Warrior of Poetry End of Year News Upwards to 2021

Warrior of Poetry has some exciting news for 2021 as we look at the production of an audio book of poetry and a children’s illustrated book called Boc Hondo & the Outcasts, a new kids environmental hero.

I Count


I count the lonely footsteps as to where they lead I know not, somewhere further on in the snow a figure beckons me. “Come on, come on, reach me. I implore you, I can help.” Is what I heard, as I approached a figure in the winters snow upon this valley track. “Come with me and I will take you to another world not far away there are people who know of you and are now aware of your years of distress, they are but nearly over.

Run

You see them coming run, you here them coming run, you know they’re coming run. Too many of them, run they’re calling your name, run, you are on film, run, running out, are you north south east and west beasts run scream for your life for the army of who are coming and it’s you they want you have a secret they need to know run, for your life.

Who Were They

Who were they walking the tops of clouds, like dissolving mountains. As you watched from down below small black silhouettes, still in the backdrop. So far away, but I knew who you were. Taking one last look at what might have been. But we are all the time limited and this sadly was the day I mouthed goodbye to and go find god, I am still looking.

Xmas Poetry & Audio Poems Ep 1.

Audio Poems

Tramps are everywhere…
Hurried Stuff, mother is in the living room.
It’s Grim Up North

A Time.

A time when nothing is in your hands, manipulation occurs, from another source. It comes to visit by surprise it does so in doses to convince you literally your mind is not your own wait. And you will feel them sleep, then see forever.

Boys Who Were Kings

Boys who were kings at ten, now sit on their own, when they were old and grey cobwebs were spun around the stiffness as the chair rocked to and fro a long nose of nobility hit the shadows, the lightbulb swung. A shadow in the gap where once burned a fire in the once living hub of familial energy, a forefinger raised still above the right chair. Arm pointing, but the direction has gone. A figure walks past the glassless window a cool white full moon is helping the voice shouts out “anyone at home” “silence man, the king is dead close the door”. All reposed nothing to report

Hurried Stuff

Hurried stuff dark rainy day strained brain sat on me Todd watching a wheeze of a sixties slice of life semi biopic of the cultural time now gone it is but madness Norman Bates is here mother are you alive or dead no it is a slipper behind the door , where is mother she is but with axe ready in the front room still watching soaps whilst I’m still in a lather looking for an open door

Sunflower

I am the sunflower, I pick up your life, a sun faces to me at noon in the summertime, not sure which way to turn today. Will my head have its way, I think not my will is tested till sunset give me rest from the sun’s atomic influence.

On reflection one gathers up the night and I draw my nutrients from God’s ground I’m now silent and a little slumped forward and down, that is in the dawn upon the coming day. I will rise from slumber upward. I will move at one eighty degrees and slowly back by this day. I will give you hope. Seeds blown in nature by variant winds. I may visit you to shower you in glory, borrowed from the sun and sense through my auxiliary temporence my benevolence immersed by sunlight, power given let us praise the light.

Warrior of Poetry Poems For You Ep 2

A Thousand Romances

A thousand romances but not one is mine, I’ve searched, I’ve ducked and dived. Like a bird swooping down for insects that is us. You and I prey to everything but often caught in chaos, so floating in air love energy stays, in cotton balls blowing into our ears. It whispers forlorn bereft of home, the imaginary couplings never to be. In an empty room with a fleece upon my thinner knees and one shaft of light through a half opened door, goodnight may darling dreamers

Do I Like Decay

Do I like decay, I’m not sure, I look at my wrist. A crocodile comes to mind leather, not yet preservable, moisture not yet diet. To be someone else, sceptical. Clothes could do better imagination required a star… no they are in the sky above, in the sky motivated by the moon but I’m in bed now curtains closed, missed my turn for a gravity, job immortality, no too many dead flies.

My car windscreen in summer tells me no lies, so how does one hold it together. Difficult roused by Mondays din, water ran from my tap, the mirror tells no lies as long as I see it’s me. Do you remember what’s changed.

Chance has it my age, it appears upon the mirror I look at it bloody hell is that me oh yes my friend the secret voice to the inner temple. Literally you’ve won one more day on earth. God says the drinks are on me I’m your father your going to be a spirit, I said I’ll drink to that amen and ten bloody marys later.

My Love For Thee

How dense is my love for thee it fills a cloud on high, settling soft near a white bright golden sun, soon to evaporate your highest love. Temporary as in all wants and lusts to the unfeeling, it means nought for our fleetings in life hard to catch not so profound the meaning of this in truest sense continues in the lives of mortals in ether channels unique.

From Head Down

From the head down here we go who are you?. Asks the Alien at the panel twisting and turning at his controls glance after glance, is the conversation. Fixed upon you. We are no speech between the subjects profile. “Outreach monitoring are we, the night catchers caught average specimens tonight, great leader.” A glance is a great conversation to the inner soul I go, remodeling has begun .There is a lot to do, and I will return you to earth ground, you will work for us now you go and will come back soon with many like me of my kind and kinship…a roar like a thousand cannons then he was gone.

Melancholia

Melancholia that’s what we got all day and all night like achy dull headless beer, melancholia cos we like to talk down, its all wrong mate, do ya know I just got stuck in the groove at the slowest speed, I spin, we are stuck please clean me. So yep we can start again the time is of the up and up and every day we replay the game of life. Some winners, many more losers and so it goes on day after day.

The Autistic Guy

Yes I always believe love is soluble let’s drink to love energy and promote kindness and understanding ironically saying that, I’m trying to get them both taken into a home for their own safety it is wrong for eighty plus to live a mile down a lane with heavy need, but guess what they are using an autistic spectrum guy to have another day with the birds and other wild life. I believe when the crunch comes I will have to move to place anew.

We Are All Alien

Responding to the myth that it is mortality and we are all Alien, but still posed and poised for the next chapter. An open page, white paper, no words yet.

The switch goes down, we move on. Open the big door, new world. Fresh air gushes in we are all blown away by change. At last the cobwebs blown away spiders are lost flying into open space then grass or fence join to spin new webs. Like life the plot thickens we say hell and then we go vulnerable that’s evolution the beauty of not knowing again and again…

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive