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.

 

 

 

 

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…

The Seat

The seat we didn’t go to for judgment, we went for calm, ah we are the sheep that follow told to believe when murder and hate were on the loose, no peace, the fuse had gone. So death and destruction occurred one last way, out to the light. Upon the trial of a white pathway miles more than you could ever see or imagine.

Me To Mine

Me to mine, my thoughts need an exhaustive cleaning. Too much dirt I cannot live without the purity, I seek upon new pasture like a grazing bovine. I need new pasture so I can chew things over till I decide how to survive and indeed I ask myself is it worth it, as the bastards grind me down or try they won’t succeed tell that to the universe, oh yes the force is on the move.

More Poems From The Poetic Warrior

Life

How Did I Get Here

Life closing down so we can be remodeled, no descent, no words, just sour faces. But some people must pay and they will happiness and laughter must show through with a new vista. Nothing should defeat us we are a world of huge energy the dictators must go one and all the moon’s a giant grin to smile in the twilight zone to hell with grim tales of woe we demand the best show so we can hear laughter for miles and forever and another day.

How

How did I get here I’m still waiting for answers in the meantime I shall try and live another day, this is the dry run for either heaven or hell there lays within an imbalance of feeling. I have to will myself on and I am lost for inspiration as God’s physical hand has never stopped me from falling so I tread with caution in my older age looking side to side for potential enemies which are often unknown. It’s hard to get older without being reassured but there is no choice as so far religion’s intervention has failed I remain a mortal till I die and death will turn the page for someone or something to start again.

The Ghost

The ghost skins they lay upon the floor we walk, all over them we little know of the truth in these matters, ceaseless reincarnations on and on a remodel every week the ground groans with the weight of action, a face greets me upon every waking ripple. Is it a face I’ve seen before, is it even my own once again it’s the confusion you know what I mean nothing is permanent.

Senseless

Graduates of distress somber yet senseless, wired yet worried. Every cause for concern amplified OCD the lot of them. Wild and lonely are we unable to change the media children. A different kind of food among the dangerous criss-cross of hedge knitted congested radio waves rolling in the sea of unstoppable change.

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive