The Royal Train

I conceived this poem over 50 years ago. Dissatisfied with the initial draft I did no more but over the years one or two key lines continued to haunt me. Early in June 2024, I managed to fall out of a tree I was pruning. My injuries included my left broken arm, hand, and wrenched neck.  As a left-handed person that put a stop to many activities, including writing. Trolling through a listing of unfinished poetry the old draft came back in view. Unable to do much else without help, with one unsteady right-handed finger I began to rewrite it.

The Royal Train is now finished. There are two words in the poem you may not be familiar with, they are Djinn and Yama. Djinn is an Arabic plural noun meaning elemental earth-bound spirits hidden from sight. Yama is the Hindu God of death and justice, son of the Sun God Surya, who judges the souls of the dead and depending upon their deeds, assigns them to the realm of the Pitris, (their soul heritage) or to Naraka, (Hell) or to be reborn on Earth.

Humming gently, whistle muted                      

The Royal Train arrives,                           

Auto enabled                                              

and expectant of deaths                                                   

it screeches driverless to halt                

at Rebirth Platform number one.                     

Doors open.                                                

Into the darkened interior                      

you float                                          

light as a feather, half asleep,                

jostling to get a window seat.                

Dreaming, so you believe                                    

The tangled web you often weave.                              

You’ll not hear the whistle keening      

the train restart                                         

Or know its full and wide within                       

But you will hear, and feel                         

the pulsing coupled driving wheels      

relentlessly rhyming        

      abba du by abba du by   

       abba du by abba du by                                 

Cyclical sounds dispelling time              

unfolding memories, child-like              

motivating youthful desires.

Easily thoughts become creative          

Manifesting a desirous world                

pulsating independent forms,               

life needy forms that gratify,                 

satiate, and has you wake                                               

and expostulate                             

to the rhyming wheels                             

do what you will, do what you will♫

Is this dying you ask of me                      

travelling free able to see,                      

testifying                                         

life doesn’t end?                                                    

To begin it’s all picture postcard           

Dolby Sound and technicolour              

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.            

You, righteously urging the Self             

undo, make up, inwardly heal.  

Elemental forces enter in;                       

purpose forms and whispers Djinn.     

Unreasoned giving thoughts arise,      

happiness spreads like blood within.   

Onward and-upward you spiral                                     

the ego cries unwise!                               

Fear of God enters in:                              

knowledge dissipates.

Hinder me not, hinder me not            

Hinder me not, hinder me not ♫            

Hallelujah, God is Great! 

Here you reign between the points     

of destination and departure                 

coerced to play the part of king            

to this extension of your mind:             

pieces and pawns, two of a kind                                               

aboard the Summerland express,         

resolved to undo, clean the slate,         

begin anew:                                    

entrained upon the ever long                

                                                never-ending                                                                                                                                   pointed track.                                              Yama the Jailer God.

Where will it end?                         

You ask yourself.                            

No sooner said                                           

the melody of chiming wheels              

cease their singing.                                                                                   

Doors slide back,                           

the Station Master speaks                      

rebirth platform number two!”

A dream of people disembark.              

No such place but it feels like home    

But why you ask, and where am I?       

Here unknown smiley people sing       

and have you fear the child within.                              

No walls here and no pearly gate.        

The old and young in ragged trews      

torn uniforms and winding sheets       

or dressed like you, in Sunday best      

congregate and await their fate.                                               

Loved ones you believed were dead    

appear glowing with health, saying     

do what you will, you’re free, enjoy!   

Youthfully love, rest from the world    

time-out, reinvent and explore.                                    

Your thoughts cease to justify need,   

love bearing energies bond with                      

outpourings of the giving self.               

Harmony prevails,                         

the Way becomes known.             Hallelujah, God is Great!     

Seeds of union germinate,                     

love unfettered starts to grow,              

your mind enjoins to many lives.          

Reason no longer governs form            

upward as mustard seeds you flow                             

all and everything                         

in a spiral flow.                                           

Doing better                                               

more of what was done before.            

The Way becomes your inner state      

Divine reason commands the soul.                              

Karmically you accept your fate.                       

How can I suggest you differ?                

Little do you know, its checkmate        

another game must now begin. Hallelujah, God is Great!             

And then behold the train appears      

gleaming blue royal gold and red.        

And there you are                         

on platform three                          

crowned royally,                            

purposed yet again to steal                    

the apple from the knowledge tree.                            

Driverless it stops with open doors      

and into the lighted carriage                  

you float                                          

light as a feather, soul elite,                   

jostling to get a window seat.                

Knowing how you now believe                                      

why the tangled web deceives.                                     

You’ll not hear the whistle keening      

the train begin,                                          

but you will know                          

why its wide within.                                 

Omnipresent is your soul                        

purposed to achieve its goal.                                         

As expected you can hear                       

the pulsing coupled driving wheels                              

relentlessly rhyming.                               

Clock ticking cyclical sounds                   

Birthing memories                        

motivating earthly thriving.                                            

Abba du by abba du by ♫                   

                        ♫ du by du by abba du by ♫                   

                                                                        Adam and Eve, Adam and Eve        

Abba du by abba du by

du by du by abba du by

The trains’ jingling rhyme           

Is birthing the earthly mind.                  

Conscience conflicts with           

needy newborn voices, that                   

proclaim their immortality.

And in their chatter promise dies

has you fear the child within                  

will depart                                       

and hollow out your heart.

Another self is looking on:                      

Singular and base.                         

You query why it doesn’t speak            

wrapped up, curled in sleep.                                          

Elemental forces enter in, and              

your single purposed soul divides        

further from the source you ride.         

Every now and then                                  

the whistle blows,                         

wheels hiss and grind.                             

Coaches shudder.                          

Train doors open to a void.                     

The station master’s voice                      

is indistinct.                                    

You cannot tell when or where.            

Bemused, benumbed, and apathetic, 

coerced to play the Chess of Life.                                 

Be you Bishop, or be you Rook             

be you Knight or be you Queen.                                   

Be you foolish, or be you wise,              

believe or not                                             

you will survive.                                         

The Royal Train will call again.   

Here you reign between the points     

of destination and departure.               

Once a prince of past endeavour,         

bodies forming whispering Djinn          

Are serving you, the absent king.                               

Now conscious of the daylight              

weaving anew the tangled web.                       

Predestined to rhyme in miles forecast

ever purposed to the pointed track

the never-ending pointed track.

Yuma the Jailer God.

Tony Ashenden 2026

A Remarkable Man

I was as you proverbially say at a loose end, walking the high street, gazing absent mindedly into shop windows and people passing. Thinking, or rather over thinking my place in the world, questioning my purpose. The smell of coffee paused my stride and banished my thoughts. I entered the café. It was busy all tables occupied. Turning to go out I noticed one table only occupied by a big, bearded man who sat motionless with his eyes closed. The plate before him was empty.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked, smiling to myself.

“Be my guest”, came the immediate reply.

Somewhat disconcerted, as he didn’t open his eyes to look at me, I sat down to await service expecting him to leave. He didn’t move or speak again. Eyes stayed closed. For all intents and purpose, I wasn’t there.  He wore a fur lined jacket over a mottled coloured tea shirt and jeans. Hair and beard were well trimmed, suggesting a recent visit to a barber. Appearing not to breathe he sat motionless. As I began to be concerned some kind of health issue was in progress, the waitress tapped me on the shoulder.

“What would you like?”

“Latte please, and…. Would you like a drink?” I said loudly. The man opened his eyes and inclined his head and smiled. “Very kind of you -yes please I’ll have a Mocha”.

Surprisingly for a big man his voice was higher toned than expected. Feeling a bit sheepish, I placed the order. She smiled laughingly at me. “You’re the third one this afternoon.”

I wrinkled my brow, “What?”

She shrugged her shoulders and smiling walked away.

In askance I looked at him. “She’s referring to the man and woman who have shared their company with me.” He said.

“Oh… so you’ve been here a while then?”

“A couple of hours maybe… not in any hurry. And thank you again for the coffee, much appreciated.”

I looked at him with interest. Unlike many I know he clearly enunciated his words, and the deliberate way he spoke conveyed the impression of an intelligent educated person. I’d say he was in his sixties. His dark hair and beard were lined with grey, yet his face was strong, and he looked fit.

“Do you come here often?”

He chuckled. “First time for a long time. And yourself?”

“No. The other side of town is my usual stamping ground.

“So, what made you change your habits?”.

“Oh, I don’t know, change is as good as a rest.”

“At a loose end, are you?”

“Not exactly”, I lied

“Do you work?”

“I teach. Don’t have any classes this afternoon.”

“And what may I ask do you teach?”

“Digital and Social media courses.”

“Very much a modern man then… do you find that rewarding?”

I looked at him curiously, his question touched a soft spot. “Yes and no. I come from a computing background, so this is something like a second career. The digital world of today is outpacing me. I often find my pupils have an intuitive grasp of applications and with aspirations to engage with AI, which is not something I feel particularly comfortable about.”

“A subject of much debate from what I read, which I find amusing.”

“Amusing, how so?”

“It’s championed as new age invention, but in essence it’s as old as the hills”

“How do you make that out? Digital technology and AI is a modern invention.”

“In machine terms -yes, but what in essence does digital technology enable? It simulates human intelligence for the purposes of doing tasks and giving directions. Do you agree?”

“Simplistically speaking, yes, I can’t argue with that”.

“A task which say takes me one hour to complete, involving decision from a host of variables can be digitally programmed to achieve the same result in a matter of seconds. Even more AI can predict outcomes from inputs that would take you or me many exhausting hours to assess and produce the most advantageous results in real time. Would you say?

“Yes I would, and that gives rise to ethical outcomes as well, which is one reason why I think such development is problematical.”

“I guess concern or care depends on which side your bread is buttered on”, he said with a laugh. “For example, as no doubt you know, many investors who earn in the stock markets do so on trading platforms which use AI to determine the intrinsic value of stocks and currency and advise accordingly. If I were to use such earned money charitably, would you agree the use of AI is for the betterment of others?”

“I guess so.”

“And if only to line my own pockets?”

His line of questioning was making me think. Was he trying to catch me out?

At length I replied. “Obviously some people make money to personally advance themselves, but if the money earned was from ethically sourced shares, surely that is a more acceptable way of earning?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Money is an outcome which gets dressed up to suit the purpose of its use. When I said digital technology and AI is not new, I was referring to its function. The ways in which man’s mind works to increase fortune, care for and better themselves in today’s world is essentially no different to the man of the past. Now we program machines to think for us. Some do it to benefit others, and some do it to benefit themselves. Whether the purpose is laudable or not, someone loses what another gains.”

“True. But I don’t see how you contend that AI is not new. Surely you are not saying our ancestors exhibited a similar form of intelligence to AI?”

“Oh, but I am!”

At this point our coffee’s arrived and for a moment or two the conversation gave way to tasting our drinks. I took this opportunity to introduce myself and ask his name. 

“When you must just call me Joe. Allow me to explain John. Digital technology and AI is all about making something happen quickly and by the same token being able to do many things at the same time. Ancient man’s psyche is no different from ours, he also wanted to do things quickly and get the best results. And strange as it may seem his method to get intelligence to direct and advise solutions advantageous to himself is a practise still prevalent today.

Having no idea what he could be referring to, I just stared.

He continued. “Do you know what a Jinn is?”

“Some kind of devil?”

“You can be forgiven for thinking that. There are views in the Islamic world which agree, however in pre-Islamic times the Arabians believed they were intelligent, morally responsible beings in the afterlife they were able to commune with. Throughout history in all parts of our world there have been beliefs and communication practises with the afterlife. In our present world where migrations of peoples have occurred on a large scale, you only need to look at this country to see the practise of many beliefs, and in respect of what I’m talking about those who accept an afterlife as a reality. 

I can see by your expression you are wondering why on earth I am talking about spirits and people who commune with them. Let me continue before you make judgement. Man has often found himself in situations where he is at loss to understand what the outcome should be. That could be the need for a practical solution, or a requirement to solve a mental problem, and yet again it might be, more high-mindedly, the need to be guided on a moral or ethical issue.

The oracles in the Hellenic world were not only providers of spiritual guidance. People wanted to know outcomes which would support their ambitions, or cures for illness. The Shaman of Eurasia and those of South America, Medicine Men in the North and in Canada were not simply spiritual guides to their communities, they provided practical help on request. People of power often consulted such people. Saladin who is mostly remembered for his conquests to unite Muslim territories in the Middle East and the capture of Jerusalem in the 12th century was first and foremost a religious man who took advice and guidance from Sufi exponents. And of course, not all guidance and predictions were heeded. A case in question is Saul, the first king of Israel. Despite his own edict to banish sorcerers from his kingdom, he consulted a woman of Endor on the eve of an important battle against the Philistines (disguised of course) and asked her to make contact with Samuel who informed him if he went into battle not only himself, but his three sons would die.

Whether Saul thought he was invincible, or didn’t believe what the woman had told him, we will never know. The outcome of course was as the woman predicted.”

I listened with interest. He spoke quietly with authority, but nonetheless I was not entirely convinced of the view he was projecting.”

“If I understand you right, you are saying some people, who I would call psychics, have the ability to forecast the future?”

“That depends on what you mean by future. I think the poet T.S. Eliot should be remembered for best saying this about that. “Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past.”

“So, are you saying psychics, or by whatever name they go by, don’t predict!”

“I waited while Joe savoured another draft of Mocha. Carefully replacing the cup back in its saucer, he looked me straight in they eye, and said. “Of course they do, though bear in mind some do by reading body language and the mental character of their clients. And Astrologers interpret the signs in the heavens. A few and only a few will hear from their jinn, their familiars, their afterlife inspirers.”

“I’m confused. If I’ve got this right you are, as you quote from Eliot, not believing in a future, yet you say psychics can predict it. I thought you were arguing the practise of consulting psychics is essentially no different to the functions of AI and digital technology in general.

“That’s right. Eliot goes on to say, ‘if all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction, remaining a perpetual possibility only in a world of speculation.’ If you look very carefully at what digital technology and its AI offspring is doing all outcomes are based on present knowledge. When it predicts a solution, which for arguments sake, is forward in time, it is conducting specific actions based entirely upon present knowledge. When you use that intelligence to action a need in time hence, you are doing so in present time.

A psychic able to channel higher frequency communications advising events does so in present time and the source of such communications are also present. Futures, as we conceive them, and as AI determines, are present minded speculations. When a program is written to perform certain functions accurately 100% of the time, as for example for computer hardware and their applications it can be said to function predictably, and that as I’m sure you can agree is a present process.”

Joe looked at his watch. “I have to be off John. It’s been a pleasure talking with you. I’ve no doubt we could have gone on talking for much longer. I can only  hope something of what I’ve said has meaning to you. When you next order something on the internet, like me and everyone else, you’ll make decisions from the first page of suppliers shown you. And we are aided in making our decisions by the algorithmic functions which propose best buys -and it even accounts for where you live!

And before I could respond he stood up, shook my hand, and swiftly left the café.

What a remarkable man!

The Rose that beggars Fantasy

Listen as you read!

My love what cheerless world asleep
in towered keeps and half-lit streets,
waking dream on sullen skies ridged grey;
Lay waste land and cause the grey weird sea
chill the heart of you and me?

What world awoken from dreams
of meadows, water mills, and painter’s scenes,
would tolerate the angered sky, the leaf shorn tree;
the frost that blights the first-born bud, above
the half-closed mist born eye of love?

Oath of God would life not be worth living
were love not rooted deep in giving?
Selfish worlds are drunk, dreaming fantasy;
such men are never found in sight
crossing borders of the Christos Light.

Soft rose whose petal fusing heart will give
attiring the sweetest heart to ever live,
deliverance in the dawning day will come
refusing the permanence of death, and arise
to prove the cause of all the living never dies.

©TonyAshenden