spiritual – The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive

Hear Ye, Hear Ye New Poems From The Poetic Warrior

Building Bridges

Building bridges where there are non I’ll try hoping for a miracle do they exist is it under the fountain of spirits visiting the hosts in the many lifestreams prepare properly and you will find out I’m sure for indeed we are without hope if we do not believe and we will just pass by without the vision

Run

Run the air is changing again, run for your very life. My nostrils are full as it suddenly passed my sensory core. I detected that the air had changed I was suddenly running on three cylinders caught in exhaustion, there was no choice it bore down upon my senses but nobody talks of this to most it’s just another day and no one believes me how sad.

Phantom Lodges

Oh, days of the Phantom Lodges your world has changed and you wondered why? those secret buildings in towns cities and villages, the gatherings, the control so secret. The heavy minds of control never so obvious never truly seen these are the days of The Phantom Lodges they call it a little dispensation of powers and yes you may never know just look for the emanating Auras as you walk past the non-descript building.

The Craft & The Nobody

The Craft and the nobody, for fifty years the mute villager was misunderstood the fool to all, drifted in and out of every day everyone shouted at him and all he did was return what seemed to be a vacant smile. Confined seemingly to the scrapyard. He plainly existed but there was indeed a reason. One darkened evening when stars were down and dark drowned this night the mute awoke for the last night of his life,a shepherd was watching lent upon the wooden five-bar gate central to the field. The mute sat up and the silver aura drew his head up, suddenly the mute saw a craft he was able to shout at it to those that never knew in fifty years this is what he was waiting for the miracle after all was the craft so long, so long, but it came and he was mute no more.

I Heard

I heard a whisper, a cold whisper, about a murder the killing of many, parts of a plot that inevitably involved a chain, a plan. The plan does it affect me, oh no there are many others. When you’ve gone you won’t be seeing the sky or hearing running water. You will be just part of the elements.

I Pray

I pray so much now will I get an answer this is worrying. I ask what has happened to this world and what have humans done. Will evil never stop and curses never be lifted I’m doing penance for all my sins. I hope that God will forgive me, please don’t make my children suffer for my misdeeds. Purity and solitude I seek but not to be confined that window of light and hope is needed i pray to be that now as like many I am truly scared.

Time

It isn’t time a little voice told me, give it another day. I heard it from somewhere, I listened the sky opened and I was taken away and I came out elsewhere but not on the earth I knew. A voice came to me and whispered you are modified you are now upon Mars my son you will soon have company look yonder for the sky craft it will come you are now ex of the earth forever.

A Poem For Her Majesty Oh Mother of the Nation.

Oh Mother of the Nation.

Oh mother of the nation thy voice does last forever through all parts of this world, you are not a vision for thou art real as the sun in the morning. Radiant for as long as you are here, God bequeathed you to be amongst us for the duration of your life and your love of duty never lets us down. Smile on forever your majesty for you are real and the nation loves you.

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.

Forthcoming Book & Poetry Round Up

Our Warrior of Poetry Ian, is assembling his new book with illustration, and you can catch Poetry Corner with the poems at 8.30pm every Wednesday on the Shindig Show at www.mightyradio.co.uk 107.9 FM in the Southport, Preston area. Poems of a Working Class Hero, the forthcoming book, stay tuned.

Life

Life, be joyous at this moment, at this time I found speech in the heavens, like a wise bird upon an illusionary branch. I sang of the joy, of being able to wake up and live another day. For this joy I made my mission and flew around in exaltation of the benevolences of the others. I never met those unseen that gave me life so I could sing my songs in praise of An Almighty.

Starman

I am Starman engulfed in purple magnificence resplendent to all in the space of spaces inner space in my mind I’m on it in it, legend in my own lunch hour, living it. The oval enclosure that is my craft, my space ship, my protector, my inner harmony, the divine creator I have evolved from Elton John & Rocket Man, I am now Starman. Play.

No Account

Taking no account of the time it flew by it was as if this was on purpose as it created a blur of confusion it was if I had imagined clocks spinning furiously towards control this seemed to be fast enough to make a blur the plot was thickening too many wars too many dying of bullets or virus the target for the thinning had begun as the Buddhist said to the earth we go the dust had hardly settled when a whirring began descending over chaos science fiction came real to kill or save we would find out invasion of the outers had begun with gold spheres leading the way.

Land of Pedigree Chums

England and the land of the pedigree chums but the gentry are catching up, refinements and acquisitions are all the vogue, and the accent is getting a touch affected each carries opinions of miniature dictator the problems are effected by the touch of a button the A Listers rule, and whose doing what to who and whosoever no-one cares. Its a pity your expensive car on four wheels represents you, but I have a secret, the old man goes by on the old bike guess what that was royalty going by because he has thirty grand in the loft, and I am scaling the loft ladder, when in Rome, reader, when in Rome.

How Tiny

How tiny we all are non of us were born in the sky no angel did we hang from no divine mother’s with open arm arms held us up there in a Theosophy sky panorama so why do we reach when we inevitably fall the earth owns us and consumes our all the wind gathers our collective dusts of death and relocates us grown again by rain on earth and the many facets of benevolent sun and wars say all about our lack of development that Wain’s by the day.

Don’t Pick Up

Don’t pick up dark energies from humans don’t look them in the eyes walk on keep happy with optimism inside all the waking time if you can you will sense a kindred spirit upon your track when you meet them and that is worth all dark looks and vaccous comment as the dark ones walk their nothings perfect but this may help

Retracing

Retracing the faultlines for the sacred state just so much is needed for our lives would be pointless if we couldn’t put things right ,so many sins so many disaters so pointless our lives become if we cannot mend part of turbulent history in disturbed lives despair occurs never to be Godlike and white pure but maybe the harmony and healing of the violet flame to bath in.

The Poetic Warrior Strikes Again With a Great Selection of Poetry

The Mysterious Auric Horns

Down in terra earth, cavernous places exist mostly unknown to surface dwellers deadened by suppression of mass assembly and form, the Auric Horns were in place, and as earth years passed in increments the push to reveal carried on regardless, people above would traverse hills but not mountains, as they would stop by the emergent structures and absorb the emitting often healing buzz and vibration. The Auric Horns protected their structures in the form of wailing sounds of terror to ward off any investigation as more inches pushed upward.

The years were going by and all who walked past the Auric Horn sites noticed increments of upward movement and in the summertime, those having picnics would sit atop the energy field and would comment upon the apparent healing properties. It was fast becoming the only healing miracle centre upon a dying world, ports at various locations were seen possibly as an entrance for adepts to interview, come the time of the Lord Jesus second alighting to the damaged earth but no one knew the time of this and what appeared to be acres of new citadels emerged, waiting for the codes to enter. These citadels stood in silence for further instruction.

With the emergence of the Auric Horns throughout the known now visible earth, these structures continue to be a mystery. There is no explanation, no history document for this is not weathering for this is the emergence of an unknown kind the slowest of revelations, that will never be dust for their time is yet to come, their message is waiting and the power and height will grow.

The Beasts of Royalty

Be yea not fascinated by them the beasts of royalty and pomp. Be yourself and think freely, be not of royal pomp as it will swallow you, be not of blind deference. But be of humanity’s cause, the brotherhood of man and not Satan’s slave. For you shall be of peace and kindness for the betterment and future and eternal hope.

In Your House

The frequency of the day across the line it comes overwhelming all others. Speech has stopped this signal above all others counts world re-boot the English language is dead, a glance and vibration of the universal language no other will do. The animals have it we have become too complicated to the sound we draw, but watch the eyes and the eye holes in your best-framed picture in your house they are looking at you.

The Secret War

The secret war with a pandemic, many moons ago a national newspaper highlighted that nearly every virus would not have an antibiotic to resist it, how true this has become. So now we have the Covid and Omicron viruses but no human falling down in the streets, no upturned cross upon ones door yet, the GP lackeys of government all sit with books behind them. Government propaganda again and if there is ‘dissension amongst the ranks’ your virus will meet you one dark night. Those who protest the virus are there to prove one is allowed democratic rights for now anyway. But be sure to know New World order is here Boris Johnson just hasn’t found the right style as yet perhaps look to China for the social credit model…oh do not put ideas in heads.

We Go Alone

So into the depths, we go alone nothing else but that was revealed on a bleak day and the snow fell and fell till it filled the sky as high as it could ready for readjustment day, and in the meantime, the doors of the houses remained shut forever. It seemed to be the streets were as scarce as they could be even imagination was dead and the ears didn’t reach the brain are we now all but dead, have we enough life to see again we didn’t know the time and broadcast because it is also dead only a faint tick could be added that would stop it. Had hell won, we will have to wait in our cocoons will we become as cloned drones when the snow melts as it should in a thousand years. The secret saucer in the meantime returned to mars for the adepts interplanetary conference and a fellow Warrior of Poetry shall join them.

Traffic Light Tarts

Traffic light tarts are not what you think. They are by my side, an edible spectrum of yum and bright colour. I can’t eat them fast enough my appetite is high, what are they but of course jam tarts. I’m now eating green to go.

Give Me The Time

I’ll buy the license if you give me the time, its a long shot but I need to get out of here heads are cloudy, and much rain like all our troubles it flows to the drain and to the subterranean manifestation.

Beneath our feet known as the hell’s the tilt is on and I’m sliding His I cannot stop I’m descending I’m hoping the flame of dragons will fire me out and a lesson learned never be tempted by savory evils or you too will be swallowed up.