2022 – The Reign of Tyrants

2022 – The Reign of Tyrants

Here we are in twenty twenty-two

the year insanity consumed the zoo

with lockstep fascism in the west

through destructive mandates that they pressed.

Thank goodness for our freedom convoy

that broke the spells with tears of joy

exposed the media in their disguise

and the government’s pernicious lies.

But insanity did not abate

as censorship claimed the western state

consolidation in point of view

with narratives controlled by a few.

Tyranny dropped its vaccine mandates

for foreign policy of the states

where a sponsored coup made civil war

an eight-year proxy on Ukraine’s shore.

No need to deny, peace was destroyed

Merkel confirmed Minsk was a ploy

to build an army, destroy their foe

Russian Donbass with nowhere to go.

The rise of monsters backed by the west

Svoboda, Azov and all the rest

a wave of violence and genocide

with propaganda that amplified.

Bombing stepped up in eastern Ukraine

by western backed forces once again

Donbass region all under attack

Russia no choice, protected their back.

Western leaders, subservient trolls

to U.S. dictates and monstrous goals

NATO continues encroaching more

rips up agreements they made before.

US sanctions for an added squeeze

hubris and lies their gravest disease

billions of dollars for marauders

Ukraine’s people as cannon fodder.

Energy war, unfolds on E.U.

striped away ties with Russia that grew

Nord Stream two bombed under the Sea

energy pipelines to Germany.

American hatchet across the Rhine

now all of Europe’s in steep decline

inflation has gripped the root of life

with energy loss leading their strife.

Russia targeted with U.S. bombs

Crimean bridge without any qualms

Russia replied across the Ukraine

electrical grid was bombed to contain.

Ukraine’s people are caught in between

western ignorance and war machine

and when Russia wins, tides will be turned

walls will remain, with hard lessons learned.

Hope prevails at end of the year

as twitter exposes the driving fear

the lies of tyrants in collusion

that push their evil twisted illusions.

The story concludes in twenty-three

by then I hope the people will see

the broadcast of lies that feathered belief

the reign of tyrants that brings no relief.

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About this Poem: When we entered 2022, there was a lockstep tyranny throughout the west forcing everyone to take dangerous mRNA shots. It was a very dark time for everyone that saw through the lies, as individual freedoms were under attack by the very nations that claimed to uphold them.

As people began to push back, governments throughout the western world dug in their heels and forced people to take these dangerous shots. It wasn’t until the Canadian Truckers Freedom Convoy rolled across the country into Ottawa with the rise of Canadian citizens across the political spectrum that the spell of fear on the population was truly broken. The ground swell of protest spread across the world shining its light and calls for freedom.

As the forced mandates began to fall under the pressure of civil protest, the same western governments, led by the U.S.A. then turned their sights on Ukraine. A country controlled by an evil regime with genocidal ambitions; that came to power under a violent western backed coup in 2014. The US doubled down on the eight-year civil war they had created in Ukraine and began a series of events that they knew would draw Russia into the conflict. Not only did the US continue their economic sanctions war on Russia, they forced the European nations to go along with them despite the serious destruction these sanctions had on the European economies. Europe is staring economic collapse in the face while the conflict in Ukraine comes to its conclusion.

There is no way back for Europe if they continue following the belligerent foreign policy of the American government. The Ukrainian and Russian people are same and are interconnected. When this conflict ends, and the genocidal puppets are removed from power in Ukraine, the voices of the Ukrainian people will once again be free to speak out against the atrocities they endured under the violent fascist regime that Europe and the West backed.

As 2022 comes to an end, we are beginning to see the truth come out as the Twitter files prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, that censorship was placed across the internet by a collusion of corporate power and government; which by definition, is the very substance of fascism.

There is hope for 2023 in that eyes will open. We’ve come a long way in a year and things will probably not get better economically, but I believe there will be more transparency and public debate as long as free speech continues to regain its footing on twitter.

Links:

[01] The Western Collapse into Fascism
[02] The Activist Poet on the Freedom Convoy
[03] Merkel Confirms Ukraine Peace Deal was a Ploy
[04] Twitter Files Detail COVID Censorship
[05] US Spies Pushed Twitter to Censor “Anti-Ukraine” Narratives - Media
[06] Patrick Lancaster – A crowdfunded journalist covering the Russia / Ukraine war within Russian controlled territory.
[07] The Duran - Informative discussions on Geo-political, geo-economic issues and current events.
[08] Southfront - Military Analysis and Intelligence

[09] 21st Century Wire - A better news and discussion alternative

[10] Eva Bartlett - Investigative Journalist

Fallen Idols

Fallen Idols

One by one the idols fell

draped within the covid spell

words of fire before the fall

pushed the mandates one and all.

Common sense and truth they spurned

plead forgiveness to those they burned

harm they’ve done not in their thoughts

and still believe in the shots.

Shots that cause young heart attacks

death and injuries by the vax

warnings trampled in their wake

by puppet actors they did make.

Arrogance and hubris crept

words of caring so inept

goosestep marching with the news

narratives with twisted views.

Now that truth has come to pass

breaks the spell upon the mass

light is shining, rising fast

on who said what in the past.

One by one the idols fell

draped within the covid spell

words of fire before the fall

pushed the mandates one and all.

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About this Poem: Right from the beginning, movie, music and television idols pushed the twisted narratives on mask, lockdowns, isolation and mRNA shots against a backdrop of evidence of their harm. Some of these idols went out of their way to demonize anyone that disagreed with the governments covid narratives, calling for the unvaccinated to be locked up and removed from society completely, even when evidence proved that the shots were causing massive injuries and premature deaths (still happening). Now that twitter is exposing the censorship and that government colluded with google, YouTube, Facebook, Twitter and Microsoft to censor the conversation of doctors, professors, investigative journalists and whistleblowers, we are seeing an awakening happening while silence lingers within the news and entertainment industry…this poem speaks to the illusion that these so-called idols care about you…they do not.

Twitter Files Detail COVID Censorship Campaign

Open Wounds

 

Open Wounds

The feverish clouds gave it away

valley slate couldn’t hide it for long

industrial engine, open wounds

all out of place and didn’t belong.

Voracious feeding of power greed

made easy by the new arrivals

of slave camps filled with the dispossessed

who barely held onto survival.

Our lands invaded and seized by kings

cut and parceled for crowns taxation

borders drawn on what they stole

that then evolved into our nations.

Their empire flourished around the world

they smothered us with rules and restrictions

that loss of freedoms for all our clans

with constant threat of eviction.

Industries grew, banks created,

governing parasites' controlled it all

through mortgage games and interest rates, 

and inflation before our fall.

No matter whom or where we're from,

our stories are filled with grief

prohibited from owning our lives

by narratives controlled by a thief.

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The Ride

The Ride

Essence plays upon the earth

it weaves and dives the peaks with grace

a thrilling ride of sturm und drang

with hush of wind upon the face.

Every climb, a mountain conquered

and every fall the ride does make

a gift of freedom and a choice

compiles a lifetime in its wake.

Memories made are set to film

to play in hind sight on the train

like shooting stars, they come to pass

endearing sessions in their refrain.

Glee and joy, inseparable twins

beam from eyes wide open and tall

these moments made from all we touch

long deep breaths to catch them all.

To look ahead when mind is full,

when time and breathing are then short

we wish to live it once again

this ride and gift we do exhort.

Rebirth in essence on the earth,

to weave and dive the peaks with grace

relive the ride of sturm und drang

with hush of wind upon our face.

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Notes: Sturm und drang - A proto-Romantic movement in German literature and music which occurred from the late 1760s to the early 1780s, emphasizing individual subjectivity and the free expression of emotions.

Stockholm

 

Stockholm

Take us to the village square,

the town between the bridges,

Agnafit may claim its name,

above the lofty ridges.

Mälaren greets Baltic Sea,

and boats are laden to go,

to trading centers on the coast

where ancient stories flow.

The Æsir gods and Vanir,

no longer wage their wars,

a Viking town that still remains,

in the drinking halls indoors.

A hardy toast to the king,

a ritual at this haunt,

days of old, return in runes

at the Aifur restaurant.

Songs of journeys, stories told,

at gatherings in great halls

where mead does flow from lofty cups

with boisterous cheers of Skål!

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Poem Notes: Agnafit is the original old town where Stockholm was founded. It is located where Lake Mälaren meets the Baltic Sea.

The Æsir gods and Vanir are the gods of the Vikings

Aifir = The Aifur Restaurant – Stockholm Sweden

Skål means Cheers

Migration Retreat

 

Migration Retreat

Rolling greens touch the sky,

below the mountain peek,

its jagged teeth draped in snow

where roads less traveled meet.

Sovereign essence sails free

above blue turquoise skies

taken by the earth to pray,

I cast my old disguise.

Operit winds sing their songs

observe migrating geese,

where I’m at in my mind

I’ve come to find my peace.

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*Note: Operit = the operatic sound of the wind

Chains

Chains

Raging monsters have seized my soul,

my hands and feet are tied and bound,

a lonely place reserved in hell,

where no tobacco can be found.

It’s dry as ice, this forsaken place,

anxious moments on the rocks

fermented spirits sing their songs

and all the silver demons talk.

“It’s ok! What’s one gonna’ do?

There’s no harm in a little think,

wash all your wee troubles away.

Relax, and have that smoke and drink.”

Then those ripping chains of rage

with iron shards of conviction rake,

casting essence into the flames

where light brigade in gallop, breaks.

The war is on, in defiance

and the battles rage everyday

to break your spirit and your will

the demons, relentless play.

As time does pass like broken glass

and mine fields claim their victims,

the old world dies another death

from chains and games of addiction.

A Mirage of Time

 Artist info: Watercolor by Viktoria Prischedko

A Mirage of Time

Winds of providence have increased,

by breath of dreams that transit east,

they wave in blue and pallor white,

to fill my mind, transfix my sight.

I’m captured by hermetic signs,

that speak to artists in our times,

providing vision and consent,

to strike a chord that’s heaven sent.

Entangled essence, Aegean seas,

sounds of Mykonos in the breeze,

moving slowly, in slender forms,

unaware of approaching storms.

Mirage of time in beryl scenes,

a polity of diverse means,

life moved slower, a different pace,

protected by Apollo’s grace.

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The Poets Crossroads

The Poets Crossroads

I think I’d like to play a game,

where famous poets stake their claim

around a table we’d apply

our crafty words upon the di.

A jumpin’ joint on southern road

where poets gather to unload

their rolling words from dusk till dawn

with bois’trus crowds to cheer them on.

On stage the poets would gather so

with Hughs, Cummings and Edgar Poe,

Will Shakespeare, Yeats and Angelou,

Mark Twain, Frost, Li Bai, and Du Fu.

All would journey to play the game,

called to table, their pride and fame

with fausty judge that talks in rhyme,

haiku panel that measures time.

Night after night excitement grows

when metrists deal their crafty prose

to challenge all their fellow bards

all measured strictly by their yards.

Best brevity’s chocked full and loose

chromatic colors give them spruce

a limb of words that they can strut

but careful now, cause’ they can cut.

It all happens and unfolds,

at poet’s corner and crossroads

don’t believe me, just come and see,

on fun filled website called A.P. 😉

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Link to "All Poetry" Website

Dream Home

Dream Home

If only I could build a home,

on forest land that wasn't owned,

I'd build it by the rivers edge,

enough away, above a ledge.

I’d choose a spot with lots of trees,

that stand like guardians to the breeze,

in coexistence to assure,

with lots of wildlife to be sure.

I’d grow my food that I would share,

and during harvest, say a prayer,

look up to stars and then immerse,

give thanks to God and universe.

I ponder how to make it true,

this dream of mine that I’ve thought through,

before the punch clock steals my prime,

and I’m not left with any time.

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Propaganda

Propaganda

What is history when not read

or viewed from all perspectives,

but left to an anchor’s feed

with obsidian objectives.

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Under the Ruins

Under the Ruins

In the quiet moments of passing moons,

when the owl glides obsidian air,

not a heartbeat is heard,

but the thump is sure felt,

as talons grasp its prey on the dunes.

Those left behind are spattered in mourning,

sand, a silver glow smothered in shadows,

many heartbeats are heard,

and their thumping’s sure felt,

by empathic witness under the ruins.

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A Parents Promise

 

A Parents Promise

Behind the window, tucked away

our promise waits by night and day

with pine cones, oranges and a fire

a place to sleep and retire.

Although you’re out there on your own,

we’ll always be here by the phone,

with ear to listen and advice,

not too preachy but concise.

There’ll always be a home for you

to help you heal and see you through,

no matter when, no matter how,

we’ll take the burden from your brow.

When you’re hungry, we’ll be there,

to help you through what drives despair,

to greet you with a pleasant smile,

and welcome you to stay awhile.

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A Six Week Drift

 A Six Week Drift

The seasons changed, a six-week drift,

the magnetic poles have shifted,

less geese in autumn, flying forth,

the weather’s sleeping in the north.

Leaves stayed green through October,

missing color left me sober,

the seasons changed a six-week drift,

but then the cold brought autumn swift.

Now winter hovers over spring,

the seasons changed, a six-week drift,

cooler weather through month of June,

the warmer clime won’t come too soon.

Magnetic shield weakens so,

a spinning planet dynamo,

normal cycle in polar shift,

the seasons changed, a six-week drift.

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The Race

The Race

My race began in nineteen sixty.

I’m aged and weather-worn, still afloat

with sails torn and failing rudder,

but in the race with my rebel boat.

Yet time has claimed so many things

and so many friends I’d come to know,

all of us racing to catch the sun

before the falling of winter snow.

Ocean currents forever blowing,

much faster now in these gathered years.

I’m sitting still as the tides roll on

where I ponder victories and my fears.

I ponder on all the people met,

many challenges within the race,

to live forever, we did believe

with excitement and blistering pace.

But storms arose, our connections lost,

the racing season came to an end,

my attention fixed on building boats,

while losing touch with all of my friends.

I questioned how my world diminished

as my communion began to fade.

I dropped my sail to watch the sun,

discovered my path was poorly made.

I changed my habits, rebuilt my boat,

studied all the maps that passed me by,

to then discover the secret isle

that answered all my questions why.

and as I sit here watching the sun,

with the new connections I have found,

I find we’re of the older mind,

but morally in tune and conscious bound.

Although time changes the path’s we’re on,

with the barbs and spears that left their trace,

the lessons learned and the friendships made,

were all a blessing in proper place.

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