The mind of maverick poet Mason Cult, grappling the hell of modern living, poetic despair and deep thinking. Mason at his most difficult and reflective moods in his fourth poetry book from the Peoples Republic of Yorkshire. Feel the anger as Mason battles against modern life or the modern hell of living as he often calls it. No matter how stressful life gets there is always time for poetry.
Tag: Royal Wedding
May Of Africa A Political Rant.
It is now May of Africa forsaking the intelligent agendas and concerns of Brussels, Mrs May prefers to seek trade with countries that have appalling human rights records including genocide to name one. BRITAIN has been trading with the continent of Africa for centuries, the pitfalls are known already to most, Mrs May is looking for a pleasant Brevity but there isn’t one and I have this feeling this woman and her chums will keep this economy going even if this mean concessions for people coming from all over this world, especially in the ares of housing and opening the gates to more foreign people swelling an already overcrowded country such as Britain. So watch this space. Trade with other countries respectfully but don’t make big waves of trading more exclusively with Africa British people don’t want to lose their identity we have had year on year of this we can’t even house people in this country as it is in the year 2018,
Worried
Worried I sat within the walls rigid from this day. I said to my friend wouldn’t it be most wonderful if a ball of chilly mist entered the room it would form a scented cloud in the middle of our
room. I said go my friend that it would be delightful if this soft mist split and headed toward us and slowly entered our inner being, then with the powers of that special mist we would become so happy and well once more.
What Remains
The legacy of a strong presence, it had been a long time since we had visited a cottage called Cold Place, mud and dust, global spider webs over objects abounded the key turned a faltering mechanism.
A soft creaky push opened the door so heavy it had momentum of it’s own we lit ancient scented candles as we weaved through a cobweb menagerie of damp furniture toward two gentlemanly high back chairs that faced one another in gloom, with a black leaded fireplace we both sat cold in bold dampness but all the while a buzzing was a niggling away at our senses, profound as if some inevitable awakening was coming to greet us and it did, the fire combusted to life wind broke through, dry rot window frames all that was damp unfurled itself. Dry cobwebs blew sucked by a moving internal vortex the family wished us back.
Souls & Voices
Souls and voices through windows and doors in the corner a radio plays to itself but a precense exists for you are there.
A clasp of your wrist clinging mildly gripping to reassure memorie, in acceleration
you log it all being brave is difficult and too painfully clear in a raw and wounded mind.
In our grief we seek a capacity to heal and renew and with the passing of time a mothers love to a son is eternal.
God bless and stay strong as bright sunshine will return
and time will try and heal what it can for the now.