Tag: depression

A Message On Behalf of Warrior of Poetry to all Visitors

 

 

My name is Tony Topping, the Creative Director on behalf of Ian The Warrior of Poetry. Ian has been quite unwell hence
the break in postings of Poetry. What began in about 2007 was an idea due to a chance meeting outside a cafe in my local town
where I met Ian after not seeing him for a number of years.

He said he had a few poems could I perhaps type them for him and do a website.

Years later this has expanded into a poetic archive like no other. Snowballing into this great archive we see now.
Despite Ian being poorly we are still working on the site and still doing the poems. Which I am sure is great news,
there is no way this site would be taken off line due to the years of work involved.
While Ian is recovering he wrote this poem for his visitors to the site,
I have no doubt he will write a book about this ordeal.

I collapsed, deaths door could have appeared and on that fateful day for a minute god had deserted me.
Yet I found he was with me. All creativity lost, they discovered I was unwell. They placed me back in a
cage and I roared like a lion. My mind a sea of delusions and thoughts, yet I am saved
and yet there is light for by the grace of god a poet am I and prose and words flow like
water again. For my destiny is to write and come what may I am pleased god had blessed me
on that day.

Another Tub Thumping Poetry Round Up

Our Father

Our father we’ve been trying to find you in heaven, but so far we’ve had no luck waiting for
the cloud on the left till it passes by, but nothing happened. I got my brother to shout but you took no notice. He said to me “you must be seeing things and by the way say hello I’ve been dying to meet him, why did it take so long Amen.”

New to the Garden

New to the garden here is the cat in your Disney moment, sitting calmly he approaches, he doesn’t talk but the eyes are doing a good job. Shall I be nice to you today I shall soon find out. Well an answer short and not so sweet came along he put his paws around my leg demanding that I shouldn’t move without speech. A cats idea of control at a glance well I can’t do that I’d be powerful if I could sigh to the wilderness.

The Swallows Defender

I am the swallows defender for the cat is around sitting sprawled upon the ground eyeing the solitary swallow. The birdie frets to be back in the nest  where chicks wait, the swallow sits upon an old electrical wire and stares me out, I say hello there’s not a lot I can do. Meanwhile the cat waits but alas in vain no chicks falling today. However a plate full of dry food comes along happy kitty, the swallow thanks me with a wink, or is it my can of Eight Ace cider that causes me to see birds speaking.

Storming Into Summer With More Poems For You.

 

Blessed.

Did you know the Auras have a code of practice I walk along it seems unfriendly, the Aura it bothers me? So I wonder why, face after face passes me place after place a scowl of disapproval so this is the world now. So how do I survive I was told a way by an unknown master I cannot reveal he said “my son doesn’t look, keep walking, keep straight, and don’t pick up or take in the Aura of others and you will be fine and yes you will heal transmit your blessing to all who pass you, and you will be blessed.

The Breed

This is the year, the breed, the beards, the muscles all over the place the hypermasculine, expand and steroid terror moves in disturbed minds raging through violent England. Women are now like men and more than nasty. Peace is now a period of a dispute the resolution often death, when the beards are shaved off the peace will once again come and change will arrive. Pass me the jungle juice I am on the weights, oh did I not tell you I am one of them.

I Am A Spirit

I’m a spirit on day release, I thought I’d tell you this. I’ll tap you on the shoulder to let you know. I’ll squeeze your wrist I’ll touch your brow I’ll turn a cloud to blow on your cheek, I’ll stay awhile and then kiss your cheek to tell you I love you and then I will go followed by the most haunting wind you’ve ever heard. Whoosh it is I, there and gone. Yet strangely here trapped in my world and yours.

The Harvest

The harvest will come I know of that, the dictators are surrounded now their days are done, trust me. I know of this, the evil will break, the evil will drown, and an echo of laughter and happiness will be heard around the world. The vibration will be long until the bad has gone trust me I know. A day like never before will dawn the sun is for everyone love will be felt everywhere, my ears are different and soon you’ll know why soon you will know because I know that change will be forever.

Distorted

Were we ever our brother’s keeper look at us now tightly packed but with all the space in the world, no it’s territorial the mind of distorted humans going higher, or is it down and down to Hades. Seems like control but it is high and you might fall man is not a bird. Where are the minds when your garden is dead but a long way down, where there is no sense, there is no feeling and all that followed is nowhere fighting and killing government is down am I really my brother’s keeper too busy fighting to survive? God is on the back burner ready to explode now that’s atomic.

 

 

 

Poetry & Yet More Poetry From Our Poetic Warrior Archive

God Morning

God morning to you, yes God morning not good morning, I think he is responsible for this day that is a given a day and a date to boot. My number is somewhere, anywhere, I am trying to find it.  I hope I’m not on the list for the plan God says it is not convenient to ask anything of him today as he is getting the new people ready he’s fed up with us now we are too violent he whispered in my ear.

Always

Always gain a new perspective, it might save the day, look to the skies in different ways.  It is always new, it is always refreshing. Look for virgin landscapes where nothing sits upon the hill that is above us, we are below I can’t be a bird but my imagination is high. The outer limits where new dawn waits and hopes stay alive, pass the Yanga juice I need it.

 

An Ode To The Southport Marine Lake.

I am in a small Gondola my hands paddle me along I listen to the echo’s in the void I go slowly to the center of the marine lake an entrance reveals I am entering the next world who will greet me. Ahhh even god can wait, as I crack open my seventh tinny…lunchtime o bozzle that is the way. But hark the lake pulls me like a monster, I have fallen from my boating steed…

Welcome to neutral peace land in a timeframe of my own lunch hour, I sit, and for the first time in a long time I rest, I hear birds I think joy, and in the gap there is silence but for the cooing of pigeons making their box tidy, oh busy birdie, one will pop outside to look up at this bird, my feathered friend acknowledges me, I believe that is a miracle. We have common ground me and birdie, he drinks pints you know…

Open The Mind

Open the mind let the universe in, like a river that flows. It made you and sent you forward upon evolutions way. From day to day we changed but albeit slowly, fashioned to the state we are in now. Tell me what state will we be in soon I know not. Yet be still and know that you are God.

The Gum of the Past

Everything we’ve ever done leaves its mark, looking back where was that fingerprint, ah, is it still there half a century old now. A bit lonely as millions of others are. So I went on a mission to save it, bring it home and frame it from my grey Aunt’s stair rail, with the dried chewing gum in the gap. I had to ask the new owner as the fact is I never inherited the house. Split three ways. With a thousand in cash for someone’s dog never mind, I’ll have the fingerprint back though. Oh, I wonder if the gum still chews…and Uncle Cyril is on the phone, that cash it looks like the ink is smudging on the notes !!!!

Time

Time to end the brutality of the times. Not that we have ever defeated it, survives all time of history, the capacity to be cruel and dominating what exactly did our so-called God create yes, the fauna and playground breeding grounds for the hordes. Why can’t we go to the paradise of a kind island? The language of the shadows where prowlers live among the curious lower kingdoms secretly the monthly change of lunar activity sees shadow bolting from holes to who knows where and tapping you upon the shoulder and in low breath warning it’s time.

 

 

Poetry Round Up For These Troubled Times

Boxes of Light

Boxes of white light, seven boxes of white light, seven boxes of hope and joy, seven spaces of white light in the clouds. Please stay there, please don’t rain. I  don’t want the pain. I will stay you’ll never be gone and I am not done with opening doors that you walk through. With a smile I can see you and just say hello I am here, let us open our boxes of hope.

I Breathe Out

I breathe out, the breath becomes yesterday, turning the corner ah that is also yesterday it has gone, unless you walk back in time, gone and yet we are in the moment, we are upon the earth the goodness terra bequeaths us each and every day, man has a lot to learn, let us in the moment learn anew.

A Hand

A hand for every occasion put it on, and you can get it on. I mean it is your day of course, warm and convenient. A face to hand and here it comes, a dull grey face. An ugly mouth full of promise, just try him on your right hand you will soon see you’ve got your hand full, OMG man you’ve got a world to save.

Pastel Atoms

A chain of peaceful, passive pastel atoms, whispering a trail around a troubled planet. Bursting in flames and destruction. It weaves before your eyes in a vast colourless sky, we inherit from the pollution of twisted human minds. Waking up day after day, the colourful weave of atoms grows stronger in a band across the atmosphere. Wider and blindly determined to land as coloured rain from lingering clouds to land in variant forms. With new spirit on a crystal clear day to form a colony anew to reignite the purpose of new human form, as super animals no higher than a slumbering element. In a new jungle flora of wonderous fauna.

Reflections

Reflections on glass divides us with it’s shining I see others I used to know, but cannot reach out even my fingertips won’t do for there is war. Much war, humanity reaching its ends overshadowed by smoke fire and death. What is tomorrow when we won’t see the the end of this day. Is this the price to pay for evolution for God has no grace, and just in case you wonder Gods work is all around amongst the fire and hell for again this is still war as it always has been among humans who never learn

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