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Long poem by Elaine George | Details |

Tea and Poetry in the Ides of March - PART ONE


Beneath a misty veil of ‘Euphoria’ by Calvin Klein, she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of wanna-be Literary Giants who are members of an elite writer’s group, as she drives along a winding road studded with potholes smaller than most of the ones that have rutted most of the roads she has traveled in the past—

Potholes created by a harsh environment that made it impossible for her to move in a straight line. Potholes so big, that at the age of 16, they forced her to detour from University Row to the foot of King in Saint John, New Brunswick, where at the end of the road, she found a way to earn a living working in a tea factory; where her ring finger was nearly severed as her dreams of a better life gushed red streams, high into the air with every beat of her heart.

Where through the eye of a needle, her life hung by a thread, a life-line that pulled her back from blackness as pain radiated in that pulsating flesh, as those rough edges were forced back together behind a fence of snipped, spiky, black barbs (remnants of that thread), left to remind her there was no escaping from the foot of King.

Yet she was grateful. 

Grateful she had survived.

Grateful she was able to return to work the following day to operate a machine that required using her feet instead of her hands.

Grateful  she still had a job and a roof over her head after the door to the place she once called home locked her out and left her to lie in a lumpy bed in the seediest part of the city in a dilapidated rooming house with all the luxuries a minimum wage could buy.

 It was winter and the room was cold. 

With her can of stove-oil having long-since gone up in smoke, she put her coat on and pulled the thin bed-covers over her. 

In the gloom,  she saw a ray of light (a small white slip of paper) lying on the rickety nightstand (a doctor’s prescription) yet unfilled that would have to wait until next payday. 

 Eventually those black barbs were pulled out, one by one, from their crusted, ***** pockets, by a doctor who told her not to be such a baby as her screams ran out into the waiting room. 

She relives these visions, as she has a thousand times before as she rounds the bend on Regional Road 45 that runs between soggy mud-clad fields covered in pig manure from where a willow weeps tiny green leaves in this record-breaking heat of March. And she wonders how something so beautiful can grow from something so ugly. 

And she knows why the willow weeps as she contemplates this strange phenomena in the Ides of March and chooses (like Caesar) to ignore the warning signs. And like the willow, she bends in order to follow the winding road; her hands gripping the steering wheel until…

The wide shank of her wedding band (designed to cover the past), catches on the thick, calloused scar tissue of her ring finger, reminding her again of who she really is. 

 And she asks herself, how she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of intellects, when the truth is she never even finished high school.

But she did graduate from a Bookkeeping program at Vancouver City College, when she was 22, and took all those night school courses while she worked during the day.  

What about all those correspondence Law courses she took when she was in her thirties (graduating with honours) and the night courses she took while  working in an insurance office to become a Licensed Insurance Broker? Surely they must count for something? 

 Yes! But you didn’t graduate from University; no prestigious initial follow your signature, and the only Master’s degree you can claim is ‘A Master’s degree in Disguise,’ says the little voice inside as sweat begins to leak through the foundation of the Revlon mask she wears today in an attempt to cover the thin skin these intellects will otherwise surely see through.

“But I have proof I am worthy of their acceptance,” she replies. Sitting there on the seat beside me, in my briefcase is my self-published book of poems; some of which have won International Poetry Awards and money, some that have been published in other books and magazines. Surely that is enough.

Up ahead, an enormous metal, hexagon-shaped, red flag wearing white letters says STOP. She stops and looks in all directions and, seeing no danger, crosses the point of no return to an afternoon of tea and poetry with what she hopes are birds of a feather.

***
CONTINUED IN PART TWO...


Long poem by evrod samuel | Details |

The City And The State Of Play Today

THE CITY AND THE STATE OF PLAY TODAY

No one worries about morals today 
They follow the rules they create
So to them all is ok
Those on the outside looking in 
Are the only ones feeling queasy 
As avarice and selfishness triumphs
So easily 

Good corporate citizens they claim to be
Industry awards abound on their walls
As thank you tokens from themselves
Yet society harbours a lot of ill-will
As it feels the often brute force of 
The raid
 Grab 
And destroy mentality
Of people only wishing to make money 
Any which way 
While Using up all of society’s communal resources

Sharks abound
The waters are forever bloody as they 
Know no fraternity and would gladly 
Cannibalize anyone with no influence 
The ability to upend competitors
A cherished characteristic 
In a bullish machismo drenched environment 

Bullet proof psyches
Absorb and repel any pangs
About unfairness
Blocking any regulatory or chattering classes’
Attempt at nirvana and equality 
They employ better paid lobbyist 
So always have the upper hand 
In influencing policy 

The gravitational attraction of money 
Towards another even bigger pot of money 
Numbs any cautionary instinct
That would take a long term view 
The thrill of instant riches
Overpowers common sense 
And even decency 
Fat cats they all wish to be 

The slickness of glossy tongued lobbyist
Who spin wrongs till they become rights
Embolden oestrogen low males with no inbuilt brakes
To take risks that eventually cost them disgrace 
They are champions of graft not of society 

Loopholes in legislation
That were built in by too friendly politicians 
Coupled with ambiguous suits and claims
Cause far reaching hardship when the good old days are long gone 
The villains only muster some phantom national pride
 When begging for a lighter sentence 
Some are forgiven
Others fatally wounded by an unforgiving public

Lots of money can be made both legally and illegally
As one racket is closed another materialises instantly
The conveyor belt of dishonesty
Overwhelms bureaucracy 
Who is not David to the goliath that is money

The ethos is wealth
The acquisition and the maintaining of gains
Not often acquired through hard work
There is no limit of acceptable financial comfort
For the millionaire always wants to be a billionaire
And the mega rich super rich

Money must always be hidden from the taxman
Shareholders want tax free dividends
Investors want tax breaks for buying with other people’s money 
Infrastructure and new runways must be built 
But not from the pocket of those who wish it 

With their hands outstretched
And always wanting more and more
From a government too eager to please 
We have a tax system geared to the advantage of party donors
And non-domiciled moguls and tycoons
Who know no philanthropy unless it is tax efficient 

Disadvantaging society by  
Never paying their fair and moral share 
The largess they reap so selfishly
They wish not to share 
Wages are low
Taxes are nil
Only the investor wins as we pay his bills

Fast paced expansionist dogma
Is preached within city limits
Only the highest paid
The biggest company
The greatest profits
Are allowed 
They are held up as ideals that all who
Wish to succeed must follow
Gunslingers they all appear to be
Rushing in to capitalize on the wanton success of their peers
The cloud of misery left behind 
Is never seen for the look forward 
Never backward 
Hindsight is never welcomed in this parasitic environment 

The political will to weed out these reckless demons
Is lukewarm at best 
The revolving door of government creating opportunities
For industry and industry gratefully accepting politicians post government 
Ensures that self-interest is king 

An economy built on flawed assumptions of wealth creation
Is one that must forever be in hyper-drive
Creating ever expanding demand and supply 
That is as real as a thief’s conscience 
When taking the rings off a dead persons fingers 

Money must always be made for 
There is no alternative 
Wealth is good
Poverty to them is laziness

The city is not the heart and soul
Of the nation
It is but one player in a system skewed in its favour
We all must share in the wealth of this country
To ensure its longevity  


Long poem by Brian Terry | Details |

The Debate

A Debate

The Atheist
I see no reason for a god
Indeed for any type of god at all
I look around at all the churchmen
The pompous richly dressed ones
And wonder what their founder would have thought
And then at the other end
The shabby unpretentious lot
More primitive, more fundamental and literal
They have however one thing in common
Unshakeable belief in their virtue 
and in their God who’s always there
Despite the evils and the sorrows in this world
They prate so endlessly
About sin
Sin as defined 
in their narrow mind
They cheerfully pray that we can overcome some other systems of belief
by force sometimes.
How can they justify the killing and the torture of other humans?
by their beliefs they are all God’s creatures.
Nobody knows for sure how life was started
But from a simple single cell
We evolved until we’re here
But few accept the clear evidence for evolution
And what about the soul
Of which they speak
What is it?
Where did it come from?
Where does it reside in us?
Where does it go?
Or does it die with us?
That’s if it’s there at all

The Agnostic
But my friend you’re just as bad
Your position, or as so stated, is rigid and admits no other view
I’m with you
I also reject the Churches
They are only human constructs
And have been a source of evil
I don’t know if there is a God
A personal God who cares for us
Or any other sort of god
But until I know for sure
I keep an open mind
Where did we come from?
Again I do agree with you
Why did the first cells appear and how?
I do believe and have some evidence
That there is something in our nature
Which yearns for more
Is this a soul?

The Theist
You really are quite wrong
The simplest hypothesis
The one with least assumptions
Is that something outside of us
Maybe two string theory ‘branes
By chance collided
And brought our universe into being.
Or maybe some vast, uncaring intelligence
Caused in some way unknown creation and then
Left uncaring, uninterested.
If there is an environment friendly to some form of life
It seems to start but we do not know why or how

The Believer
This cannot be
My holy book tells all
There is a God
He cares for us
It says so right here
He created all
Us and the animals
And gave us dominium overall
You worry about the sin and suffering
You cannot know God’s purpose
How dare you take HIS holy name in vain
All three of you will burn in hell


The wives
We didn’t marry for philosophical debate
We married, as we thought for love
He spends all day and often all night
Thinking about, what to us, is unthinkable
What about us?
What is our function?
Is it just to cook and clean?
To run the houses?
To do the shopping?

We all decided that this was not good enough
We started to go together to dinners and to dances
We each met a man we called them Hedonist
They made us laugh and feel like girls again
And then one day
We found there were not four Hedonists but one!
This was a shock
But after long and painful talks
We decided that we didn’t care
And would just share.
After all we did not love him
Nor he loved us
We all became friends but with privileges
But never more than one at once!

The Hedonist
I listen to them talk
Their weighty conversation
It is so bloody boring
Never any realisation.
I do not concern myself with such considerations
Life is far too short
And anyway I’ve got to know their wives
Such fun
They are bored stiff with their deliberations
And bored indeed in bed
So one by one I’ve wined them
So one by one I’ve dined them
So one by one I’ve danced with them
And one by one I’ve slept with them
There’s Stella, Dorothy, Abigail and Claire
They set the rules
No commitment
Just good fun
Fine by me
As long as nobody gets serious

At that so important final moment
They don’t cry out
To:
A random quantum fluctuation
Or an entity full of hesitation
Or then a again a being so barren
Or even worse a jealous god, primitive man’s last bastion
But no
They shriek out loud
Sometimes my name
Or sometimes it’s just Oh you bastard!
Or sometimes it’s just Oh you animal!
Or now and again Please stop O stop you devil
Then I know my duties done




Long poem by Nsamu Moonga | Details |

The One I Love The One who Love Me

It is a Sunday morning.

The day before was still,

yet eventful and surprising:

sacredness met in holy places

and inspired persons.

Petrified trees and slave traders’ bedrooms;

cattle grazing and the ancient one sleeping.

The quiet sounds of lit boats by night,

and the sounds of men returning home

to meet with the people they love –

those who love them.

They sing and dance around their catches.

The wind carries the sounds miles on end,

conspiring to bring home love never possessed.

 

The one who loves me never says goodbye.

I am lullabied by the twinkling of the boat lights,

an assortment of colours.

I am awakened by the voice of the one who loves me –

The one I love –

in the sound of the waves of the lake;

the colour of the lake speaks primordial presence.

 

‘Good night’ and ‘good morning’ are not words any more.

They contain the eternal call to 

being still and knowing that where I am is eternal Presence.

I am here to learn how to be human as if for the first time.

I am drawn back to the place

where I learned to walk and talk;

the place where I learned to love and laugh;

the place where I learned to live and leave;

I learned to query and question;

search and never be satisfied by little.

 

The one who loves me – the one I love –

has known this journey even before it began,

long before I imagined it.

It began in eternity and ends nowhere.

 

I arise to the awareness that love is 

not for the knowing.

It is in the little awe at the 

sight of the vastness of a lake;

hearing the sound of the morning wind,

the sound of the waves knocking on the

door of the lake;

delighting in the brightness of the colours of the birds;

in holding on to the fear of otherness in

animals we call wild;

in the cuddle of the one who loves me –

the one I love;

in a mother embracing her child to security;

in the fright due to a sinking boat;

in the courage of a night-time fisherman;

in the drunkenness of a dreaming young man;

in the playfulness of a kapenta seller;

the closeness of a child on mother’s back;

the silences of the winding roads;

the inquisitiveness of a little child;

in the confidence of a babe;

in the enjoyment of song and dance of a grown-up man;

in the pleasure of friendship;

the communion of family;

the embrace of loving spouses;

in the laughter of young lovers;

in the trust of daring divers;

the sacrifices of trench diggers;

the freshness of cold drinking water;

shared dreams and fears;

the strength of the dam walls;

trusting the bridge will hold you;

the welcome of the shrines;

the generosity of those we love;

the daring of the swimming child;

the warnings of crocodiles and hippos;

the heat and the sweating;

the savour of food and drink;

in the beautiful places and the ugly;

the contrast between pools and the lake;

the pain of returning to business as usual;

the tear on parting…

 

The one I love –

and the one who loves me –

truly never says goodbye.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Alligator Charm

She maneuvers gracefully without fins or flippers
creating no ripples in deep blue waters
sneaking calmly upon jittery preys
and disguise herself in the middle of the day

A sudden thrust from beneath the fog
she buries herself under a leafless log
with open jaws and gigantic teeth 
aiming directly at a block of meat 

Drifting towards his muddy feet
abruptly a bird landed on her choppy back
scaring away her most prized prey 
shouts and screams echoes from dreams
and she waits patiently the entire day

Many lessons to be learnt 
many concepts to understand 
but this deadly creature continues to expand
laying eggs in every corner
and breeding in every type of temperature 

Silent river swells beyond the challengers might
spanning more than ten thousand meters deep
rocky mountains or dry land 
no one can understand this poisonous creature's plan

Swollen lymph nodes crawl silently a shore
while thousands of optimistic hunters 
drift mystically to the center
pursuing the bloodthirsty alligator

She breath venomous substance in the air
threatening countless life far and near
smiling and waiting patiently
to capture her stalwart preys 
who have missed the track
and have gone astray

On the shore you are powerful and strong
but in the water you appear less than a man
maybe a sardine or a paedocypris progenetica fish
but you are on the menu for the evening dish

You have been running around seeking for answers
but turn to God your only friend and  honest partner
spend time with him for a day
listen carefully to what he has to say
and he will show you the way

Exuberant vegetation in or near the water's 
This is where she enjoys privacy and peace 
In the early morning and daylight hours
she lies flat on her stomach
waiting for you to cross 
do not intrude or surprise her
less she rip your pride apart

She lies in an open space with gigantic jaws agape
You could never tell that she is waiting for a significant prey
She camouflage and blend with the environment 
drink French wine, eat ice-cream, lasagna and Kebab 
enjoys family fun parks and modern entertainment

She is aggressive from March throughout September 
and fires up energy from the heat of the sun 
if you approach her during this time 
you are bound to loose your mind

Why should she hunt for food all night?
When she can just open her mouth without a fight
she will sit there for several hours and wait for you
And without warning capture you in her sticky throat

Father gator has taught her one thing
the best way to catch her prey
is to be friend with him
you can use a bait-hook  or a trip-snare trap
but she will never fall into that useless wrap

She doesn’t have to hunt all night
she can swallow you in broad daylight
raw fish and beef lungs If she gets you 
               You'll be done
 
                                                   ©2013 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Increments

A thousand myriad voices           scattered on the wind
decry the human suffering questions will it end
tents in desert dustbowls        waiting upon the rain
lives molded in emptiness     how long can they sustain
 
Pandemic the diseases          a viral biology
man himself constructed          in tubes technology
outpouring chemicals     no plant life can escape
pillaging our resources         our planets incumbent rape
 
The corporations interest    aim profits in their greed
a force it must maintain             your pocket book exceed
desires  that are mercenary    have plans to you expunge
trash outstrips the landfills     the poor in countries plunge
 
The maintenance of property     with empty homes in rot
homeless children hungry   sleep in a parking lot
media insinuates                     you need be owning more
earning of the dollar          the dream you're living for
 
I have seen starvation          exists a different kind
a famine of affection     to others needs be blind
hedonistic pleasures          force decisions to ignore
repercussions down the road     contaminates hardcore
 
The disappearing species          on land and in the sea
ones  we've not discovered   may know them never be
chem. caused deformities               in humans also plants
cancer causing agents    saturating our advance
 
Facilities  explosions            toxic substances are spread
how much can nature take                 before our planets dead
we all have mankind's mind     we know where this will end
to destruct this machine                on man we can't depend
 
Aspartame and PCB's     nitrites not a few
pollution of the food supply        detriments not new
the really scary thing           as this accumulates
greater will its impact be       if prevention waits
 
As mans wars continue        a plan for our demise
we barely see the surface        that our governments disguise
there's a conspiracy      our morality to drown
if you hold to virtue                  their aim to take you down
 
In streaming videos          what's immoral implant
willingly absorb them            its profession is extant
the onslaught overwhelming          the pressure to conform
if you don't run with them        you aren't considered norm
 
The barrage of information           to absorb your time
new gaming now is free        to keep your mind online
even I use this tool         to reach inside your thought
every truth you hear            is seeking to be caught
 
here little there little           every piece in place
to clean up our planet     must destructive thought replace
errors inclination       mans  programming like a map
where is the intervention        to spring us from this trap
 
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

To The Youth

To The Youth Of The 21st century 2011
12/03/20110 Comments
 

The under 30 crowd needs to check the over 40 crowd, what kind of mess are they leaving these struggling young folks in...Still teaching them that Materialism, Hedonism and Egoism, is the order of the day ,never taking up the cause.      " "Yeah Party over here"."shake your booty", spend your money on Gucci, and do not forget to blame the youth. Tell them lies  about being good, tell them go to college and go to church.Then you will get a good job, and you wont be beat down, or go to one of those new prisons they are building for you. You teach them to Ignore facts,and speak only opinions,opinions like. "remember boys and girls...all authorities are not all bad"   I remember even as a  burn victim,in the middle of my pain: I remember the fireman pushing up on me. I felt so vulnerable, I couldn't even talk..memories of that,overrides the pain. The point is they take advantage of the vulnerable so why mention the few that might be good, causing guards to go down.  Like they did with the pedophile priest and the people never rose up. Pretending things were normal kept children in harms way,basically no one wanted to leave their comfort zone.

How many hangings and killings, abuse of authority will the masses contend with before the truth is owned ? Younger ones watching the Older ones passing down those Step and Fetch -it...messages ; Cowards, blaming the youth.When they should be asking them for forgiveness for dropping the ball. But instead they drop opinions,ignoring facts... and blame the youth for acting, like they act. This generation is left out in the cold. Trying to survive a new war with outdated ammunition. This is to my young people...I love you...I will never give up on you; But do not amuse yourself to death .Find your serious side,In serious times....take care of your business and then have fun!

This environment is friendly. Organize survival groups... learn to ignore the losers. Use your Wisdom And intuition.Pay attention to details... and know your enemy. Do not react to buzz words...know what " Buzz words" are.! We shall talk later on that ! ...Oh ..Never ever disrespect the givers of life.. your MOTHERS SISTERS OR YOUR WIVES...Even if she's the worse woman you have ever seen. Never rape,or delight in others pulling trains.Take your rightful place. As leaders, remember, most of your road was paved by slaves. Slaves who could barely read if they could read at all!  Not much has changed knowledge was even lost!  You need to know how to plant and grow. Entrepreneurship is what you need to know. OK ok ! we shall talk later. love. love love...No ego, no hedonism,no materialism. Remember do not "humor yourself to death".


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

The Job Interview

The HR person called me in… I was turning gray… Was he even twenty-one?
I wondered if the interview would go well, as he did fung shui the chairs around.
Offered a caramel expresso mocha late decaf, I told him I took my coffee black.
Alas my friend, it got progressively worse, this: our proverbial generational gap.

He asked me to explain, how I’d be the best personnel fit, for this illustrious job.
Ah! Experience I had in abounds, as I pulled out a 100-page resume, neatly bound.
That question, had me off and running, but I knew, I was in some trouble when…
I saw his eyes glaze over, and he ask me, ‘Have we made it into space yet?’

He smirked, when he ask, about ‘Recent’ applicable education, in the last 5 years.
I condensed my course certifications till he nearly fell off, his crazy chair, my dear!
He ask the projects worked on, unfortunately, all were government secret classified. 
So I added some of the numerous skills, that had been applied, till he almost cried.

I started with the job descriptions, but he didn’t like… that the names were so long.
And the abbreviations normally used, in this line of work, almost blew his mind.
Though I also got the feeling, he may have thought that I’d finally, lost mine, since…
My accomplishments had scads of stuff he’d never, ever, be able to comprehend...

You know, ‘things’ about the job, HR doesn’t care about or bother to be clued in.
Luckily all was saved, before the interviewers’ jaw, hit the floor around his chair.
Using a power point presentation, illustrations appeared, giving him a better clue.
I even gave him a burned DVD, set to the music of  ‘Live Free or Die Hard’, too.

He ask about items, he’d never heard of, you know, from way before he was born.
But got the feeling he’d be more attentive, talking about a computer game going on.
I didn’t lie about a thing, it’s not my fault some Companies are now closed down!
But I felt things were somewhat a success, as security finally came to lead me out…

Unfortunately, in the end, they hired a young one, and I couldn’t understand why.
He was a quiet, little, studious kid, who didn’t say a thing, but had stars in his eyes.
He didn’t understand any of the work involved, but his pay would be next to none.
But that's whom they got: until that company closed for work that couldn’t be done.

All because the HR Department didn't help them get the workers they did need.
I became self-employed, developing computer games, all the rage! Oh So Sweet!
Yes, I became a millionaire, with my own company, without HR, anywhere seen!
Now, we develop rockets to go into space, where I felt, that HR person should be.

Dedicated to all those Middle aged people stressed out after looking for a job.
Wife and Hubby Collaboration


Long poem by Keith Jefferson | Details |

Commander

I feel invisible. And Christmas feels like another terror crisis for families. I design 
every city, feel no pity for this except, and  can't travel and have romantic sex in the 
cities with my princess Jaclyn. I will make the Da Vinci Code book come to life as 
I read out loud at any (crowded place.) I will prove why the United States of 
America is invincible, how I make all people and products possible. Can display 
any where, we are in my supervision, which is a controlled environment.  I am a 
super power who created the best super power country, I have and continue to 
bless North America. We are one world divided by religion.  So we are still 
divisible. Anybody who knows the english language should be able to tell nobody 
chipped in to create the language and titles of companies. The rhymes, the 
articulate ways to play with sound. Only one person could do this for the reason 
of trying to reach you.  All I can do is play with tv and family. Only if I had allies 
there would be no defects. I hate marketing our life spans. You can believe or if 
not, you just sided with the devil when youdon't believe, and I hate to make 
people decide on their lives. Example is suicide.I hate to be evil. Need money to 
get out of my house.   Its lame to see people blame. This is not a game, I want 
change. I am royalty with not enough loyaltists. If this persists, people will keep 
on perishing. Allah is allowed to have a career in reality, since I am the most 
creative.. All I know is I is he, he is I. I even 
created the aloe plant. We can start to heal families, and I prove I gave all "Family 
Ties". I build on what I build. The world is mine. One day it will be ours. If read 
this I wouldn't  wait till my ressurection of making the future making cycle , 
beacsue I don't feel comfortable. I hate to create insurgents, I created the internet 
to reach the world.  I designed the internet. You bet its a playhouse,like Wynmoor 
on Cococnut Ceek Blvd. I get illusions from the word conk=cock or (count.) I get a 
scroll or dimensional pop up before me of the pearl of a girl.  Love handles really 
means for drawers on furniture. Don't pull love handles but put you weight on it, 
like railings at banks and Disney World. I made the design of slang for the 
reason to rap it up. People are using the wrong words which makes our lives 
miserable. I would like to progress, but still no progress of reply. All I need is one 
mic, and money to come out and play. My souls' sold on dvd's and cd's around 
the globe! Its a goddy god world."


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

Mad Men in High Places

If the world were a soccer ball I'd be mighty tempted
to kick it high to kingdom come.
After what I learned today I feel ripped off,
feeling the sparse warmth of a dimmed out sun.
Pray tell who gave such power to these mad men in high places.
Stop *****footing around and give it to me straight. I want the down-to-earth basis.
Why are you poisoning the precious skies with aluminum particles?
You claim it's to stop Global Warming. Far be it for me to call it impractical.
Do you not see that it is killing the crops and infecting the oceans?
Call me what you will, but this is indeed no silly notion.
These artificial clouds are filtering out the sunlight itself.
And it's only a matter of time before we all melt.
We all know it's happening for it's written up there in the heavens.
And it's not just on occasion. It's going strong 24/7.
There's links in the chain that it all leads to weather warfare.
What's next animal mind control by means of radiated air?
They call me ludicrous with names like "Conspiracy Theorist".
A nice way to say "freak of nature"... my apologies for being a life purist!
If I could I'd grab a needle and thread and sew up those Ozone holes.
I wish I could laugh it off, saying "I got you good!", and let go of all the legs I pulled.
But this is it... there's nothing much I can do but state figures and facts.
Treating these issues as "untouchable entities" is going nowhere fast.
There are human beings behind the curtain. A stage no one sees.
Please, grab this floatie and together we'll leave this darkened sea!
The promise of safety lies ahead, swim towards it!
"Ignorance is bliss", so said the men who are destroying the planet.
Autism and Alzheimer's rates are skyrocketing
While men behind closed doors are surely profiting
Contrary to popular belief, zigzagging lines across the skies are not natural!
This experimentation comes at a high price when life as we know it is the collateral...



NOTE: This is about Geo-engineering (what some might call "chem trails"). It's a serious issue and something that shouldn't be taken lightly... I've watched a lot of videos on it and how (for reasons unknown) people are PURPOSELY spraying aluminum particles into the atmosphere. There's much more to it that's even more disturbing... but I just wanted to make everyone aware of it.

After reading this, I realized that a certain word is blocked out. It's an unusual word, but it's NOT a swear word. The word means to move catlike with stealth and caution. Just think of Tweetie saying Putty Tat, and you'll know the word that's blocked out...


Long Poems