In 1947 most humans became aware of The Roswell incident and the controversy and opinions that have lasted to this day but something major had evaded notice two UFO craft had escaped. The missing craft had gone from the country of America and headed for the cold chill of The Highlands of Scotland for an agreement had been upheld. Today there lies a small farm in the middle of a Highland forest not known by many but in modern terms is a bed and breakfast destination for the few who have reclusive desires especially in a snow covered winters Cape. Jim McConnell’s son Glen had been embedded with knowledge from his late father of a tall adept figure dressed in white who approached his father post Roswell for some place quiet enough to endure a life secret that had to be kept forever. Two UFO craft were to be stored in McConnell Seniors barn covered in annual hay feed for livestock kept in the perfect cover of a domestic Highland smallholding. The cosmic Adept from time to time would reinforce successive farm generations of this secret never to be told and there would be consequences if any of the story were to be told, this was to become logged within the cosmic plan as an agreement and yet that agreement would be broken by what are media calls little green men, who on the night in question landed in the Highlands to recover the lost UFOs in a barn and the adept was expecting them…
Tag: Poetic Works
A BEAST OF THE FOREST
A dark mood overtook Mason Cult in Turkers Wood today, Mason had been in the wood since mid afternoon burning some misbegotten dead monkey puzzle tree, the sky was restless and random interspersed with fork lightening. There is a track that divides Turkers wood into a far more dense area of the wood Mason and his outcast assistants decided to vacate the wood at approximately 7.15 PM, thunder continued its fearful might transmuted to the ground in powerful bolts of lightening, that appeared to disturb the very ground itself. Mason turned near his micro mobile and faced the wood, there was banging near and in the wood an angry roar was heard, horrible noises could be heard. The groan of a man beast angry could be heard we had annoyed the black presence within the forest it roared so angry this happens with Turkers wood regularly I have to tell you this is the beast that occupies Turkers wood a man beast on the prowl.
SOME AMAZING POEMS ON THIS WEEKS ROUND UP
I Watched The World Go By
I watch the world go by in negative longer than I should, it’s a deep state of mind the colour can be a burnout. The marvellous gift we now ignore as humans wanting more excitement against the constraints. I think in my long contemplations why a human pretends to be complicated who was the engineer that messed with our minds and so right back to colour I go for a split second, alas my mind is grabbed by melancholy and I am in negative.
Is It A Cross
Is it a cross or a new junction we seek the cross is bringing pain in the name of it, there is now death and hatred what are we to do. We cannot sanction ourselves to kill in the name of the Lord there must be a corner to turn. Maybe we should ditch the evil in the opium that is religion, if you can stand outside the all of it. Maybe we are just mortally free morality is but a word with silence you can start again, maybe scientists are now gods and the cross rather confusing. So yesterday’s news remains in the dark a scene of yesterday’s derelict ruins with spiders crawling like unknown faces of the past, personally I’m seeking a new vision from the cities in the clouds and white mountains that proliferate around, its looks so pure compared to our bloody delusions in the earth below.
The Snapping Foxes
The snapping foxes , one early morning I was taking the air upon a track within the grounds of what I perceived to be a stately home. Coming toward me a thin man holding many of what appeared to be small dogs. I moved toward the long hedgerow a tiny black shape separated from the pack and proceeded to jump, it fixed it’s tiny jaws onto my forefinger tip and wouldn’t let go. The dog walkers shouted across to me and told me in an educated tone “sir do not be alarmed for these are the snapping alien foxes sent from a craft that has landed in the Forest they are kept by our alien masters to discipline earth when we take over” I must go I have to transfer to myself.
The Boy Who Catches Flies
The boy who catches flies I saw him once, he stopped the crowd in an instant. In the foyer the bustle of a municipal building for no other reason than it happed his arm was raised the thumb and forefinger gently took purchase of the wingtip of this fly, he gazed directly to the fly it was understood that the fly is part of us all the boy looked up and released the fly, it was if the world stopped for that moment, many stood still it showed God’s creations are aware of each other and in peace we understand all of the creators work.
IT’S ALL A RUN FOR THE MONEY
The slippery world of politics it’s all a run for the money, the reds are dead they followed the house and the money and became as the blues following the hours and the money, your money not necessarily their own nor the banks but they followed it. Rule Britannia drinks all round.
The greed the self-aggrandisement the penchant for more, forgetting social cause and worst of all a lack of conscience, being good, getting your gong, for the non-speaking community is tipping the money not the time.
But most of all for however much I listen nowadays, it seems answers from the not-so-great minds of those who remind me of bearded men from the Victorian era, do I say and not as I do a principal still carried by the political class to this day.
And so, from the mouths of often so very aggressive types, they require a social conscience not just me and mine , Britain you are beyond help and mere small words from the likes of me won’t help. What about the social housing, don’t trap, politically trap the less well off, to the Tory social plans for the mortgage. Which will trap the vulnerable in unconquerable debt and misery.
Labour knew this and to gain power they milked it for all they could. Despicable people they are well they have confirmed themselves to a wilderness forever in a greedy selfish flag waving aggressive country, that thinks more about media stars than the greater cause of repairing humanity and covering the green of this country with good housing for all as most definitely the policy of non-affordable homes being built carries on like an express train, with stereotypes of families driving cars like missiles and running around like aggressive rodents with brain disorders.
Halo The Martian
Halo, the Martian, sits by the pond he had found us many years ago and knew we wouldn’t harm him he would sit cross-legged staring through the bulrushes his ovoid eyes said it all he wanted to go home our world was too nasty and cold for him.
We first encountered Halo when his scout craft crashed in Turkers Wood twenty three years ago nothing else followed him he came alone, we only began to notice Halo when he projected between the clumps of fauna and the ancient trees in the evening time seemingly alone but busy his nerves frayed he never really made an effort to connect.
He was not fearful of our presences . But we were beginning to exist in a sort of viral demonology people of the world possessed a toxicity that medicine could not attempt to cure, we were confused Halo had always said to us in the wood that the future was much brighter than now and that the sun would light our lives in greater hope one day.
But this hope was dimming and it was Halo’s mournful eyes that told us, in the wood, that our time was limited also. We didn’t have many days to wait for on one cold earth Sunday evening lights came for Halo and he was gone not long after we were gone, the wood and the world was now empty then the the light was turned off only God knows what comes next.