The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
The Poetic Warrior Returns to his Poetry after Illness Welcome One, Welcome All
There are no sounds but of essences in a global form travelling upon a variable current in a stream of consciousness, as we gave it such a name, a phenomenon are we in a world we developed as evolution and must not know of the why included is myself the joyous one.
Days of sheep and lambs to slaughter, days of indecision and loss of spirit, days of shouting loud to anthems, by vain and colourless music spirits, days of no direction of compass wheel rusty, days of children who do not know why they were born, days of populations eating landmass.
End of days in devotion sincerity a sin, days of rudderless morals the sexes of all temptation, days of missing points coming to full stops, days of lost children shouting for help.
The day Jesus left town we all cried, is our Father in heaven leaving his vulnerable children now alone in days and nights of indifference’s, days of the meek now unable to speak.
And the green air insidious, is he flitting in bushes coughing and choking tasting recipes of death in the world. As if you never wondered why the brains were cooking and the madness never dead, all the things you wanted but could never put them to bed, dancing in your mind. Raving in a mind like Cinderellas cracker and a prince with no clothes. Its a loony fry up in a greasy slippery slimy shady world where the dogs are half as mad as you and of course Mr Tang…
If as matter we do return after death, then back to the beaches as grains of shiny sand caught as jewels by the sun, shimmering back at the living as a constant shifting puzzle augmented by wind, sea profound. Pulsing in magnetised gravity by a needy moon pulling rushed stellar moments to a receptive living over-mind, pondering in a space time continuum.
We live in the time of the enterprise of loin, it is everywhere and it is obvious that the human or thing worships itself by image. In the main man now works by image alone in discordant forms of hedonism, slowly creeping. Exposures of the wrong kind are now prolific, we certainly survive on the exposure brought about by the enterprise of the loins in a vivid crucible of metaphysical party porn people…