Election

Election

They’re in your face with political schemes,

with their crooked smiles on cell phone screens,

another election’s drawing near,

that’s why their candidates want your ear.

They promise things with endless chatter,

divert your eyes from things that matter,

their rhetoric’s filled with fear and lies,

and why our country’s in demise.

They’ve all agreed on the narrative,

none stands up for the imperative,

no logic, science nor discussions,

their arrogance has repercussions.

With masking, lockdowns, and passport vax,

these mainstream parties of thieves and hacks,

stand there for continued oppression,

and unjust laws you cannot question.

For this election is your last chance,

to save your freedoms and make a stance,

press the candidates on all that matters,

before your rights are torn in tatters.

Research instead all the ones who care,

the ones they block and get no air,

for independents have lots to say,

and speak for you in everyway.

The day has come, now change direction,

for new beginning with this election,

cause’ mainstream parties are all two faced,

employed by criminals they’ve embraced.

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The Activist Poet (2021 Edit)

About this Poem: The Canadian election is coming up in September 2021 and as always, the mainstream political parties are all compromised and in collusion with wealthy interests. Freedom requires that we stand up and take control of our destiny even though the election system is clearly rigged against us. We must try all non-violent avenues in front of us but if oppression and totalitarianism still remain after all options are exhausted then revolution will be the only road left. It's better to vote for an independent candidate that has our community’s concerns at hand than a lying thief that has corporate interests and deep pockets at hand. Vote Independent to reclaim our Independence!

Lost Generations

Photo By: Nalidsa Sukprasert

Lost Generations

Marching backwards towards the cliff,

with cell phones texting hieroglyph,

their minds absorbed in servile things,

while puppet masters pull their strings.

Slave indulgence feeds the worm,

that grows inside them like a germ,

stealing focus on what matters,

replacing truth with idol chatters.

Consuming habits read the scores,

while blind as bricks to coming wars,

illusions swallowed by the herd,

accepting crimes without a Word.

Consume, consume, the world is bleeding,

lifelines broken, now receding,

the bonds with nature all but gone,

reality fades, all withdrawn.

But when reality settles in,

they turn to spirits, wine and gin,

medieval habits tie the noose,

on sterile minds now so obtuse.

New program downloads to their thoughts,

that twists their thinking into knots,

scrambled tricks so out of joint,

repeated often makes their point.

Orwell’s chapter on human race.

with program screens, not far from face,

believe, believe all that you see,

but prisoned minds cannot be free.

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The Activist Poet - 2nd Edit Feb. 01, 2021

About this Poem: For some, technology has become a self-imposed prison where reality has all but disappeared. Spiritual connection with nature has been completely severed and all their attention goes into their self indulgence and cell phones. They lose all sight of what really matters in life and instead wall themselves off into a false reality. Cell phones and the internet have evolved the old TV programed conditioned minds to the next phase of propaganda and turned people into a species with an attention deficit disorder.

I stopped watching TV in 1996 but when going over to someone's place, I found that the TV was always on and if you were in the same room with someone trying to have a conversation, the other person would turn his head every few seconds towards the TV to make sure they were not missing what was coming from it. The programming was unbelievable...

I've been TV free for 25 years (and counting) and can proudly say, I have a mind of my own. Unfortunately, I'm also isolated because most everyone else is still trapped in the program even if they don't watch much TV because it comes from their Cell phones now and it is in a much more compressed and accelerated state with an added feature...people can't get their fix fast enough which creates an attention deficit problem and irritability when they don't get things fast enough. That transcends into daily life...

If stores survive this current lockdown madness, go into a store and watch them. After 30 seconds, if they haven't found a sales person, they’ll start to display anger at not being served and say something like, “I’ll take my business elsewhere!”. Imagine what would happen if everyone stopped using cell phones…try it for a week. By the way, I don't have a cell phone either. 😊

Invader

Invader

My youthful sleep had many dreams,

some were nightmares with scary themes,

unlike the others, these were clear,

with air so thick in atmosphere.

Twilight’s shadow became the mark,

as mood fell silent in the dark,

intuition, had me on pins,

when air was heavy, dream begins.

Gold Chinese stars explode by night,

with no composure in the fright,

old nightmares play inside my mind,

with frightful scenes left to define.

Above my head the skies are full,

with bomber jets n’ U.S. bull,

their training bases on our land,

to launch the foreign wars they planned.

Curfew has us all in hiding,

on edge of darkness we’re riding,

streets are empty, town and village,

lights are out before the pillage.

Well out of sight, I run inside,

within my house I try to hide,

and peer above at U.S. planes,

that hover over my domain.

Evade detection from their rays,

but safe in shadows from their gaze,

they search the ground above our town,

while jet formations fly around.

Thoughts creep in, as to why they’re here,

and why our leader stokes the fear,

in U.S.A. a coup took place,

old POTUS gone without a trace.

Suddenly all squadrons leave,

their racing north to plots they weave,

as air grows quiet, sun does set,

while worries weighs on what begets.

“All is well”, our friends beam through,

from eastern lands where jets just flew,

an open window in twilight skies,

a T.V. stream before my eyes.

Troubled feelings within these dreams,

move through today’s official themes,

they make me think back to those times,

those rerun sixties dreams of mine.

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2nd Edit Sept 16th, 2021

About this Poem: This poem is based on dreams / nightmares I had in the late 60’s.

At that time, Canada was a sovereign nation, the USA and Soviet Union were in a cold war, China was not on the Radar and there was no internet or advanced communication.

In that series of dreams, it started with a blackout, there was no electricity, I was outside in front of my parents’ house and the night sky was filled with billions of stars. Some of the stars were moving, which then became clear that they were fighting. I thought alien wars but then the realization was that those fighting ships fighting against the Chinese, but far away. As time moved in the dream, there was a sense that the war was coming closer.

The US Airforce arrived like an unwanted invasion force. There were fighter jets everywhere flying in groups, in different directions, some very close in the skies above my town, flying right over my street. There were strict curfew laws in place and so people were not allowed to go outside, in fact there was a complete absence of people. I was outside anyways and felt the anxiety and helplessness of what was unfolding, hoping not to be seen by planes above. I couldn't understand why they were here. Thoughts turned to why the US had turned so evil; and then as if in answer, there was an understanding that the US president was forced from office and replaced with someone more sinister. My thoughts went to the leader of my own country (Canada) standing up for Canadians but realized after a moment that the Canadian prime minister had chosen to side with the US which made me think of him as a traitor.

The next series of dreams opened with US military fighter jets flying in formation above our town. I was outside in the evening twilight trying not to be seen but as a massive low flying plane crept up and scanned the ground, I scurried into the house to hide and watched it in the sky above behind curtains of a back kitchen window as the massive plane came to a stop right above my neighborhood’s backyard. There were fighter jets flying in formation in the distance, and then all of a sudden, they all left for what I knew was war on the Asian side of the world.

A sense of relief flooded over me that they were gone but I feared for the future and for those on the other side that were about to be attacked by the USA and wished there was a way to let the other side know that they were coming. But as I went outside to the back yard to the setting sun, a video of a person unfolded in the air in front of me saying “don’t worry, everything will be fine.” It calmed me but then I worried about what was going to happen. That’s where the dream ended.

I’ve come to understand over the years, that the dreams had an atmosphere about them. That atmosphere is like when you play an old song that brings back memories from a previous time but you also remember the sense of what life was like back then, the time has a feeling and atmosphere about it from your experiences.

The atmosphere I felt in those dreams were foreign back then, yet it was familiar and so, a long story short, I find that the atmosphere of those dreams, is what it feels like today in 2021.

Today, the World is bullied by the USA, Russia has emerged as the good guy, China is a major economic competitor, Canada has become an economic vassal to American and European banks and wealthy families, while the Internet connects people all over the world instantly. Although now we are seeing massive censorship and totalitarian dictates throughout the western world and a huge ramp up in military posturing by the US & its allies against Russia and China. My hope is that all will pass without incident. Fingers crossed.

Choking France

Choking France

Heart n’ soul, a thousand years,

a nation under liege,

by parasitic monsters,

in economic siege.

One by one the people fall,

austerity in control,

put in place by the rich,

swelling what they stole.

Artists, poets, musicians all,

Gilets Jaune in the streets,

calling for rebirth of truth

and prison for their elites.

Charging through a screen of smoke,

Gendarme of France unleashed,

it’s the worst of times,

the end of days,

Morality deceased.

Choking France by the throat,

Macron gets his way,

oppression, flash bangs and his boots,

on people he betrayed.

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 By: The Activist Poet - 

Revised November 7th, 2019

Photo: Bsaz Photography

Waiting for Departure, Alone on a Bench

Waiting for Departure, Alone on a Bench

Summer’s evening, gibbous moon,

radiance overflowing,

collective souls on display,

the sky above is glowing.

Spirits pass in front of me,

they’re travelling to the light,

adding to the brilliance of

the orb that sails the night.

and there upon that full moons rise

above the azure skies,

my soul mate Kath waits for me

where spirits nebulize.

I hear her essence call to me

by thoughts that carry vision

reflections from our memories

reminds there’s no division.

For scrolls of time hold our flame

they’re bound by gold and teal,

forever blending both our names

and mutual love we feel.

I watch the moon pass over me

return to western skies,

releasing essence heaven bound,

towards the new sunrise.

And so this journey carries on,

for death is not the end

we’ll meet again on distant shore

where souls rejoin and mend.

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Edit Date 20240214

The Great Gig in the Sky

The Great Gig in the Sky

Black lights, posters bright, illusions in the night,

the smell of pipe tobacco, ready to ignite,

and the mellow haze that helps me see, orbs of brilliant white,

riding on the highway, that opens up my sight.

Colors greet the spring of life, to merge a conscious being,

that flows above all aeon thoughts to bring a special meaning,

Now peeling back the frozen layers, of where the pain begins,

until the ego’s vulnerable, exposing all within.

Weighted memories scarred and bleeding, laying in the open,

waiting for the judgement, that sets the mind in motion.

Pain absorbed by empathy, healing sirens that accrue,

the essence of felicity, fulfillment with a view.

The mind expands, excitement flows, answers are before you,

floating in a sea of peace with contentment flooding through,

Understanding, essence cleansed, the world unburdened then,

we push on through our suffering to reach the state of Zen.

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When Crescent Moon Descends on Gog

When Crescent Moon Descends on Gog

When crescent moon descends on Gog,

it dissolves the world and brings the fog,

a place of torment and darkest dreams,

where murky skies are filled with screams.

Charcoal buildings emerge from gloom,

with chimney spires that mark the tombs,

streets are cobbled in shades of grey,

where once a thriving town did play.

Neath’ the walls of broken stone,

a few remain, to call it home.

with larders empty in hollow space,

motions thrive at funeral pace.

Trees are barren, along the rue,

branches brittle where once they grew,

a city forest dead and gone,

suffrage of the poison dawn.

With tapping cane that breaks the still,

mortician hunts for his next kill,

hidden by the steaming sewers,

out of sight from any viewers.

Death has come to those in wait,

there’s no respite behind their gate,

darkness creeps at every turn,

hope recedes and starts to burn.

A hobbled world, pooled in sorrow,

prospects doomed with no tomorrow,

when crescent moon descends on Gog,

the city writes its epilogue.

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Beautiful Stranger

Beautiful Stranger

In your smile I feel what essence is,

by your thoughts, the grace of life,

and your eyes reveal the universe,

a radiance that takes my breath.

My shell dissolves and leaves me naked,

I'm vulnerable when you look my way,

but safe behind this window pane,

you cannot see my shame.

Because I wait for you, at ten past nine,

each and every day,

with promise made, I paint of you,

the rose that feeds my flame.

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About this Poem: Inspired by the quote below from Rumi...

"In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that light becomes this art.” ~Rumi

Father's Day

Father's Day

The subtle chime of the Westminster clock echoed another hour as the light in the evening sky slowly fell from the living room window into the shadows of early dusk. The house was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock, but the old man’s thoughts were very much alive with the moving silhouettes of children, laughing from chasing games they played so long ago, like, “Beware the Claw!” and “The Roaring Monster”!

Memories, all with happy endings, play out in his mind like old black and white movies as he sits comfortably in his shapely wooden chair passed down to him from his grandfather.

Content in thought, a smile trembles on his lower lip with a far away gaze that is captured in the mirror across from him with the last rays of light from the sky. It’s Fathers Day and the children will surely call.

Would they remember the silly bedtime stories that never had an ending, the summer campfires roasting marshmallows, or stargazing in the country from lawn chairs till sleep took them. The walks in elf forest, and coming home with the plunder of the elf’s little treasure chest full of old coins found in the hollow of a tree. Would they remember the winter magic of jumping in snow drifts ten feet tall, the toboggan runs on the village hills that were filled with hearty glee and laughter or the ice rink behind the house that lit up the trees and young imaginations after supper… It’s Fathers Day and the children will surely call.

Thoughts then turn to his own father, a man that took life by the horns and made everything right. A hero who fought on the side of good in World War II, a man who became a community builder, a coach, mentor and role model. The father who drove his son around on his Sunday paper route in a four-door powder blue Plymouth Fury III with perfectly folded newspapers he stacked in rows on the front bench seat ready for delivery by a ten-year-old boy.

Memories wisp and billow through his thoughts to then open up to a place in time when he was gently woken by the aroma of freshly buttered toast, coffee, and the busy sounds of CFCF radio 600. Dad was always the first one up and prepared breakfast for the family.

Time then jumps to hockey games in the winter, soccer in the summer and football in the fall. They all echo the old man’s shouts of encouragement from those halls of yesteryear. Exciting moments from early days that encompass the smiles from a boy now past his father’s age.

The clock chimed another hour and still the phone was silent…no worry, today is Fathers Day, and the children will surely call.

Thoughts go back to a hospital room where his old man battled a terminal illness. A cold numbness remains from the day he passed away; it was the day before Father’s Day and the family was there with him.

He recalled the helplessness of the moment, standing beside his hospital bed as he watched his father die in front of him; the black blood that came up when he coughed, just before the life slowly left his eyes. He remembered trying empathically to pull him back from the river of death that claimed him, and wonders still, if his father heard his words in his transit towards the light, “I love you Dad”! It was the first time in his life that he was able to muster the courage to tell him.

…And just as thunder startles life on the earth, a knock at the door shakes the old man to the present, as the hallway fills with the merry sounds of children and adults. They fill the room with their smiles, energy and life, “Happy Fathers Day Grandad”!

“Go put your things away or the claw will come to get you!” said the old man’s son to his giddy happy children. He then turns to the old man and says, "It’s so good to see you Dad, Happy Father's Day"!

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Edit Date:  20240616

One Spring Morning

One Spring Morning

Morning breaks shadows night,

returns the color to our sight,

in crimson red, orange and white,

gale clouds pass into to light.

Orchid purples, pinkish skies,

as morning yawns an early rise,

old lilac blooms on robust breeze,

to mask the acrid air we breathe.

Clouds of grey in auras blue,

moving quickly, the sun shines through,

brilliant color in rainbow hue,

with solemn promise to renew.

Golden sunrays reveal dawn,

in forest greens on yellow lawns,

where lion weeds begin to spawn,

with flowers dead and florets gone.

Pods emerge in swollen display,

such perfect spheres in every way,

concedes the secret, suns array,

in calm before they’re washed away.

Operit winds wake apple trees,

with blight now present on their leaves,

their flowers waiting for the bees,

that shiver’s fever in the breeze.

Broken raptness robin’s thrill,

nourishment captured in her bill,

as thunder rocks the morning still,

and rainfall brings a misty chill.

Factory skies now cleansed by rain,

as earthen tears begin to wane,

a breath of air to ease the pain,

and flush the poisons down the drain.

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*Note: Lion weeds refer to “Dandelions”. The seed pod of the Dandelion has always fascinated me. When I look upon their fluffy white spheres, I see them revealing the hidden secret of a star’s energy. (Operit means Operatic ~ Opera)