Westminster – Page 2 – The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive

The Struggle To Be Born

The discolouration of innocence, from the struggle to be born. To the first breath taken you are aware, or otherwise you made it through the life stream. Who you become others will discover. In the meantime you have to cope with your emerging surroundings much stands before me.

For many earth years conversation is babble, that of the adult. They are supposed to be my guardians for my struggling emergence into what evolves, into a bear pit of woes and foes, sponsored by ignorance of the parents, determined to surpass one another in political institutions of hierarchy.

This whilst the truth of the wind passes change through all. I emerge discovering god gilt edged promises of everyone under the sun. My son is or will be equal. The innocence of this journey is broken up in terms of minds and flesh perish as potentials of innocence, either flower fresh in the morning, but withered by the sun’s power at the end of the day. .

A Poetry Round Up & Political Rant From Mason Cult Poetry Master.

Kernel Love

Kernel love ready to play its glory to follow without price in nature proliferate and filter around the world, it isn’t love but a feeling that travels faster than light. For it is what it is, love that and learn the knowledge from the kernels of time.

A Wonderful Journey

A wonderful journey back to innocence, I bet most would want to if they could, sweep the jigsaw away. For there was no plan you were caught up in, many times you tried to break free and wondered how did I get here.

I’m old and need to go back, it has gone too far, desperately trying to feel the freshness of another time, away from a breeding ground. That just made trouble, as millions upon millions wonder why and what there is. Start again go to God, he is waiting within, with another time frame for an answer.

Brexit Grrrrr

So there is a future scenario whereby the doors are closed to the Brits, Brexit has by now found its way through. The only trading partners Britain has is the old trusty commonwealth outposts. Along comes world war three with whoever… let’s face it it’s not known who this war will be with and the Brits are trading far away. The merchant men of the last war were tragic and easy targets for the enemy so wouldn’t it be wise to stay in Europe.

As for the DWP Double Grrrrr

The Department of Work and Pensions must depart from their outdated policies for all claimants. I cannot believe that the Draconian measures and sanction to job seekers have any effect but that of misery, illness followed by death and destruction.

If this government knew anything about life for the zero hours workers on low pay they would need to bring in real social housing to stop homelessness from being a recurring feature of instability. Get real you Tories, not everyone wants to get tied in false inflation courtesy of the falsely inflated property market, that needs to keep up the facade and self delusion of the so called homeowners.

The Tories need to attend a dignity and respect course similar to that of black lives matter. But most of all I fear the tabloids have ruined the judgement capabilities of the once honourable termed working class, they have been taken in by the Homer Simpson facade of Boris Johnston and company. Which concludes me to believe that the country never learns whilst reading the shit stirrings of purple tabloid journalism.

The broadsheets are not any better used as a sounding board for showing off the intellectual prowess of newly anointed key journalists, most who have come from backgrounds that never starved.

Dominic Cummings Triple Grrrrr

There will be no victory for Dominic Cummings the arrogance is baffling indeed, but I will tell you what will stop them all in their tracks and it will also stop all local authorities in there tracks also. It is simple, the population of this country is too high and even with security cameras, much is not seen anyway, we are already a police state. Covid 19 has only made governance of a country more difficult by the day and all the posturing in the world will not satisfy the deeper analysis that is required to repair, if at all possible the iniquitous state of now. Any amount of road and house building in an already crowded island, will put matters right and it will only serve to destroy an already damaged environment.

The White Flower

The white flower bloomed in a room every day, timeless, never worn and fresh for each time the sun rose. I remember you, an eternity in remembrance, time heals this will last. Setting to waste all layers of foes once encountered upon mortal plains. Love the energy, lives forever on the plains of heaven. Minds hurt, how deep this goes. Push away the evil occupiers of centuries, turned to dust by tortuous evil-doers. As evil is banned from our white rooms, this white everlasting lotus flower, with the scent of renewed eternity resides evermore.

The Aliens Are Here Again.

A frequency monitor enters my mind on timed settings, almost hypnotic, it pressures up in dense living pulses, from outer world. Feeding my mind, I sit as of this moment soothed, by this smooth transistor from space. A face with dark ovoid eyes pays me a visiting scan passing me, in assessment. But don’t worry the signal is weakening, it will go and the remainder of the day will not be interrupted until the next time.

Oh The Mind Of Laidlaw, We Wonder.

You would never believe what water droplets on flat glass reveal, not a trick in this I assure you. All the glass is flat and light is beneath. Not unusual many fingertips imprint upon this. Top light shines flatly through. I glance downward and an incredible arrangements of domed fingerprint swirls emerge. Defined little orbs of lives, risen and marked in life patterns. Somehow unique to all who live and all that have lived. A unique reminder of our mostly hidden transient life on earth, maybe it is a record for some higher warden of God mapping all.

Laidlaw is Wandering Outside A Cathedral Whatever Next.

Cathedral trees looking upward, survivors of times they cannot hide, in a world gone cold. Survivors arrive with chattering jaws and teeth and folded arms. The best axe men go forward one by one, this green avenue of cathedral trees, exposed. Now fires burn in day and night, in a country virus ridden, clouds black and heavy from the hidden craft, that moves along a line and slips away to report to masters far away, beyond the sight of all others, to world that watches affairs of men in silence. Ready for…

Abduction

Leave no stone upturned, that is what they say if you want to discover the truth this was the case with the missing saucers from Mars or thereabouts. Legend has it that many years ago in the early hours of Christmas 1958 those travelling to Scotland to visit relatives had the most startling and fleeting episode of that time.

A young boy in the vehicle turned by chance, only to be blinded by seven disc shaped bright white objects travelling at split second pace. Mum and dad for once took themselves out of their woolly jumper mentality. It was all too silent but it had happened, dad thought that nobody would believe them so for the next sixty years that they would keep quiet and indeed they did. That is until their son paid a visit to the Highlands. He had bought a hundred square feet of heather bound land, through a scheme. Whereby one could purchase a plot that would always be yours and also help preserve the Scottish Highlands.

The son with great difficulty managed on this day to find his tiny plot in the heather vastness where eagles circled and watched him, as if guarding a sacred area the son sat down and could sense pulsing and thin blue strands of light emitting from pinholes in the heather.

With mental precision he put together in his mind a jigsaw, his instinct told him “I remember this is one of seven saucers carrying adepts from all those years ago on a Christmas night. With that thought the ground beneath enveloped him, this was the price of remembering the light consumed him and this man, SON to a father and devoted mother was never seen again and the clock ticked and the night went on oblivious.

The Little People of The Sausage Roll Kingdom

They were looking for a home in the middle of a very dark and depressing winter. Being so tiny and few they needed food. Android, his shelter frightened of being trodden upon. So this place had to be special and so safe and have a homely crusty roof with the finest food aromas for this the little people required a small home of much sustenance.

When the little people sneaked out in groups Dolly the little leader passed the best artisan bakery she could find, but the proprietor had to be presented with a word in his ear. So when Dolly found a very old shop she led her troop of little people in and proceeded to climb up the Bakers arm and have a word in his ear, he chuckled and made a suggestion, he said to Dolly “I will every day make for you a large sausage roll with a homely pastry roof, a hole in its dome and a door with a walkway at each side. You and your little people can pull tasty meat morsels from a sausage wall and the smell of tender seasoning will surround you.

There will be two pastry doors at either end and you can grab falling chunks of pastry warm and cooked. I will make these every day for you pronounced the baker eager to protect these special Devic Kingdom travellers who had to make it through a bleak winter, while on there way to The Forrest of plenty at Turkers Wood near the old city of York.

The baker also gave the little people wee cups of sweet fruit juices slightly warm to keep colds at bay, they survived merry beings, hiding behind cakes and drinks til the season changed so they could catch a breeze and tumble, rolling in balls unfolding in the fauna of the medieval wood, chuckling under the full moon in there pastry crumb beds preserved from the sausage rolls of the Artisans comforting winter shop.

Political Comment Mason Cult

If you want to know what went wrong with the working class ask director Ken Loach , for donkeys years this false sense of camaraderie spewed out of the emerging television kitchen sink dramas . I would call it false romanticism all pals together fighting, warring whilst the real struggles were not properly represented or portrayed.

Where were the campaigns against slum landlords it was only when enough hardship and disease accrued that matters were taken on at the highest level and of course the countries population was not as it is now . You would find in amongst it all that the political class were as distant as they are now. It is just a perennial wheel that keeps on rolling similar iniquities throughout the land the big game changer was The Right to Buy which got the working class borrowing against property prices which is roughly where it is at now in society and the self.

Resurgent Community action that will change this country , political parties are irrelevant to most people although any policy can alter any number of lives it is no match for the final dissent of the people as in a movement an example climate activists have pushed and pushed they are now listened to at the very least the same priority should be given to any number of injustices day in day out you could in fact name it The Rebel League…