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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Where Have All Our Statesmen Gone?

 

Where Have All Our Statesmen Gone?

Where have all our statesmen gone,

with interests not involved in crime

that show respect and honesty

and build our country with their time.

Instead we have a useless bunch

with condescending smiles

all lousy actors, some insane

a hubris that compiles.

Forever they keep floating up

no way to get rid of their smell

sewage made for TV screens

these candidates all from hell.

A condescending carrousel

that spins around to change the face

with pure excrement in the wings

that they expect us to embrace.

Statements made, subversive speeches

with crafted empty platitudes

while rubbing shoulders with their kind

in club G7 attitudes.

“Look at us, we’re the gods of all!”

“you peons will do as we say!”

their arrogance is out of hand

with belligerence on display.

Regardless of the year to date,

regardless of western nation,

politics is mental disease

and parasitic mutation.

Bush, Obama, Trump and Biden

they claim a moral position

while burning down economies

for merger and transition.

Sarkozy, Hollande and Macron,

swagger arrogance as French kings

they boast themselves as thunder

but have those paper bag swings.

Johnson, Truss, now Rishi Sunak

are another English layer

of that condescending factor

by bad actors and bad players.

But no ones more embarrassing

than Canada’s Justin Trudeau

cause he’s just like that Harper

with a narcissistic show.

They’re all involved in council’s greed

and the C.F.R.’s corporate game

partnered with the banks and WEF,

that ruthless triad has no shame.

And Germany, what happened there?

Have politicians lost their minds?!

They’ve turned their country upside down

with massive shock of fiscal kind.

Don’t get me started with Ardern

to New Zealand, she’s a lune

callous queen so condescending

no intelligence, she’s immune.

So where have all our statesmen gone,

with interests not involved in crime

that show respect and honesty

and build our countries with their time.

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Little Worth

 

Little Worth

I shall not like to find myself

in a country that’s at war,

for the depths of that depression

just chills me to my core.

Unlike the newsreel movies,

so illusive of the feel,

in reality, there’s anguish,

for the lives that they do steal.

…and outrage breeds determined might

with solemn inhumanity,

that never heals over time

in remembrance of calamity.

Of all the wars I’ve come to know

through my prison here on earth,

I find that I’m more angry,

and that money has little worth.

The Activist Poet - Volume 3

 

My 3rd and final book in the Activist Poet series is now available at Amazon!

The Activist Poet Vol 3 is more than a book of poetry, it is a book of truth and information with social, political and economic commentary.

Topics covered span the insane years of 2021 - 2022 including, "Coerced Inoculations", the "Govt Health Pass", "Fighting Back", the "Freedom Convoy", "Ukraine", "Europe", "Energy Supplies", "Economic Collapse", the "Decline of Europe and North America", the "US / NATO Proxy War on Russia" and the "Establishments End Game".

Also included are important links, messages and two dedications to people that have influenced my activism, “Eva Bartlett” and “Michael C. Ruppert”. It is my way of saying thank you. 😊

May the words in this book open eyes and unite people across Canada and across the world.

The following is inspired by a Mark Twain quote but modified to reflect current times…

“Our livelihoods, rights and freedoms are never in greater danger than when our governments are in session.” ~ Stewart Brennan

The Activist Poet Volume 3

Now available at Amazon World Wide

For Amazon Canada, click here.