Tag: Models

A Poetry Round Up & Political Rant From Mason Cult Poetry Master.

Kernel Love

Kernel love ready to play its glory to follow without price in nature proliferate and filter around the world, it isn’t love but a feeling that travels faster than light.  For it is what it is, love that and learn the knowledge from the kernels of time.

A Wonderful Journey

A wonderful journey back to innocence,  I bet most would want to if they could, sweep the jigsaw away. For there was no plan you were caught up in,  many times you tried to break free and wondered how did I get here.

I’m old and need to go back, it has gone too far, desperately trying to feel the freshness of another time, away from a breeding ground. That just made trouble, as millions upon millions wonder why and what there is. Start again go to God, he is waiting within, with another time frame for an answer.

Brexit Grrrrr

So there is a future scenario whereby the doors are closed to the Brits, Brexit has by now found its way through. The only trading partners Britain has is the old trusty commonwealth outposts. Along comes world war three with whoever… let’s face it it’s not known who this war will be with and the Brits are trading far away.  The merchant men of the last war were tragic and easy targets for the enemy so wouldn’t it be wise to stay in Europe.

As for the DWP Double Grrrrr

The Department of Work and Pensions must depart from their outdated policies for all claimants. I cannot believe that the Draconian measures and sanction to job seekers have any effect but that of misery, illness followed by death and destruction.

If this government knew anything about life for the zero hours workers on low pay they would need to bring in real social housing to stop homelessness from being a recurring feature of instability.  Get real you Tories, not everyone wants to get tied in false inflation courtesy of the falsely inflated property market, that needs to keep up the facade and self delusion of the so called homeowners.

The Tories need to attend a dignity and respect course similar to that of black lives matter. But most of all I fear the tabloids have ruined the judgement capabilities of the once honourable termed working class, they have been taken in by the Homer Simpson facade of Boris Johnston and company.  Which concludes me to believe that the country never learns whilst reading the shit stirrings of purple tabloid journalism.

The broadsheets are not any better used as a sounding board for showing off the intellectual prowess of newly anointed key journalists, most who have come from backgrounds that never starved.

Dominic Cummings Triple Grrrrr

There will be no victory for Dominic Cummings the arrogance is baffling indeed, but I will tell you what will stop them all in their tracks and it will also stop all local authorities in there tracks also.  It is simple, the population of this country is too high and even with security cameras, much is not seen anyway, we are already a police state. Covid 19 has only made governance of a country more difficult by the day and all the posturing in the world will not satisfy the deeper analysis that is required to repair, if at all possible the iniquitous state of now.  Any amount of road and house building in an already crowded island, will put matters right and it will only serve to destroy an already damaged environment.

The White Flower

The white flower bloomed in a room every day, timeless, never worn and fresh for each time the sun rose. I remember you, an eternity in remembrance, time heals this will last. Setting to waste all layers of foes once encountered upon mortal plains. Love the energy, lives forever on the plains of heaven. Minds hurt, how deep this goes. Push away the evil occupiers of centuries, turned to dust by tortuous evil-doers. As evil is banned from our white rooms, this white everlasting lotus flower, with the scent of renewed eternity resides evermore.

The Aliens Are Here Again.

A frequency monitor enters my mind on timed settings, almost hypnotic, it pressures up in dense living pulses, from outer world. Feeding my mind, I sit as of this moment soothed, by this smooth transistor from space.  A face with dark ovoid eyes pays me a visiting scan passing me, in assessment. But don’t worry the signal is weakening, it will go and the remainder of the day will not be interrupted until the next time.

Oh The Mind Of Laidlaw, We Wonder.

You would never believe what water droplets on flat glass reveal, not a trick in this I assure you. All the glass is flat and light is beneath. Not unusual many fingertips imprint upon this.  Top light shines flatly through. I glance downward and an incredible arrangements of domed fingerprint swirls emerge. Defined little orbs of lives, risen and marked in life patterns. Somehow unique to all who live and all that have lived.  A unique reminder of our mostly hidden transient life on earth, maybe it is a record for some higher warden of God mapping all.

Laidlaw is Wandering Outside A Cathedral Whatever Next.

Cathedral trees looking upward, survivors of times they cannot hide, in a world gone cold. Survivors arrive with chattering jaws and teeth and folded arms.  The best axe men go forward one by one, this green avenue of cathedral trees, exposed.  Now fires burn in day and night, in a country virus ridden, clouds black and heavy from the hidden craft,  that moves along a line and slips away to report to masters far away, beyond the sight of all others, to world that watches affairs of men in silence. Ready for…

To Be

How did the spirits find their way home from thousands of years in disunity, a collective point to reconcile your groups souls. With the other souls a spirit of unity in family lines, are we better, or have we made better struggles, that went before. From the once shorter lives to the medically inspired extensions of lives. Now given more time to reflect, but in some ways over extend our blip of time upon earth.

I’ve always looked to the dense low pulse of the galaxy, beyond the atmosphere a little bit further than I can go. Whilst looking up in awe, but I don’t feel lost.

For we are part of this good, in stillness I feel gravity in touch with my span of conscious. Time, I can’t believe how quickly from birth to our now it is. Where are we going I think of the term relative and how constricting, it is you are me as I am me and yet be still and know I am God, from a divine energy we crawl grow and go back to source in many lives to be. whether we are a grain of sand or a human being to be, we are creation we are one.

Alien Renewal

We knew the end was near and had looked for remote locations for evacuation, the general consensus of opinion was that it had to be remote. High with fast moving clear streams and plenty of dense woodland coverage, a certain valley came to mind, from memory as a child. It flooded me in delirious colour, swimming in breezes.

Contrasts with sun and shade in equal measure, the valley did have a name but in a location I cannot reveal. There were seven of us mimicking the number of Adepts in imagination and study. We had taken this role and put it in our minds to give purity to our mission, as we were to go farther to be hidden, than most would dare to venture.

We the seven had visited our apocalyptic reservation as individuals over many years, building supplies, seeds, vessels and storage, not necessarily the buildings of recognised habitation. More as semi submerged and appropriate camouflage. There would be no family units there, as it would be morally unwise to believe in futures. As such all seven survivors were males of sound mind and varied technical ability, plus we were trained in the procedures of Kundalini ensuring our own spaceship of mind was available to us when the end of time caught up with us, which inevitably it would. As we could occasionally go further away in a skyline, tainted with the mist of virus and the lid of inevitable death. The earth would be clean again for the perceived Alien renewal.

Fingerprint From God

Fingerprint from God; Guess who, it’s me. Many years gone now, but in the leaves of an old prayer guide my fingers wandered. The subject matter from another time telling me I had to obey and respect my master, however I wasn’t quite sure who my master was. Having possession of my own self this seemed reasonably offensive but still relevant.

In oppressive sections of a world still evolving, then it clicked, I was in possession of my late father’s prayer guide book. That of his conformation as a Christian human. I did love my dad, but he died when I was fourteen years of age dad was a cheery optimist, who had faced many adversities and whilst reading this small prayer book guide, I realise that somewhere in the corners of these pages was a world, for awhile it was saying too me, “this is a fingerprint from God, guess who it’s me.” So there we are, affirmation. From dad once more, I am with you, as much as you were with me, and with that you have my love. I’m telling you who to protect and they are the vulnerable ones, they are my grandchildren you see them through my eyes.

An Ode To Little Professor

The little professors of the English households they travel, they know it all, they believe they know governments, and all the characters. Wake up you are fools, you know them not.  For it is all a psychological con, the con of control.  For you are being gathered and controlled in a new Orwellian state a state of spies. Lock down gives time to sort the wheat from the chaff. But don’t forget we are all one world and not an eccentric folly. Promoted by silly ex public schoolboys who read the papers for breakfast.

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