Tory – Page 7 – The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive

Housing The Thoughts Of A Poet

Oh the latest wheeze on bricks and mortar Tory hypocrisy, we have the buy one percent of the roof and beneath, by God the Tories are in mercenary desperation but the thought will have the blockheads salivating.

The majority of social renters often need to be flexible in employment terms so house swap (exchange) is or should be flexible and workable. Currently governments get over the moment you are obsessed with the silly housing ladder, we have a huge problem with private landlords mortgage default and dodgy property developers.

In the end you wondrous dreamy property porn people grow up, there are no pockets in shrouds, think of Jesus a radical of his time, share lives and love, decisive housing policies are destroying humanity creating a me me culture, so called home ownership is a control mechanism one where any government wishes to give no support to the most vulnerable. PEOPLE, check this out just how many humans have been really properly rehoused post Grenfell, I pray the vulnerable will not take up this spiv Tory government wheeze I say protect all social housing at all cost not tomorrow but today.

So It Came To Me & The Emotional Light.

So it came to me and thus I demanded of it as much as I was told commonly known as truth spades and buckets full I couldn’t escape the velocity without the trees I was bare and open to all cruelty I had feared as mothers and fathers and those beyond disappear I am but the one left and words cannot save me.

The Emotional Light

The emotional light is what keeps us breathing when your wings are down and you struggle to fly, abandoned upon the ground not knowing who will look out for you and embrace your shine as the world grows, humans too many and strange to care.

Dear Editor Brexit The Breakfast Cereal

Like the iceberg the Titanic encountered this now strange country needs to put the engines into reverse with regard to the doomed Brexit ( which by the way sounds like a breakfast cereal ) .The future isolation of this country will spawn a country of cheap labour and homelessness for the poor. The biggest victims shall be the young who have been told in school to learn another language so they can travel around Europe to work and live. This breakfast cereal will be so hard to swallow and all because of the set attitude of the property rich baby boomers, who seem to hark back to a semi colonial past where cap doffing was the norm and poverty was everywhere, there needs to be a huge campaign to stay in the EU for future generations who are happy to use there education to break down barriers across not just Europe, but the entire world.

Yours Faithfully

Mason Cult The Warrior Poet

Masters In High Chairs A Commentary

The conspiracy and control and how this keeps the masters in their high chairs from the monarchy to feudal landlords, the banks governments national and local, it is all there to control and regulate as a world population spreads out of control.

In this heavy mix the greatest form of denial is that of a roof over ones head be it as a singleton or family, there is now a not so hidden state of homelessness, does society care I doubt it, those upon the streets are viewed as almost byproducts in the gutter a strong statement to make I know, but that is where we are in so-called society.

We also happen to be living in a judgmental and formulaic society where the only ways to move along in life are the prescribed ones usually driven by fear and failure through the conduit of politics and devious media and obvious peer pressure, there appears to be few exceptions to the dogmatic nature of passage and the greatest failure of the prescribed systems, more often than not they miss some very gifted humans who are on the Autism Spectrum I will not add to this the condition of Aspergers Syndrome as the identifier Hans Asperger is now known to have collaborated with the nazi regime in the extermination of disabled children.

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.