The Doctor

The surreal grip of the doctor is upon us autocratic viral cloning the government of masonic scientists rules with their books behind them. It is true, who knew, masks are nearly over now, one hundred and twenty-eight thousand dead. Surreal is the word jab, jab, jab, the leader speaks from his podium and the twitchy professor wriggles in conscious dysfunction with no wit to speak of. But in the meantime more make-up, please. Stop the flags we are all one world flags are woke and war and more death are to come has nothing been learned by president Boris of Britain.

Empty Head Space

Empty headspace for the cosmic child to emerge blank as I thought it was, let it in many compartments flow as planned, no conformity in here others could not understand, they would say why can’t you be like the rest of us you are not on this planet they would say and why are you all alone every day. But I was soaking up all the messages from another world deep into my mind from other planets also and it came and lodged like a computer room with only me in it walking around inside my own mind. Many rooms I walked and eventually the roof of my mind where the metaphorical door existed from whence I opened the door and took a flight to my ship along with my earth knowledge which I gave to my master.

Old Lace Pavlova

Arsenic and old lace, the pavlova is sweeter today I don’t know why. Mother it is for you do be balanced and drink this wine shaken, not stirred as I walk in the knowledge that I may not be your son, for father is gone and you never told me. I have just driven around in confusion under these clouds I vowed from a travelling car to grow and yes dear boy these are your relatives enjoy, your a monster shaking your hands, where is the love I ask myself. For my mind is on a stick saved from the ravages of time stored in its own world abandoned by walking or talking bereft of connection in suspension, is it becoming a conduit entity not worn down by wind and rain but pristine white now, devoid of sin from my former adventures in the limited time I now am I reach into forever which will never end in energy eternal.

Author: Mason Cult Poet

Mason Cult Poet was born in Westmorland in the Lake District in a farming engineering community. On one side of the family many portions of nobility mainly the Stuarts. Mason Cult did as the herd does and went through the education process. attended drama school and ran small businesses. The stigma of mental health issues blighted him as it does with all creative people, was diagnosed in 2011 with a form of Asperger’s Syndrome which can impair executive function however it has given him a higher sense to see what others do not and from this ability he concludes the world is controlled by esoteric forces and that other interventions operate steering the world we know ro a new beginning.. What we witness we are forced to challenge and the work of Mason Cult assists this

Leave a Reply

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
%d bloggers like this: