Twilights Dawn

 

Twilights Dawn

Spirits gather at twilight’s dawn,

to breathe in visions that are drawn,

on autumn shores where winter stays,

by foggy air that casts its haze.

Reflections mirror in the dew,

on frosty branches pale and blue,

as rolling waters faintly hum, 

with weeping elders that succumb. 

A soothing sigh shine’s from above,

enticing coo from morning dove,

that ripples gently on the pond,

embracing praises of its bond.

Ice winds coat the bramble weeds,

and all that hide among the reeds,

along the rivers painted streams, 

that tuck away into my dreams.

--------------------------

The Looming Year (2021)

The Looming Year (2021)

As the clocks tick down this fraudulent year,

governed media continues their fear,

corona virus is deadlier now,

confirmed by fraudulent tests somehow.

The P.C.R. test is a proven fake,

as told by the doctors who are awake,

yet still all government positions hold,

that lockdown is needed for common cold.

As the global lockdown then progresses,

governments pass new laws on excesses,

non essential items, like cloths and shoes,

are strictly forbidden, purchase refused.

Again, small business is under attack,

yet only a few have the will to Fight back,

because of the fines that governments impose,

are too damned expensive to pay or oppose.

A pretentious new strain called C twenty-one,

will play on your fears, a vicious rerun,

but what they want is to force you to take,

their deadly vaccines which are a mistake.

Inoculations that play with your genes,

to sterilize people with their vaccines,

or neural damage which can’t be reversed,

loading your body with toxins dispersed.

The crash is coming, been planned all along,

where they’ll take what you own, like Mao Zedong,

when everything stops, including the lines,

the shops and food stores will be in decline.

Around the whole world, the crash will take hold,

tensions will mount as depression unfolds,

the food that’s in export will not leave the docks,

unbalanced markets will bring down the stocks.

A plague of famine will then hit the earth,

their planning unfolds to show what you’re worth,

depopulation, controlled by a meme,

they’re playing God in this sinister scheme.

But even then, their lockdowns wont cease,

they’ll keep you locked up, enforced by police,

the beatings they render, fines they impose,

will hinder protests by all who oppose.

Business collusion will see your rights fade,

your freedoms will burn by censorships made,

and when they have won, you’ll be on your knees,

all because of a cough and a sneeze.

But there’s a solution, one we can make,

stand up and refuse their reckless mistakes,

refuse their vaccines, don’t make a deal,

take back control of the power they steal. 

The country is yours not some corporations,

stand up and fight and take back your nations,

restructure the lines that feed just the few,

and change all the laws to see it all through.

A critical time our countries do face,

its total destruction, that won’t leave a trace.

the future depends on what you will do,

think on it wisely for the days are but few.

-------------------------------------------------

The Activist Poet - (First Draft)

About this Poem: Speaks for itself...and most of the OECD world. 

Here are a few links for others to check out.

The P.C.R. deception

Masks and the Manufacturing of Consent

87 Thousand Doctors and Nurses come out against COVID-19 & Vaccine

The Great Barrington Declaration (Signatures)

Suspicions grow that nanoparticles in Pfizer’s COVID-19 vaccine trigger rare allergic reactions

The Future of Vaccines

Nano particles in Vaccines

The Minstrel

 

The Minstrel 

I am the astral traveller, 

a rebel just visiting here, 

in a land of the unliving, 

where community lives in fear. 

I’m the minstrel of the music, 

a curser of the mainstream wrongs, 

I cater to all the artists, 

for their stories, their truth, their songs. 

I bring tidings of a future, 

I unlock secrets of the past, 

I chip away at the torus, 

that’s negative and meant to last. 

I’m the minstrel of the forest, 

I’m a rebel that sings the news, 

I’m an outcast from foundations, 

for I bring alternative views. 

----------------------------------

About this Poem: One of my Pen Names is “Minstral”

“Minstral” is my new age pronunciation of Minstrel.

A minstrel was a medieval musician who traveled across Europe performing story filled songs that included news from distant places. They were kind of like news castors that traveled to local Inn’s before the printing press. And of course, when the minstrel strolled into town, everyone would gather at the Inn, where he / or / she stayed, to listen to live music and the news they would bring from their travels. Back then, it was how the people learned the news from far away places, or what their governments were up to ;)

I’m a modern day “Minstral” and activist deeply emerged into the underground music scene around the World. World United Music is my vat of songs, and poetry is my interpretation of life.

The Book of Scars

 

The Book of Scars

Indoctrination, lies and masks,

firm endeavors complete their tasks, 

all in place to preserve their throne,

a cancer cell that’s overgrown.

Their cloak has covered everything,

narrative, sin, the whole damned thing,

as watchful eyes record the crimes,

they lead us all to darker times.

The winds of change are made of rock,

thrown by hubris for their shock,

to start the wars which are so wrong,

that etch the scars six billion strong.

History speaks in black and white,

with grey zones hidden in plain sight,

that’s where the truth hides you can’t see,

dark and whis-pry as meant to be.

But books of time turn yellow grey,

from acid fires of decay,

all records lost by breach of trust,

world of illusion turned to dust.

----------------------------------

The Activist Poet - First Draft

Dystopian World

Dystopian World 

Klaus Schwab sits, like a spider on a web, 

spinning his reset, while spinning his head, 

a twenty first century fascist ploy, 

a new world order for the rich to enjoy. 

Their reset will come in several stages, 

setting man back to the new dark ages, 

from masks to lockdowns, vaccines for free, 

announced by government and mainstream marque. 

They’ll promise the world an eco reset, 

guaranteed income, no possession or debt, 

the world will magically return to green, 

everyone will live a life so serene. 

Vaccines hurried and forced on the nation, 

a tyrant rollout on the population, 

what could be in it for a cough and sneeze, 

that requires minus seventy degrees!? 

The masses believe whatever they’re told, 

so easy to feed and easy to mold, 

‘cause COVID lockdown was planned all along, 

where annual flu was played like mahjong. 

Dystopian world, you’ll be like a bot, 

nanite vaccines will be forced on the lot, 

fourth revolution a fusion of all, 

physical, digital, bio on call. 

Cyborg drones in perverse automation, 

life for an obedient population, 

bio identities all kept on file, 

all on the grid for their 5G trial. 

Just as everything begins to go live, 

the world’s population will then take a dive, 

their reset now working, our numbers descend, 

everything going as they did intend. 

Depopulation, their torus of ill, 

the masses obliged them with their free will, 

and those that are left will all bend their knees, 

enslaved forever, is humanity.

----------------------------------

The Activist Poet

About this Poem: Klaus Schwab is the Founder of the World Economic Forum and is the author of the Great Reset and Fourth Industrial Revolution where he claims we'll see “a fusion” of humans’ physical, digital and biological identity...which will begin to unfold in 2021.

Klaus Schwab – His Great Fascist Reset

Mahjong is an Ancient Chinese tile game

Enemy Inside the Gates

 

Enemy Inside the Gates 

Daunting virus takes your power, 

all connected they devour, 

unbalanced horde from nexus blanks, 

an inside job by private banks. 

Investment bankers are the scourge, 

and parasitic while submerged, 

with victories dripping in your blood, 

they sleek away into the mud. 

Fortunes made they pull down walls, 

lead the enemy through your halls, 

and take what’s yours to make their beds, 

your constitution ripped to shreds. 

Cartel planted in your nation, 

private banks that cause inflation, 

election riggings so profound, 

burns your country to the ground. 

From ashes grey of greed and nerve, 

hopes arise by those who serve, 

to crush the global banking horde, 

ensuring freedoms are restored. 

-------------------------------------

The Activist Poet

About this Poem: The parasitic private banks and those who subject humanity to unnecessary poverty are a virus. The United States, once a Republic has been slowly destroyed from within by a now, Global Banking Cartel to the point of economic collapse. This poem goes straight to the heart of the problem and was written in solidarity with the American people to take back what’s theirs…their country and their freedoms…soon it will be too late as the World Economic Forum, a think tank of the Banking Cartel, have slated 2021 as “The Economic Reset” where China and its totalitarian governance will assume its place as the technical, economic and military leader of the World…this is already a fact. Those that govern your nation are leading you to your destruction…the same can be said for every western nation; that our countries and freedoms have become fodder in the maw of a totalitarian New World Order that will be led through China.

Truth

 

Truth 

The eyes of truth are steel blue, 

its foundations forever last, 

a fearless pillar firm and true, 

in the virtues of its cast. 

Of battles raged, under fire, 

it stands against determined foe, 

bringing forth its mighty ire, 

to counter every blow. 

Justice carried by sword aflame, 

so firmly held to never wane, 

defeating challenge to its name, 

lies are vanquished, none remain. 

Time, its cloak, a trivial shield, 

infinity a solemn space, 

for truth is all, when revealed, 

with dignity upon its face.

-------------------------------

First Draft

The Gathering

 

The Gathering 

Butler Yeats gives the room a look, 

reads all the faces like a book, 

signals servants to bring the wine, 

to goad the guests before they dine. 

Wine is served to stony faces, 

well preserved by stoic graces, 

impassive looks by empty class, 

as butler pours into their glass. 

A call for quiet by the host, 

with glasses raised to propose a toast, 

“another win, a robust year, 

may all its worth come bring you cheer.” 

Glasses clink on futures claimed, 

on those they took and those they’ve maimed, 

agreements made in here n’ after, 

hubris formed in all the laughter. 

Ego’s dressed so high and mighty, 

clones of Zeus and Aphrodite, 

guests are ushered in their fable, 

served and seated at their table. 

Settled at the dinner party, 

Charles of Wales and Moriarty, 

tax evaders of special sort, 

friend and brother to Duke of York. 

In conversation of their schemes, 

the haunting sounds of muffled screams, 

divulged in spirits growing chatter, 

the rout of youth by frenzied hatter. 

Johnson chaffs the Scottish Wyland’s, 

“protecting both, your precious highlands? 

for whatever that the cost may be, 

we shall never surrender! Don’t you See?!” 

Edward G rolls with the laughter, 

sovereignty, will come soon after, 

and place this Boris on their throne, 

with fifty P and fifty stone. 

Beside the Windsor’s are the Sach’s, 

wall street cheats with financial axe, 

all acquired by Rothschild’s nod, 

the one that claims he is our God. 

Across from God, are the Schroder’s, 

bankers from patrician orders, 

a billion mouths will see no food, 

from fires set by his foul mood. 

At tables end, the Sultan king, 

an oil thief with terror fling, 

and with him is his protégé, 

insane prince Salmon on his way. 

Then theirs Bill and Melinda Gates, 

who’ve upped the antivirus stakes, 

a global stream of virus fear, 

to make them trillions in a year. 

and lastly there’s the Clinton clan, 

William being the lady’s man, 

with Epstein escorts young and bold, 

approved by Hillary, so I’m told. 

Duke of York then comes on over, 

pretends to be a wild rover, 

the escorts leave Bill all alone, 

to play with Andy on his throne. 

Yeats rolls his eyes, and plugs his ears, 

for nothings changed in all these years, 

except that faces come and go, 

prolongs and keeps the status quo.

-------------------------------

About this Poem: This is satirical look at a dinner party attended by well know people of today with a few characters from the past.

The character Butler Yeats refers to “William Butler Yeats” an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature.

Moriarty has a double meaning; Sherlock Holms nemesis and the Moriarty Tribunal - officially called the Tribunal of Inquiry into certain Payments to Politicians and Related Matters. In this case it refers to 2 politicians Charles Haughey and Michael Lowry

Edward G refers to two people, “Film actor Edward G. Robinson” best remembered for his tough-guy roles in gangster films such as Little Caesar and Key Largo and also refers to “Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex, the youngest child of Queen Elizabeth II”.

The Battle of Might and Soul

The Battle of Might and Soul 

Darkness wanes, transference made, 

conscience inhales the light, 

a cosmic meld of beast and soul, 

the gift of second sight. 

Mind is born from inner self, 

as conscience becomes aware, 

holding bonds and imprints, 

that form within the glare. 

Our journeys mold from vastness, 

untouched by day or night, 

held by unseen powers, 

with guidance to the light. 

Beating hearts have purpose, 

engraved within the soul, 

forever seeking knowledge, 

and all there is to know. 

Chosen tasks and journey’s, 

emerging day to day, 

enticed by inner judgement, 

and roles that they will play. 

Encounters start to flourish, 

insights begin to gather, 

euphoric flares so polar, 

are all that seem to matter. 

Opposition gathers, 

unmasking daunting maze, 

filled by fractal beings, 

with different paths and ways. 

Ego’s building rides within, 

each fractal beings mind, 

disrupting all the currents, 

to make a person blind. 

Expressions weigh in lifetimes, 

Ego’s are the thief, 

for holding life asunder, 

and filling us with grief. 

But rigid minds protection, 

seek purpose to defend, 

to prove their fractal journey, 

has meaning in the end. 

As minds of merging matter, 

discard redundant thought, 

their purpose seems much clearer, 

from lessons they were taught. 

Conflicts end and spirits rise, 

resistance is let go, 

enlightened beings wiser, 

give in to conscious soul. 

Living beasts once captive, 

no longer live in tatters, 

for truth they find in oneness, 

is all that really matters. 

Our tasks that once were hidden, 

where ego left us blind, 

materialize before us, 

to release the tasks of mind. 

Fulfillment brings the answers, 

to an age of probing doubt, 

tasks and visions clearer, 

revealing what life’s about. 

When mission is accomplished, 

to save mankind and earth, 

you’ll come to know that clarity, 

was with you since your birth, 

Uplifting light then descends, 

in conscious empathy, 

delivers fractal beings, 

to reveal eternity.

--------------------

2nd Edit Dec10, 2020

About this Poem: This poem is about a life journey from beginning to end on Earth.

My belief is that we are all sent to Earth with a mission to reverse the powerful negative taurus that is destroying the souls of man and the planet because, simply put, the evolution of our species cannot advance while the negative taurus continues to run. In control of the negative taurus are people that operate by the ego and animal part of the human, leaving the spiritual essence in the dark.

One person will not be able to stop the destructive force alone but that one person can awaken others, and those others can awaken more in a cycle of growth repeated until we reach a mass of humanity where collectively, we identify with common sense, a moral vision and empathic approach to living in harmony with all life on this planet while stopping the vectors that are controlling the destruction of it.

Those awake recognize their purpose and have become active for a better world, but in doing so, expose themselves to the darkest elements in control of our society. Hope is in the awakening and that awakening is starting to rise.

Everyone can be saved.

NOTE: This poem is a rewrite of a 2014 poem “I Am Home”. The Original needed work as well as a new title so this is the result.

Autumn Geese

Autumn Geese 

As autumn paints with color, 

and nips with frosty prayer, 

sunrise sets the geese aglow, 

like lanterns in the air. 

Their bodies shone like beacons, 

their wings and heads in black, 

sing chorale songs in gala, 

with promise to come back. 

Their patterns vee in triumph, 

above the harvest field, 

setting sights now to the south, 

migrating from the shield. 

Their calling tugs emotions, 

like loved ones they compel, 

as parting sounds grow smaller, 

I send them my farewell. 

------------------------------

About this Poem: While on a morning walk in October 2020, I was treated to the bounty and abundance of autumn’s treasures. The sun painted the sky on early rise, the leaves were displaying all their reds, orange and yellow colors, the green grass was a frosty white and the geese above were lit up in song and illumination by the sun. As they flew above me, their bodies glowed like fire while their song had captured my essence…which tugged with their calling, my wish to join their flight. Magical autumn morning moments in Canada.

A Portrait of Life and Death

A Portrait of Life and Death 

There’s no better university than the cusp of death, 

for there in its gallery are seen two worlds side by side, 

both dripping in guilt and blood. 

Of death, it is but a door between levels of being, 

one physical and one not, 

one of fractal existence, 

and one of total consumption. 

Of life, there is no greater gift than spiritual freedom, 

to experience the universe as a sole entity, 

yet, often, man forgets he is not alone, 

for he falls into a gel that bleeds his spark, 

rendering him deaf to the whispers of consciousness, 

a trial of time, so often wasted in the long red nails of a lifespan. 

The soul is but a mirror of all, 

less it shatters to leave one a disconnected shard, 

in a portrait of death, 

that has severed its connection to life.

------------------------------------

About this Poem: The photo above was a prompt in an October Poetry Contest on AP (AllPoetry). It reminded me of a television show I watched in the 1970’s called "Night Gallery", hosted by Rod Serling. On seeing the photo, the expression just came out.

The Chaotic COVID Game of Thrones

 

The Chaotic COVID Game of Thrones 

In recent history, the facts do show,

that economics will never grow,

since nine eleven, we’re led by fear,

and it’s getting worse every year.

The entire world, has gone to hell,

as peak has come to the oil well,

while violence greets the people’s probe,

with terror wars across the globe.

American empire found its knees,

through financial fraud and its disease,

a European bank cartel,

that dragged America down to hell.

Corporate seizures by foreign nations,

with partnered banks that caused inflation,

first wave came in two thousand eight,

easy pickings for the Chinese state.

They bought the corps that produced the goods,

and bought up homes in our neighborhoods,

high priced condos now fill our streets,

all controlled by banking cheats.

Demands increase on oil supply,

for Beijing, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Shanghai, 

Tianjin, Wuhan, Chengdu, Nantong,

Chinese cities where your jobs have gone.

Greed has peaked, the system shatters,

inflation leaves us all in tatters,

and now that housings beyond our reach,

the bankers lie to hide the leech.

The global central banking base,

that controls the oil market place,

employ their think tanks, devise a plan,

to save themselves and kill demand.

And so a pandemic was then born,

to launch the global bankrupt storm,

that forced the lockdowns of our nations,

destroyed what’s left of our foundations.

Everywhere, activity’s banned,

all is going according to plan,

the family business becomes the mark,

by the bloody covid corporate shark.

As second lockdown now emerges,

pressures on, as poverty surges,

while food production begins to slow,

population continues to grow,

Banking forums launch their schemes,

while Asia’s exploding at the seams,

their fake pandemic kills production,

business tanks to its destruction.

Gatherings banned, protests suspended,

freedom of speech has been upended,

the corporate cartel has taken root,

a dishonest clan in banking suit.

The Canadian fascists are all on board,

like Trudeau, Freeland, Legault and Ford,

destroyed their country, people confined,

with social distance, masks, and fines.

They raise themselves to live like gods,

controlled by wealthy gangs abroad,

and so their plans come home to roost,

while immigration provides a boost.

Prison waits if you oppose their plans,

as public gatherings have all been banned,

it’s precisely what they meant to do,

and why they’re resolved to see it through.

With global reset, scheduled next year,

life as we know it will disappear,

where the new jobs come from, is not clear,

but who can think while they push their fear? 

Winters coming, everyone’s locked down,

shackled tight, economies will drown,

everything stops, while nothings produced,

except on farms, but those are reduced.

Within six months of winters season,

the poorest exposed for no reason,

banking cartel will still hold control,

with reduced population pole to pole.

Those alive will be in submission,

Obedience through their rendition,

wake then people, to your crimson dawn,

no one will save you, when freedoms gone.

----------------------------------------------------

By: The Activist Poet