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.

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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.

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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.

Expression weighs 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.

Our tasks that once were hidden,

where ego left us blind,

materialize before us,

to release a working 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 descends,

in conscious empathy,

delivers fractal beings,

to reveal eternity.

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2nd Edit Dec10, 2020

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

My belief is that we are all sent to Earth with a mission to reverse the powerful negative torus that is destroying the souls of man and the planet because, simply put, the evolution of our species cannot advance while the negative torus continues to run.

In control of the negative torus are people that operate by the ego and animal part of the human, leaving the empathic 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 rising.

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,
bright yellows, orange, and red,
cold temperatures freeze the ground,
the grass a frosty bed.

Morning composed the skyline,
in pastel tones with flair,
sunrise set the geese aglow,
like lanterns in the air.

Their song was like a calling,
that tugged my longing soul,
I watched them fly above me,
and felt the urge to go.

Their patterns vee’d in triumph,
above the harvest field,
setting sights then to the south,
migrating from the shield.

Their calling tugged emotions,
like loved ones they compel,
as parting sounds grew smaller,
I sent them my farewell.

Once they had gone, silence grew,
winter not far behind,
the wind then blew much colder,
with a longing I did find.
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2nd Edit June 12th, 2022

About this Poem: While on a morning walk in mid October 2020, I witnessed the sun paint the sky on early rise in orange yellow and red, while the foliage mirrored their colors. The grass was green with a frosty white and as the migrating geese flew above me, their bodies glowed like fire while their song captured my yearning to travel with them. A wonderful moment in the Canadian Autumn sunrise.

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, 

lest it shatters to leave one a disconnected shard, 

in a portrait of death, 

that has severed its connection to life.

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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,

to reduce 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.

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By: The Activist Poet

The Prophetic Tale of Tyrant Kings

 

The Prophetic Tale of Tyrant Kings 

In echoed halls of Tyrant Kings,

rumors swell on prophetic things, 

in stories told for what they bring, 

as hell arises, heaven sings. 

People badgered, while under keep, 

taxation graft, to make them weep, 

and sow their sorrows to the earth, 

while there is payment, they have worth. 

and then the famine comes for all, 

king’s community has a fall, 

but underneath the castle wall, 

the tyrant feasts within his hall. 

Amid the ashes and the smoke, 

the bodies burn in fires stoked, 

survivors grieve, across the land, 

the mourning seen in black arm band. 

In the wake of gathered sorrow, 

prayers are prayed for their tomorrow, 

but in the ale of their grief, 

their anger burns for common thief. 

Death takes form, on tyrant’s face, 

of crimes to hide, there is no place, 

and so the castle gates are crashed, 

including stores where food is stashed. 

Among survivors’, plans are made, 

to quell rebellion and crusade, 

to thwart king’s council that remains, 

and those that wish to hold the reigns. 

A constitution then is formed, 

the laws and freedoms so transformed, 

to serve the people and their kin, 

a new beginning to begin. 

Amongst the dust that came before, 

on yellow scrolls that called for war, 

are kept reminders and their rings, 

in echoed halls of tyrant kings.

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By: The Activist Poet

Authors Notes: History is filled with tyrant kings who come and go in bloody things…when people have enough of their rule, the time arrives to depose the fool...

Applies not only to kings, sultans and emperors but to governing memes who unleash totalitarian laws and put themselves above the community today...for they also have names and addresses to remember when the famine comes...