The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
The Poetic Warrior Returns to his Poetry after Illness Welcome One, Welcome All
A short story for kids as Susie Swan saves the wood from General Snail…
This is about my father County Councillor John Wilson a native of Scale House Farm Galgate Lancaster who died in 1973 suddenly age 44 yrs wouldn’t mind it read out sometime sadly missed.
God preceded time, we invented divisions of time. As we evolved but we need not think of ourselves as clever, it is when one goes to sleep discovery is made being conscious in a troubled world is burdensome and extreme, we find peace somewhere else, some are yet to discover. Remember we are all transient beings much of our own invention and reinvention in a living world. No man is above another. We are driven, driven by primordial instinct. It is difficult to achieve but very easy to forget in a vortex of emotions.
In 1957, the Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan told a Conservative rally in Bedford that the people of the UK had never had it so good. It may seem as though we are more distant than ever from the days of the post-war boom, just before the swinging sixties crashed into the seventies and on to the demolition of industry under Thatcher. For example, now more than 100,000 people have lost jobs due to the impact of the government’s response to the corona virus pandemic. Young people see dreams crushed due to failings in the exam system and the prospect of a no deal Brexit is written about in the pen of the doom-mongering journalists.
Yet, I will argue that, despite the tragic trail of the virus, we have, in fact, never had such a great opportunity to reflect, rebuild and restore this country as a centre for industry and to build a much fairer and more socialist state. We need the government to commit to a policy of buying British; supermarkets to be encouraged to invest in UK produce, which is guaranteed by stringent UK quality control. Our universities have shown magnificent flair in working towards finding a vaccine for the virus and distance learning opportunities have flourished. We need to invest further into research opportunities and technology. With technology comes all the requisite sub-industries and trades. Our young people are willing to work and need apprenticeships that lead to jobs. The care sector can flourish if its staff are paid better for the hard work they undertake. Yet this renaissance needs to be centrally controlled.
Now we have left the EU and learnt how unwise it is to have a country that depends so greatly on the service sector, we can repair the damage done over the past fifty years. In 1957, we may have had a flourishing economy, but it flourished largely because nationalised services and industries formed the backbone of the economy and led to a robust infrastructure. If we aim towards the instigation of a more socialist government with a policy for egalitarian investment and nationalisation then once again, we can have it good we can have it very good indeed.
Many years passed in our conventional world’s and time was near for what became known as the great unlocking I was instructed through the deepest of meditations to reach out to one of the universal portals where I was to mentally connect with those travelling a similar path.
I had never in my short life of travel had knowledge of these others, so refreshed I would be by this awakening that my nervous system tingled aloud to me, In the strangest of ways, it was almost an anticipation of living forever which I was scared and sceptical about .
But on an evening of the brightest star ever seen, several white glow domes approached in a line before our group of mediators each portal opening drawing what would be new incumbents of a new dawn, drawn to transformation by powerful meditations. Crown chakras were definitely growing and glowing above our auras and our perception levels arose beyond our imagination, beings were being taken by cosmic Adepts. We were not of earth blood anymore and the journey to the new life streams had begun to call this heaven.
Army of the outfall wrath of society that is dead if not rotton to the core deep within the veins of man in in the last century voiceless legless and armless earth absorbs the god head in the in the form of sun and it’s magnetic intervention the last days of earth , funny isn’t it earth isn’t aware we are on it she doesn’t grumble but does react like the atom man altered for destruction .Though the time is poised we are again nearing the edge of destruction before the void appears that man will never breach again to survive as he has always managed to do but this time he me and you that is will be gone and with that any sense of importance with it back to the swirling god’s in the nebular we will go waiting for absolutes direction earth will have a notional sense of release from our destruction.
Dr Mason, will see you now part of the plot you see. Dr Mason isn’t a Doctor you see, not in the general term of meaning. Dr Mason is one of many and many more working in the national bubble information trawler and twister attempting to put the average person into a panic, twisted sworn to secrecy and oath Dr Mason knows of the plot and the plan but it is worth more than his own life and time.
The world of secrets is drawing the gullible along a path of possibly no return and the final NHS record for millions, nothing since the days of the third Reich has such a secret plan been juggled into action. Dr Mason is only part of it as there many more Dr Masons involved. What we are desperately waiting for is one to break rank so we can start to breath once more and find our voices in what is supposed to be a democracy of sorts. Followed by a public enquiry and and the vast swamp of lodge politicians then brought to trial for misleading a country amidst the web of Corona virus pandemic panic. Dr Mason by the way retired.
There is a rumble deep in outer space, in anger it amasses nothing else is known, it is for now trapped and there exists anger that cannot be revealed. At this moment man is so ignorant trying to save himself like every living thing. He and IT, fear death but we cannot stop fear and God is a difficult concept not seen but at the same time all around in random action. Known as the work of God but every day now if you listen in a quiet moment you will detect this deep rumble, the remixing of atoms has begun we just wait for the vaporising white light and all will be gone again but this time no evidence remains.
In wind, in pockets of wind, it comes in clouds, in fluffy clouds, it comes, spores, seeds, pellets of doom. Blown by wind to a stop, on a calm day, in a calm way. We are not liked down here down there and everywhere it comes glancing, dancing about your face. Pushed deep and upward to your brain a virus of many disturbing disturbances with nothing else to do. Self mutating and proliferating, postulating for the storm the tsunami, the mother of darker evolution from the clouds mouths open and blowing.
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.
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, 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 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.
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.
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 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 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.