Tag: social justice

Political Rant DWP Representation at Interviews For Disabled

Warrior of Poetry warns the Department for Work and pensions will damage the lives of disabled at work capability assessments, they are trying to discourage having any representation at interviews leaving them vulnerable to losing the claim. Warrior of Poetry insists that all disabled people should have representation at these interviews. It is just one more example of how this Tory government is going to continue to bully the most disadvantaged of this island it must be stopped by any means.

And so a poem for the above.

I try to garner silence for that is all that fits, I am not seen, I am not heard. Contemplation and I see one bad apple, there is a basket of more products at the higher university systems. The big rumor is that doctors are being bought by politicians and giant pharma are used to maximize control and death, meanwhile, more than one hundred and fifty thousand bodies lay unburied in portable fridges but the top politicians will not be able to slither out of a genocide type trial next year…

Warrior of poetry has been at it again writing poems

Where Greed Never Sleeps

A world that is breaking down, the habit of tears an emotional pump is constantly whirring. But is this the way I suggest it is not, for what does this achieve what really does it change if we are seeking the attention that these tears bring.

Are we less than plausible if too many years and too many tears like rain enter the human psyche, forever responding to situations from this foundation is there a better route to achieve harmony maybe the media requires treatment, maybe they should not pedal politicians as they do, for the machine that drives human affairs make them not know what they do.

I say is why they do this part of the multilayered empire that makes money from every conceived happening and every other device to divide and rule pigeon holing the poor and misunderstood with every facet of the wicked and thoroughly evil British class system that debases humanity and the hopes of millions of kind hearted but neglected humans I say we are a disgusting country where greed never sleeps.

The Mighty Boc Hondo

Wired up and fit as fiddles they march out of the cupboards and back doors they came like rats over a fence they jumped, we couldn’t really see them and probably we were not meant to but I could, I was trained I knew what these things did but I would not tell a soul we would not be here without them. But I know in these times of insincerity and cruelty who would believe the work of the devic Kingdom and their impervious leader of great credulity The mighty Boc Hondo

New Audio Poem Eastern Soldiers By Mason Cult

Eastern soldiers by the sea a million or more, I clambered to the high ground in the city the nightmare of invasion had now appeared. Inside the huge hotel I went,

A Collection of Poems by Mason Cult Part 2

Mason Cult Gazes at the Cod Liver Oil

Counting cod liver oil capsules, the bottle is so large my heart will never see it through. I often wonder if this is the plot, keep it going till we find  a solution of which way to go. Oh the golden ovoids of these capsules oiling my daily internals, if I become fed up there is always my bike chain to consider.

Gravity

If gravity brings me down then I am doomed and ecological opportunists will have their way with me. In time I will decay and spread from beneath the trees that grow, from my rotting benefice. For they will stretch their limbs crack and grow in own time, I respond in seasons we still count the falling winter leaves. We will dance rise and fall in vortex round and around all trees. It is music made for tender ears of young emergence, for I only have words and wait for what sound nature transmutes in me, as one we shall be the tree and the dry leaves amongst new nature.

Comet

Comet, oh ye force of resistance, through the universe you go, with orders kicked back from a sun that didn’t tell you where to go. With eternal tail power so great and in wonder, power would be a small word energised by an absolute power you are fired to another world. With bursting plasma for a remote beach, upon a virgin planet unknown to earth. Or so I’m told in my ear. With that we have hope for new life and reemergence to re materialise on other world’s and my prayer has ended now.

I Am Old

I am old to the young and young to the old, I am that. Not much more than that, I breath I am conscious, well aware of the clock. But the hands are sticking they wearily move forward and can just about talk in these days of rusty language. I am bold for what have I to lose but another day, in an ever anxious and faithless people. In orbit some of us will fall off, spun to who knows where by degrees. Three hundred and sixty of them and do you know that the world never stopped, to let me off and there was no one to ask why, as the world which I’d left rotated in the non speaking universe.

Glory Consumption

From seed to glory consumption and death the seed, returns blowing and landing random. If it can the seed and freedom go together, perfect unit of production given by the grace of our creator. Its journey and locations prolific if not always ideal, but it shows that in abundance it can beat man and his symmetry of controls, upon a benevolent earth. An earth that continually forgives, that provides new green shoots beyond the darkest times beyond all wars that ravage the spirits and souls of the good lonely warriors of the mother earth.

When Daylight Comes

You are not allowed to have your eyes shut when daylight comes, denial of life it seems or depression has disallowed life. Not a curtain is twitched, life’s camera shutters are down, disowned, in a dampened day. Today we have a problem a common expression of populations. As violent dictators weight your lives with horrors that defy the description of human.  But it is they that should be in fear, fear of the mighty sun exposing their deeds. So blinds can be lifted and righteous acts enacted for those with their eyes still closed on a sun kissed day.

Rustling Bushes

Rustling bushes upon the track, in the Forrest at last, on my own. Everything past or passing, no-one else there, thoughts; My mind open to receive, I am fortunate to see all this for another day. Mist evocations in early morn, a woodpecker taps the tree. Echoes emanating from movement. Travelling in etheric form. I am caught in this feed consuming of mind, a break, a gap in mixed green fauna. I determine a face there within. I travel across to see there is a face, familiar in vibration, a shadow on the cheeks, a sun and shadows bring me dimension and form. I turn away, for I know you in sadness. I will say no more. I shall gently walk away and continue upon this journey till I hear the cuckoo’s call.

My Fear

My fear for the smile and where it has gone. For it is now elusive but for the breathed of a whisper of a hair, blown away by chance, as random, as indiscriminate, rain on a half covered wreck of a roof. The faces now of concern but only for itself. It exists to survive in the millions of earth’s unhappy inhabitants, if the head had pounds painted upon them, then everyone would smile well at least once.

A Collection of Poems From Mason Cult Part 1

The News

Do not ignore the news, it may catch up on you. Ten thousand miles could close in on you we are all related in mind emanations, all related by degrees of affliction, one day a god, the next a criminal in misfortune, non understanding in the chain of random chance. Intercommunication feeds a three sixty degree cycle what goes around comes around do not forget.

Short To Sleep

Short to sleep, fast to dream of reality. I’m not sure if I need the panic room, the need to wake, to regain control. To feel, to pinch your skin, to check your real. For another day done. This evaluation of mortality and our outer edge. So much doesn’t make sense, but with the panic comes inner love. There is no value on loved ones checking  on them to make sure they are there.

Sea Pulse

Sea pulse with no beat timed in conscious, universe within. Without a teacher, it rushes in like a broad tongue of lashing mass, against a shores walls of useless defence. In time this will reach you and drag you back to the muffled sounds of creation deep of discordant cacophony drowning the drums of evil.

1984 Is Upon Us.

For all who cannot save the world today, maybe their kindness will do, if a property is the only thing that makes your mark, maybe that will not do. As the brick division continues to identify and divide, what you perceive as civilised so called society. Stop your fantasy I say, for if you cannot stand aside and away from your possessions and be human, then your life has been so very shallow, you may just be missing the best friends you never had, because of this. Put down your browser, let’s face it, Facebook is causing problems by the minute, at the end of the day this government does not want anyone to talk openly. They wish to study your behaviour and mould any future accordingly, people, you are being set up and George Orwell was the second coming 1984 us upon us.

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive