The Guru
I Family Background
The Guru right from youth always insisted
On passing as a graduate of crime,
He saw work as a thing to be resisted
And never made a single honest dime.
Though institution homes tried hard to save him
They failed to ever rehabilitate
His attitude, instead the system gave him
A burning grudge that seethed against the State.
Each courtroom sentence simply made him quarrel,
Diminutive yet full of self-belief,
How do you tame a felon that’s immoral?
A reoffending liar, pimp and thief.
Around the time of Leary’s hippie heaven
Is when the Guru finally left jail,
In California nineteen sixty-seven
They set him free with neither home or bail.
The outside world disturbed him so severely
He asked to stay inside the cell they’d leased
But no one heard a word despite how clearly
He pleaded with them not to be released.
Haight-Ashbury was his first destination,
He walked the psychedelic streets all day,
A nameless stranger unknown to the nation
Whose name was Charlie Manson by the way.
He'd learned to play guitar while in the prison
And though his songs would never make the stage
For those who felt Aquarius had risen
They caught the restless spirit of the age.
One day a girl heard his acoustic playing,
She found him and a magic spell was cast,
So mesmerized she had no choice but staying,
The Guru gained a follower at last.
Soon others joined the group to make it bigger,
A little bearded Pied Piper now led
Young drop-outs who’d left home, a father figure
Replacing every parent they had fled.
He told them of the coming revolution,
They marvelled when he quoted the good Book
And as he formulated a solution
His eyes contained a strange and piercing look.
The Family recruits grew ever faster,
A commune that encouraged 'them and us'
From brainwashing delivered by the Master
Who drove them in a battered old school bus.
He took them round pretending he was placid,
For willing minds are easy to impress,
He orchestrated orgies fuelled by acid
But always made sure he had swallowed less.
Spahn Ranch became the Family’s headquarters,
Old western movies used to be filmed there,
A piss-ant pile of shacks that suited daughters
And sons who found existence dull and square.
He taught the girls free sex and they all listened,
Available while tied to Charlie’s leash,
Identities erased, they’d been re-Christened
With names like Sadie, Gypsy, Snake and Ouisch.
The desert isolation made him able
To give convincing sermons to his pawns,
They thought he was the prophet in the fable;
The king who used to wear a crown of thorns.
II Helter Skelter
Though music he’d composed was unsuccessful
His head perceived apocalyptic lines
Throughout a Beatles record dark and stressful;
The White Album contained so many signs.
In each song he deciphered an instruction,
The piggies needed whacking for their greed
But what would bring establishment destruction
And what would be the code word for the deed?
His ideas like a wildly flooding delta
Turned lyrics that concerned a funfair slide
To Judgement Day’s own anthem, Helter Skelter
And he knew where the best place was to hide.
The desert seemed a refuge from the coming
War of the races, black man versus white,
A conflict so unstoppable and numbing
The fabric of the country would ignite.
See Charlie, he predicted that the battle
Would be won by the blacks yet still maintained
As sure as pigs that squeal and snakes that rattle
They’d screw up every fresh advantage gained.
Then he would be the chosen one selected,
A great Messiah governing the West
But waiting for the riots he reflected
On how most ghetto regions failed the test.
The wheels of destiny were slow and leaden,
The violence and the hatred failed to start
And so to spark the flames of Armageddon
The Family would have to play a part.
A house above Bel Air was nominated
Where wealthy people lived, the Guru knew
That if a bloodbath was to be created
It took a small and trusted killing crew.
The followers he sent for the ignition
Of Helter Skelter left by car and wore
Dark clothing to conceal them on the mission:
To shock the world like none had done before.
At Cielo Drive a silhouette climbed knowing
Cut phone lines meant the outfit could advance
But as they did a visitor was going;
The first of five to die without a chance.
They entered and to victims gave no quarter,
The night was hot, the hour very late
And when the house became a scene of slaughter
Among the dead lay film star Sharon Tate.
The Guru had explained a sign was needed
To make headlines sensational and big;
Three bloody letters on the wall succeeded,
Where Sadie in the aftermath wrote ‘pig’.
Next night their hunger still remained unnourished,
The LaBiancas made it seven kills,
Fear crept into the atmosphere and flourished
Around the lawns and swimming pools and hills.
The guilty over time were apprehended,
Those robots ordered to bring war about
Along with their commander Charlie ended
The trial with life terms, never to get out.
Imagine if the raggedy Pied Piper’s
Warped vision had come true and scorched the land;
Watchtowers in Death Valley manned by snipers,
Dune buggies speeding through the desert sand.
A cult may comfort in your darkest hour
But please beware the false prophet who thrives,
The Guru only wanted to taste power
And didn’t care how many lost their lives.
©
I Family Background
The Guru right from youth always insisted
On passing as a graduate of crime,
He saw work as a thing to be resisted
And never made a single honest dime.
Though institution homes tried hard to save him
They failed to ever rehabilitate
His attitude, instead the system gave him
A burning grudge that seethed against the State.
Each courtroom sentence simply made him quarrel,
Diminutive yet full of self-belief,
How do you tame a felon that’s immoral?
A reoffending liar, pimp and thief.
Around the time of Leary’s hippie heaven
Is when the Guru finally left jail,
In California nineteen sixty-seven
They set him free with neither home or bail.
The outside world disturbed him so severely
He asked to stay inside the cell they’d leased
But no one heard a word despite how clearly
He pleaded with them not to be released.
Haight-Ashbury was his first destination,
He walked the psychedelic streets all day,
A nameless stranger unknown to the nation
Whose name was Charlie Manson by the way.
He'd learned to play guitar while in the prison
And though his songs would never make the stage
For those who felt Aquarius had risen
They caught the restless spirit of the age.
One day a girl heard his acoustic playing,
She found him and a magic spell was cast,
So mesmerized she had no choice but staying,
The Guru gained a follower at last.
Soon others joined the group to make it bigger,
A little bearded Pied Piper now led
Young drop-outs who’d left home, a father figure
Replacing every parent they had fled.
He told them of the coming revolution,
They marvelled when he quoted the good Book
And as he formulated a solution
His eyes contained a strange and piercing look.
The Family recruits grew ever faster,
A commune that encouraged 'them and us'
From brainwashing delivered by the Master
Who drove them in a battered old school bus.
He took them round pretending he was placid,
For willing minds are easy to impress,
He orchestrated orgies fuelled by acid
But always made sure he had swallowed less.
Spahn Ranch became the Family’s headquarters,
Old western movies used to be filmed there,
A piss-ant pile of shacks that suited daughters
And sons who found existence dull and square.
He taught the girls free sex and they all listened,
Available while tied to Charlie’s leash,
Identities erased, they’d been re-Christened
With names like Sadie, Gypsy, Snake and Ouisch.
The desert isolation made him able
To give convincing sermons to his pawns,
They thought he was the prophet in the fable;
The king who used to wear a crown of thorns.
II Helter Skelter
Though music he’d composed was unsuccessful
His head perceived apocalyptic lines
Throughout a Beatles record dark and stressful;
The White Album contained so many signs.
In each song he deciphered an instruction,
The piggies needed whacking for their greed
But what would bring establishment destruction
And what would be the code word for the deed?
His ideas like a wildly flooding delta
Turned lyrics that concerned a funfair slide
To Judgement Day’s own anthem, Helter Skelter
And he knew where the best place was to hide.
The desert seemed a refuge from the coming
War of the races, black man versus white,
A conflict so unstoppable and numbing
The fabric of the country would ignite.
See Charlie, he predicted that the battle
Would be won by the blacks yet still maintained
As sure as pigs that squeal and snakes that rattle
They’d screw up every fresh advantage gained.
Then he would be the chosen one selected,
A great Messiah governing the West
But waiting for the riots he reflected
On how most ghetto regions failed the test.
The wheels of destiny were slow and leaden,
The violence and the hatred failed to start
And so to spark the flames of Armageddon
The Family would have to play a part.
A house above Bel Air was nominated
Where wealthy people lived, the Guru knew
That if a bloodbath was to be created
It took a small and trusted killing crew.
The followers he sent for the ignition
Of Helter Skelter left by car and wore
Dark clothing to conceal them on the mission:
To shock the world like none had done before.
At Cielo Drive a silhouette climbed knowing
Cut phone lines meant the outfit could advance
But as they did a visitor was going;
The first of five to die without a chance.
They entered and to victims gave no quarter,
The night was hot, the hour very late
And when the house became a scene of slaughter
Among the dead lay film star Sharon Tate.
The Guru had explained a sign was needed
To make headlines sensational and big;
Three bloody letters on the wall succeeded,
Where Sadie in the aftermath wrote ‘pig’.
Next night their hunger still remained unnourished,
The LaBiancas made it seven kills,
Fear crept into the atmosphere and flourished
Around the lawns and swimming pools and hills.
The guilty over time were apprehended,
Those robots ordered to bring war about
Along with their commander Charlie ended
The trial with life terms, never to get out.
Imagine if the raggedy Pied Piper’s
Warped vision had come true and scorched the land;
Watchtowers in Death Valley manned by snipers,
Dune buggies speeding through the desert sand.
A cult may comfort in your darkest hour
But please beware the false prophet who thrives,
The Guru only wanted to taste power
And didn’t care how many lost their lives.
©
But I find altering and hopefully improving poems very enjoyable 
