poets – The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive

To All Our Supporters We Announce After a Period of Illness the Return of the Poetic Warrior

I am pleased to tell you after a period of illness the Warrior of Poetry is returning to write poetry for his site,
a brave comeback after being unwell. Poetry is of great help and here is a list of points we think define it’s contribution
to mental health, but first a poem from the Warrior of Poetry.

Amidst the disorienting whirl of words,
They aim to ensnare, like Anaconda’s coil,
To unsettle the mind, sow confusion’s seeds,
In this ‘lemming time’ they call it so,
Where evil threads unwind, and spirits tire.

But let the friendly spirits freely roam,
With good intentions guiding every step,
For in their gentle glow, malevolence shall flee,
Like broken branches scattered on barren land,
Awaiting the freedom of resilient hearts,
Those who, unyielding, stand in the face of discord.

We came up with some pointers as to why writing poetry provides an outlet for expressing complex emotions and thoughts that may be difficult to articulate otherwise. It allows individuals to explore their feelings and experiences in a creative and cathartic manner.

Self-Reflection and Insight: Engaging in poetry encourages self-reflection and introspection, leading to a deeper understanding of one’s inner world, beliefs, and values. This process can promote personal growth and self-awareness.

Stress Relief: The act of writing poetry can be a relaxing and meditative practice that helps reduce stress and promote relaxation. Focusing on creative expression can temporarily alleviate worries and anxiety.

Empowerment and Control: Crafting poems gives individuals a sense of empowerment and control over their narrative. It allows them to shape their experiences into meaningful art, fostering a sense of agency and ownership.

Connection and Communication: Poetry has the power to connect people on an emotional level, fostering empathy and understanding. Sharing poetry with others can create a sense of community and support, reducing feelings of isolation.

Validation of Experiences: Writing poetry validates one’s experiences and feelings, acknowledging their significance and impact. It can be a form of self-validation and affirmation of one’s identity and struggles.

Creativity and Imagination: Engaging in creative activities like poetry stimulates the imagination and cultivates a sense of playfulness and innovation. It encourages individuals to think outside the box and explore new perspectives.

And so the poetry continues. What wonders of words await us

A Collection of Poems from the Poetic Warrior

Soon

We are out of ideas with as humans can we suggest a change before it is too late and that could be soon, even perhaps tomorrow sooner, it has to be sooner than you can think. Maybe we’ll start with those three crafts that have been lurking in plain sight for a few days now I was told that they have the answers if only they would come down What’s hidden by them to obscure the truth, I am suspicious if it is an experiment I cannot quite see it and it may never happen I’m talking Aliens are we stressing them out just let them come, for they are already here, they look like us and we look like them hush our governments know, that is the truth hidden.

Aunt Agatha’s Painting

The scrap man, he is not as he appears, this is more than you’ll ever know, blink and I would miss the fact he has me in a trance. You’ll never know it’s him you have just talked to, nor will I ever realize he has just taken Aunt Agatha’s expensive painting into the back of his van until it was too late, he had me under hypnosis honestly, as he gave me twenty for the pic. I am under the influence honest I am, here scrap man what about this nice Victorian chair, yea see he has me in a trance again…

New Landscape

The new landscape is ready my people must go they have been waiting a long long time tuned to peace, and their radio station is on. The promised land is nigh the prayers have worked. War is no more the new story begins and fire and rage are dying that day is done only one more night of serious clouds and then we start again the circuit breaker worked I know of this, I link into the cosmos.

Big Laugh

The big laugh that came out of nowhere ah the meaning of life oh yes it was getting too much my brain fogged it is getting too much, what was I to do capitulate and crawl to the deadly corner and die oh hell. What should I do the grim reaper came upon me, and I just burst into a happy laugh through a big conduit in the mind nothing dam well-mattered monster joy well let me tell that is welcome anytime, by the way, was that Jesus telling me not to worry

I Knew It

Yes it is anonymous I knew it all along that is its name, it carries on as if it is not noticed. It never did stand out and moves silently amongst us, you may ask what is this I would have to tell you it is what you wondered for I have to inform you it is God he is currently sat on a park bench only a few know.

All In It

Toward a reckoning we go in the spirit of all we do our karma is being calculated, and the next direction is nigh. We must prepare who will now pick us up when we fail or fall and stop us. Before gravity finalized our flawed time in the moving kinetic known world remember energies are dead they keep moving and changing all other life.

Alien Lodge

Alien Lodge care home is a place where we get closer to the truth, what’s it all about you’ll soon find out. Look, Fred, there’s a flying saucer coming, look out Doris prepare the kitchen table that’s where it is landing, we are short of space gestured the tiny Alien. “Frank!” I scream, get the nanobots ready “Dick, turn those bloody Christmas lights on this is for real.” And tap the table three times because the truth is out there, main corridor seventh door to the left open it gently folks

Plug In

We are ready plug in be eternal never die the greater vision beyond the skies above the beyondness of all that is known the mystery that is wonderful will it happen shall we close our eyes to see

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.

Poems Galore from the Warrior of Poetry

Heavy

Heavy upon my mind, a planet passes through in a phase. It’s over, the moment gone of fear. I now have no fear lifted away into the cosmic abyss. For I’m on the other world I’m in the hinterland, a spec upon the horizon. In yonder land as is often said. I tried to cling onto the old but each time I was there I knew I was leaving for the spirit had flown and, nothing connected. Turkers Wood my home of residence was floating away, our small island was detached and all our memories locked. Did this happen, was I there and who own this world is there any treasure buried in the soil.

Language

Language, in the texture of a sky, so vast not to read but to feel. It’s too far away to care too remote to fathom. That word is for the deep but not for the cosmos. Draw from the atmospheric platform what you desire, for it is probably the cosmic mind that calls too you.

Loose Yourself

Loose yourself feel the wind through the tunnel of transformation, beyond the new future is coming you are going to be lost at times in the unknown, what will you find I see a mother craft on a mountain side it assesses my approaching speed and estimates my threat, that is the charging vortex of me, but it is over. I am now inside, I am told I am now wanted upon Mars, and so to Mars I go onwards is the rallying call.

Dark is the Night

Dark is the night I’m in groove for flight, soon I go, I blow. I’m gone, trajectory unknown. But I land, I get out. It is warm, I walk, I await. The greeting, the acceptance. A new friend, I do believe it is an alien who approaches from yonder ridge here on another planet.

Too Much Love

Too much to love, but I don’t know how is it a secret. That I should never find or has it always been in plain sight. But afraid of the now life is not so long and the embers are trailing and barely warm. I struggle as if I’ve missed the point, was it the only saving grace we posses, above all else or have we missed this tingle inside.

Upon the river bank in the manner of the bard

Th’re wast upon the riv’r bank a pile of soil transmut’d if ‘t be true thee wouldst indulge me, into a heapeth of emotion laying within. T wast a warmeth day and the travelling lamp did beat down something inside did want to breaketh out of the soil, t vibrat’d and did tremble across the riv’r wide and ranneth at seventeen nautical knots wide a single white lily hath moved into the riv’rbank all high-lone and bobbing, t suddenly did turn upside down and expos’d t’s delicate roots searching f’r a new life, t struggl’d a plenty stretching to penetrate the vibrating crumbling mound of dryeth did crack soil, f’r inside new life wast waiting and a voice from above bellow’d “tell those in the silv’r cautel we has’t new life. ” as the riv’r hath carried on in continuity annulling the brown soil casing whilst new life wast b’rn

There was upon the river bank a pile of soil transmuted if you would indulge me, into a heap of emotion laying within. It was a warm day and the sun beat down something inside wanted to break out of the soil, it vibrated and trembled across the river wide and ran at seventeen nautical knots wide a single white Lily moved into the riverbank all alone and bobbing, it suddenly turned upside down and exposed it’s delicate roots searching for a new life, it struggled a plenty stretching to penetrate the vibrating crumbling mound of dry cracked soil, for inside new life was waiting and a voice from above bellowed “tell those in the silver craft we have new life.” as the river carried on in continuity annulling the brown soil casing whilst new life was born.