronounce uv wicksis),
Pambymint,
Defanee,
Kooroiaa,
Duparyas patimi.

Bet you can't buy those in the supermarket!

P.
.S
:
If any Siberian shaman are reading this,
And recognise any of these words as your own,
Please accept my apologies.
And a humble ldstdh ooaaee to you!

Orchids

First,
I'm going for an orchid transfusion,
Then, perhaps a soul-trepanation later this afternoon;
Not visited my soul-trepanner for two years now,
Probably why then,
My seepings are now squirting,
Deep-blue brain dew!

The orchid transfusion is my top priority,
It's a "must have" for all the tender men these days,
And anyway,
Why shouldn't we replace our blood with liquidised orchids,
So our hearts pump plasma of jade?

Pasteurised,
Liquidised,
Orchids.
No need eau de toilette anymore,
As orchidised-man smells naturally,
Of this strangely aphrodisiac flower,
Women so adore.
(Even more than daffodils I'm told.)

So I'll venture out to chop some wood,
Beneath London's belting Malteser-melting heat,
Thus,
When a delectable chick wanders innocently by,
She may sniff my furrowed,
And flowery,
(Yet extraordinarily manly),
Pheromones,
And Swoon her sighs.

Or..
She may intuit,
I'm perhaps,
A tad,
A-bark,
Earnestly chopping down fences,
Of a municipal park,

And triangulate,
A floating,
Away..

The Sacred Beauty Of Love And The Sacred Love Of Beauty Explained

.

That Special Something

It's not quite there yet,
Not quite there.
Don't get me wrong,
It's nearly there,
Almost nearly,
I don't know,
I'm just not sure,
There's still that indefinable,
That special something,
That's still missing.
An imperceptible,
An imperceptible something,
Like when I see a duck on a pond,
I think,
Oh look a duck on a pond,
Isn't that's nice, but,
Then I can't help but ask:
But where are the other ducks,
To keep this one duck company?
Why are there no other ducks in the pond?
It's just not right - the duck,
All alone like that,
Especially on a Friday,
Or a Saturday night,
Can you imagine?
Can't be much fun for a solitary duck,
Gliding sadly,
And all so alone,
Through the too quiet,
Too still water,
Circling, gliding, alone,
Beneath the weekend moonlight.
Know what I mean?

Magic Novel

This novel,
Is just so enjoyable,
I can't read it anymore,
Because then I will finish it,
So it will end,
And I will never feel the pleasure,
Of reading it for the first time again.
So I'll carry always this magic novel with me,
Wherever I may go,
I only like to finish the bad ones quickly,
With great ones that's never so.

Telethon Teletubbies

T.V-teletubby-telethon-celebrities:
"We're about saving lives
- so please give",
But watch,
And after a while,
You may lose the will to live.

Closer To Life

Now,
If I hear,
Just one more time,
Yet another noxious celebrity,
Another agony aunt/uncle,
Another New Age chat show Oprah-Christ,
Babble in forked-tongue:
"First you must love yourself,
Before you are able to love anyone else",
I promise,
I will puke the blood of a thousand dodos,
Pull out from my ears the tails of wailing mermaids,
Weep the tears of the Martian Pyramid Pharaohs,
Piss the holy ectoplasm
of one apologetic millionaire stockbroker,
Crunch on the teeth of a dead Icelandic troll,
And then?
Then gaze at a waning moon,
And whisper..
It just ain't so.

It just ain't so.

And as I water-board the first self-help narcissist,
With the boiling snake oil of the last deep-think toxic dalek,
I'll wonder what kind of air,
Do such sages breathe.
You have to love yourself first?
Why?
No thanks.
I don't want to love myself.
I don't.
Sorry.
And I don't need to love myself,
To love someone else.

Respect yourself,
If you think you're deserving;
Like yourself,
If you like;
And love another,
As you can;
Then, maybe,
If you're lucky,
You'll be touched by an open heart,
That yearns to,
Belong,
To another;
Two hearts, now,
Closer to the senseless beauty of Life.

In Extremisly, The Mustard Slayer

I am a tad dumbfounded,
A teeny bit stunned,
A smidgen aghast,
A tiddly bit amazed..
That this jar of French mustard,
Not that one - this one,
Is nearly,
Six,
Count them:
Six days,
Past its "use by" date!
Passing its "sell by" date is dangerous enough,
But its "use by"?
No wonder I've been collapsing all over the place,
Frothing at the mouth most unseemly,
Spouting crazy and quite deranged thoughts,
To giggling,
And - I have to say - deeply unsympathetic,
Passers-by.

My behaviour makes perfect sense now:
I was poisoned!
Poisoned I tell you,
By a jar of deeply expired,
Egregiously decayed,
Gravely gone,
French mustard!

I'm totally overtly,
Ghostly toast.
Empirically scientifically,
Most in extemisly,
Death-carded by a jar of French mustard!

My vitalish man's body,
Now,
Permanently poisoned,
I haven't even written my will.
Where is my God then?
Where are my rights then?
Why is it always the good ones that die such young,
Deaths,
So suddenly,
So spectacularly
Tragically and bizarre?
I surmise it's because:
We toy,
We toy and dance on life's bendy edge,
Like a drunken garden gnome,
Tottering, wobbly on a window ledge.
Such poets as I?
Yes, such poets as I,
Yes you - I, Me!
Done in,
By a jar of morgue-friendly French mustard!

Adieu then.

You don't care do you?
And please,
Don't tell me I'm exaggerating..