The Order is Silent

The order is silent curtain by curtain, street by street, all is closed but for a faded light and lagoons fill with unspoken truth, drowning interrogation from the master. A drop in deep green water but the curtains remain closed and dim light still fazed, a sky ship rises but they; I mean they, did not obtain what they wanted…

Blonde Saviour

I’m faithless, life made me that way in shear numbers the odds were stacked one mind pushing a million more back in a false endeavour, as evolution was sliding me away, an individual’s prayer in the masses. Like drowning in the ocean, who has the right to ask in this crucible of despair. Like young animals if we are treated right we might be kind, but we fight poverty inequality, discrimination in demarcation zones of modern life. Where even shouting louder never gets you heard, so we look to the sky on a clear evening. That can be a prayer if only I could reach the stars that tempt the mind to hope for better, till the silver ships arrive and a blonde saviour and partner shining Adam and with his eve, for we will start again.

Mason Cult Poems For The Modern Hell The Ideal Xmas Pressie.

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.

Advent of Dawn

Advent of dawn in the light of the lenses shining upon droves of trailing wanderers emerging from dawn mists in greys, apparel from where we know, not yet disturbing shadows, casting men twice with a trailing spirit that follows. Dragging strained and forever more I turn to watch as thousands of shadowed grey souls disappear again into evening mists.

Leaders…

You shouldn’t be so powerful as the wind strips you bare, all your suits, your medals your mind, your unkind, your destroying a world your mother bonded you to.  Your the leader your stripped so bare, your exposed to the snares of angry populace. Your treachery and nepotistic legions, you look like old Mulder and your smoking man has gone, but your conspiracies no larger than a room, now your destroying the world, now facing the sun what on earth is god going to do with you

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive