Think in shapes and tapwater dreams, Sparkling yonder a triangle of jealousy; Make typewriter paints and puddles out of streams Horizontal roads and octagonal agonies Leave square staring eyes. Watch yourself, because you’re thinking in shapes.
Shapes appear and you lose them again….
Think of circles with arcs and diameters When you see a sun drift into a cloud Radius of sunbeam and sunlight radiates Rectangular strength, the lies are to be boxed in.
Shapes disappear, you are not lost forever But you have to think them again before they reappear …
Think cones within cones and conical spires Brickwork interlarded with mercury mortar Not for strengthening – more for show Lean the vertical at right angles But never let yourself be as slow.
Shapes evaporate, steady and recreate Change form and celebrate For in them there is the thought procession.
I have blunted my spade, as there are too many graves, I have shovelled mounds of dirt and mud, not braved the thought that none of these graves are necessary. Stepping over the bodies lined in their hundreds No one spotted the flaw in my arguments or cared, I have ravaged my heart with thoughts such as these Why do I do it can someone tell me now please?
In the process of mending fences and painting them I was clobbered by a rusty old shovel belonging To the one who wanted more than mere revenge, Blood streamed down my face but that was not enough, because the one that held the tool in their hand was clear in their intention to bury me always alive, did I deserve this once then and now how many times?
I decided to refill all the graves with good intent But that was not good enough either the despised one Was on my back tearing at me and taking off flesh, Not satisfied to see me spend time digging and refilling No there had to be a higher price to pay, a further reach a deeper payment was needed that would bankrupt my heart. No, I will fill every open grave, because I had done my part.
I pray every night and send healing prayers To those parts of the world in the mire I send peace and love to the refugees I pray their journey make take them home I send healing to people being bombed And ask for their deliverance,
I pray every night for you to help sleep I send a healing prayer to you to help relax I ask the Lord to protect you look after you, I ask the Lord to send his Love to you To give you joy and uplifting happiness And ask that he keeps away any demons.
I pray every night for the all our tomorrows I send healing to all those less fortunate Who dread every day that comes their way I send understanding and respect to enemies I ask that they take time to abandon hatred And ask they be shown the true path to Light.
I pray we each find a new home in Bude I send thoughts about how it will make us happy To be more settled in each other’s company Enjoying each moment of companionship To laugh to walk every day be restful And ask that you find inspiration in your
Catching the wind, like slowing a film Where smiles merge with sad faces Falling cliffs and raging rivers Weaving in and out gigantic snowdrifts.
You’re not really aware of another day Because each hour is sewn into your coat Foxes die and fish look for defeat Hares race and dogs silence every bleat.
There’s no looking back nor forward For in every turn of the night and day More hours are kept, protected, hidden Why were you waiting?
Was their meant to have been a special day Was there the merest chance that delay Would lengthen into decades strewn with spikes Roads somehow lined with likes and dislikes.
Not taking any particular road – just any road Speeding through avenues of aching Stretching a moment as though of elastic Underlining every mundane or dramatic.
Pause, like Shakespearean actors Learning and re-learning Shows shades of longing For what no one knows.
No looking means not striding ahead it means letting go of the wind counting every second in the mind casting aside each dull careless second.
Like a misused fishing net Spelling it out really isn’t it? I’m not really catching the wind Not am I ever likely to.
Cosseted in half slumber in soft armchairs You do nothing like shouting or making cheers You are zombiefied into passive observation You are beyond resting or normal relaxation.
As the vibrating images flicker into your brain Are you living inside the inevitable open drain? Where energies are sapped, they turn to stone, Because the negative pull wins the day again.
As you observe the TV Wonderland sitting alone You inject more adversity, pain into your vein You have wars, earthquakes and sexual violence Mingled with toilet paper, chocolates, soap powder.
As your eyes bulge in complete solid acceptance A part of you dies, a branch is snapped off each time As you switch on the Box of millions dots and dashes For TV land is relentless substandard non-thinking.
As hypnosis inevitably takes over the whole world You are left with little room to explore and discover Who you really are - where you are – why you are For TV mania cuts off your time and you are left drained.
Newspaper draped over the lap auto button TV control You are stilled, the only thing left is to sit, stare and grow old Sport juxtaposed with environmental propaganda motions Politicians sitting next to custard creams and face lotion.
The seriousness of mind pollution is never told or discussed Brain wash ‘n’ dry, washed whiter and never recognised Propaganda tea bags and sugar lumps left hanging in a trap Where light energy turns dark, evaporates, never comes back.
He danced his last by himself When the music became heavy The scented display shelf Fell into the golden levee As his mind became melted,
He pranced his heart out Asked for more than a drink “I’m pretty, but sordid, I think” All the words of his curdled His head swam in a dream His life became a bad theme Of make believe, no reality.
“Please let me see the sun again” But the words blew away His hat was the only Protection between his head And the floor of the ravine He jumped clear of the gorse bush All he heard was a harsh air rush.
We invented the systems within which you exist, And created the armies where we insist you enlist, Controlling you as our puppets with our cast iron fist, Denying you any chance to persist or resist.
We constructed your illusions laced with afflictions, Built on alcohol and sugar to become your addictions, Which we manufacture in abundance without any restrictions, To manipulate and influence your deepest convictions.
We removed your conscious choice that’s no longer missed, To the point you cannot even remember the gist, Your brainwashed mind is now numb and dismissed, So you follow our rules with no fate you can twist.
Our media and content become your distractions, With materialistic attractions to seduce your perceptions, Spreading infections to increase your prescriptions, While our monopolist board members toast their deceptions.
But deep underground where the masses are contained, Lies an educated minority who feel unrestrained, Driven by overwhelming desire to expose the unexplained, Awakened and aware with their consciousness regained.
No longer are they fooled by the egocentric state, That’s designed to encourage fear and amplify hate, They will start a new slate with no need to dictate, And create their own world in a new twist of fate.
They know the current system cannot be sustained, And those already trapped in it cannot be retrained, For most have sold their soul laying dormant and detained, It’s the next generation who will live their lives unchained.
Unlike their predecessors they will not take the bait, They will revolt and rebel to make our world great, They will build a new paradigm on which all can create, I just hope they awaken before it’s too late.
by John Michaelson~
#writingforchange#poetry#author Message from John – If you would like to read, connect with, or share more of my poetry and prose, I invite you to check out and follow my author page if it feels right for you, where you will find more of my work that I’ve written to date. You are also welcome to follow the #writingforchange hashtag which I use on all my work across my social media channels. Whenever you want to share my poetry, all I ask is that you always respect copyright and kindly acknowledge me as the original author. I always welcome any feedback and comments you want to share on my work, or any questions you have on my plans and aspirations for #writingforchange using the power of words to change our world for the better to help those in need within our local and global communities, one word at a time.
This great poem by the late, very much lamented, poet and political activist Adrian Mitchell can be applied to any of the wars of recent times, whether in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, or the planned war on Iran. Adrian, who was a committed activist in the anti-war movement, repeatedly revised the text, as lies for new wars were trotted out by the likes of George W Bush and Tony Blair. This video shows the celebrated reading Adrian made on 11 June 1965 at London’s Royal Albert Hall, when the Vietnam war was slaughtering millions in the name of “democracy and “freedom”.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN (TELL ME LIES ABOUT VIETNAM)
I was run over by the truth one day. Ever since the accident I’ve walked this way So stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain, Couldn’t find myself so I went back to sleep again So fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Every time I shut my eyes all I see is flames. Made a marble phone book and I carved all the names So coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.
I smell something burning, hope it’s just my brains. They’re only dropping peppermints and daisy-chains So stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Where were you at the time of the crime? Down by the Cenotaph drinking slime So chain my tongue with whisky Stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam.
More than a hundred years ago, Rudolf Steiner wrote the following:
” In the future, we will eliminate the soul with medicine. Under the pretext of a ‘healthy point of view’, there will be a vaccine by which the human body will be treated as soon as possible directly at birth, so that the human being cannot develop the thought of the existence of soul and Spirit.
To materialistic doctors, will be entrusted the task of removing the soul of humanity. As today, people are vaccinated against this disease or that disease, so in the future, children will be vaccinated with a substance that can be produced precisely in such a way that people, thanks to this vaccination, will be immune to being subjected to the “madness” of spiritual life. He would be extremely smart, but he would not develop a conscience, and that is the true goal of some materialistic circles.
With such a vaccine, you can easily make the etheric body loose in the physical body. Once the etheric body is detached, the relationship between the universe and the etheric body would become extremely unstable, and man would become an automaton, for the physical body of man must be polished on this Earth by spiritual will. So, the vaccine becomes a kind of arymanique force; man can no longer get rid of a given materialistic feeling. He becomes materialistic of constitution and can no longer rise to the spiritual “. Rudolf Steiner (1861-1925) Tagged spirituality, consciousness, anthroposophy, rudolf-steiner, philosophy. Posted on 23/11/2025 by The Hard Bard
sun showers danced like dye darker green shadows light on green leaves played bamboo golden light organ pipes wooden 'n' olden down finickey halls shadows leaped like lizards scaling flower eyes trailing random vines tales that curl-ee-cued beans that hung green light berries butterfly's grasp upside down in pain lovely in their rapture golden dust golden winged eels slither apart bleeding life's light on to the ground 'n' quiver down golden light corny little yellow horns blew petals stem riddles bees ride fat honey legged drips center pulp splinters her flowered eye a legend on a rock she scribbles a dew drop pops up in the 'sun dawn dance'
DISSENTERS VOICE 