Hi welcome to DISSENTERS VOICE - I am Pete the Poet I post my poems and those of other poets I like, and info about poets, writers, songwriters etc.
The aim of this blog is to present the reader with works and actions of dissenting voices who expose, for example the psychopathic nature of transnational companies and institutions - to reveal their true nature i.e - non-life.
I am supporter of Peace issues, orgs and people. I explore matters related to the Paranormal, the Afterlife, Mediums and Psychic Healing. I am active in exposing the government and media propaganda and publish counter narratives based on facts and scientific research. We don't need politics or religion, just ourselves - take your personal responsibility and RESIST DEFY AND DO NOT COMPLY
I’m like some old steam engine shunted into a railway siding, Or an old favourite book left lying on the shelf dust gathering. I’m in solid sorrow for being, once again, the forgotten one, Going from being the expected one, to being the nothing someone.
Now I am a relic sitting in the basement of a museum, Like a once popular music album, that had everyone dancing But is now buried on the bottom of a pile of old vinyls, No longer played, no longer touched, ignored and out of style.
I’m like a shrivelled orange sat in a glass bowl in a cupboard, It shapes my heart into a battered over used and old dartboard. I no longer walk, like I used to, along the countryside paths, For I have lost the meaning of this dream along with my innocence.
My arms are outstretched and very wide As I try to capture you floating nearby, Your rays of sun are hitting the backs of my eyes And the dance of angels are just starting, There are cascades of lights warming the air As I go wandering in and out of clouds everywhere, So that you can explore what the world wants of you, Are you surprised the world takes notice of you; I am not! You are in the infinite variety of words and song, I cannot choose the best of them, I am always wrong But with you within my measure, I can feel right again, I dance on the worn out ashes of time and space I cannot joke with the moon nor look into its face, But with you inside my private surrounds I can smile You are the woman who is not content by taking a mile, There are consequences for not being as one ought to, I can’t explain it only revel in what was brought to My attention as the sun sinks below its reason, “Can you shoot me?” was my plaintive cry out loud, There are words meant for horizons in unwanted colours. Can you tell between lazy motives and love itself? I have explanations in each of my pockets And none of them made any sense, because my mouth was hidden. Did I tell you about the warm sunny meadows inside my head A thousand maybes if I didn’t but it is better isn’t it, instead When I’m in rapture the lake is there to save me, cool me, Stepping outside the grasslands and into the desert sands Not bothered by the heat melting me, but I understand You are not really there, you are outside of my warmest dreams. Don’t give back all the words and songs I have given you please, What will I do with them now they are used up, worn, old, shabby, I prefer you as you are in strong womanhood you make me happy.
I am dancing on shards of broken glass Not surprising seeing blood oozing. I can’t hear the music but I see the faces Trying to be careful but it is not enough The pain in the feet is indescribable. I’ve tried to walk delicately slowly That did not work for the glass is everywhere.
I did not see the piles of glass until too late Why did I not watch where I was going Right across my path lines and lines of pain Not fooled by their shiny look, but drawn in Against my will I fell right in the middle I am scrambling to get out from the maze Not succeeding really, not surprising.
There was no warning no signs saying beware No watch out for the bewitching eye, inside there, After all it was down to me though I did not know, I take the blame, it was my fault now I am bleeding, The shards were worn down smaller and smaller Under the weight of my feet, not surprising, Smashed to smithereens, waiting for another person.
I hide my light under a bushel For I do not exist One day I will desist I am in my tortoise shell Moving slowly as hell I refuse to put my head above ground I move around slowly without a sound, I did not say anything today Tomorrow I won’t say much anyway, There is a rhythm to be hidden from view I look for it always or for something new But it is well hidden No light now and then Could shine upon this nothing space It isn’t as if I am in some kind of race Did I pick this way of being nothing Or was it because time was chiming? And the days were getting shorter The nights doing what they oughta No surprises could creep in here The dark makes them disappear I am well hidden from the world I tuck my head in it won’t be spoiled, With the everyday marching ahead It’s why I don’t want to leave my bed Stay under the covers all the time hoping the day goes away from mine and your ways of looking outwards. The silence was beyond being awkward When I emerge and destroy the paper I am writing on with a poem proper. I write them but they are well hidden From the moment they are born Inside my head and to the well worn Keyboard or pen, each word from me Is splashed in the open air calmly. Did I need to be hidden all these years Hiding like my father, shedding no tears As he passed into another realm unknown, How could I have copied his well renowned Hiding in a shed at the bottom of the garden Hiding until his last day arrived and then No more, he is now well and truly hidden. In fields of daisies there are delights That entice me back into the light I look for the butterfly and the bee They constantly fly right passed me. But the caterpillar is well hidden Waiting for its day before heaven Where it flies all around hidden places Going passed the familiar faces. Is this where the rhythm I seek Has always been, I am so weak As to not understand the living way. I don’t speak much everyday, The tongue remains quiet and still I want my life beyond free will Where the energy is used wisely Where I’m not saying – Surprise me! When I’m deep inside my coffin The mourners won’t see me within They won’t know if I’m really there Being well hidden is all I can bear, I am the reluctant soulful hermit Who hides almost out of habit. When I was at school I blended Into the grey, wishing it was ended Invisible was my usual dearest wish I am well hidden, but not a cold fish In the moments that I do emerge Meaning floods the floors submerges All those days I was without me Washes them into the boiling sea I’m well hidden not wanting to be Not knowing how to escape, be free Of the restraints that are all around me. I am well hidden Did I do this for some good reason? Am I a target now out of season. This earthly plain is presented As there is only this, pretended Living down a deep well hidden
Interwoven lattice like thoughts bring you flowers of joy And the love we enjoy Sinks it teeth into your heart But when it bleeds it isn’t blood It is years that keep us all apart. It is statements left unsaid Although the mind awakens after you’re dead.
Complex lace-like mind pictures Keep your hands outstretched to the stars You’re staring into the face of love When the voice speaks to you from afar Be not afraid my children For I am the love, the despair, the Light Worry not for I bring you Joy Sun and Life.
Into the infinite dimension of all-knowing I speak, I hear the Void echo loudly in my mind But the words are so very clear I can hear the laughter too Into the space that lives between us all I feel your body press against mine What a find! The Lord’s own sister The Universal child, the Sun’s Daughter.
I can’t weep enough, for such joy is a mountain The clouds in speckled skies Lift the veil from behind my eyes You are the Presence the Love the Joy When you picked me out from the crowd I shrank I want to hide inside a cloud But the look you bring slashes aside the doubt Pierces my inner love but you tease it on out.
Pleased in presence awed in majesty I wade through this water of life in hope the love is buried therein for all to find the prising open is the knowing the knowing is the Lord’s own hand for this is the knowledge of all, forever, for all times.
Web-like intricate criss cross silk that glitters When the sun expresses its rays into our eyes. The milk of a million years You can feel the presence You are the spirit You have the notice That you exist for it It will please you When you most need it.
1. It’s not enough to climb the mountain of worry Or look out across peaks of problems sorry Does the wonder of it all really Look like the hand of jealousy.
2. Dream a little dream And scheme Your letters of gold steeped in Perfume Ready for no one to read.
3. Stay a while when mountains crumble to the sea Move only when the breathing begins inside of me Delay your journey as trees whither to nothing Be ready to convince the living parts begin the living.
4. What does eating pumpkins Have to do with raining Days and nights? Search me.
Not guilty m’lud after all She was only a child small So very young and naive, Those days she now grieves.
Regular slaps with verbal abuse Her mother with routine misuse Would rule her life of pain she’d get hit again and again.
Throughout her childhood confusion As she didn’t know what she’d done, To get the punishment severe But she felt guilt through the tears.
The child assumed she was at fault “why else would mother hit me? I am such a bad girl really” She thought I must do what I ought.
Now she lives with pain in her heart Wondering just what actual part Did she play in deserving a beating, She was getting the devil’s meeting.
She grew up alongside the violence As though it was a natural part of life She matured, held the pain in silence Her first male attacker was her strife.
He was like a beast he acted even worse Attacking a woman who is weaker Leaving her full of bruises is beyond verse A brute not a man and a woman-hater.
Occasions of violent submission were hers Ending a relationship through being raped, A narcissistic sociopath was her curse A sub-human who thought himself as great.
Inflicting the worse kind of cruel violence Sent stabs of guilt pain and grief into her She has a black hole in her heart once She parted from the worse kind of raper.
II
The puzzle for me is how could he do so Much violence to such a kind and caring soul? She does not have a bad bone in her body To take advantage this way, scum must he be.
The woman recognises the abuser is not aware Of the damage he has done, he doesn’t care He feels he has done nothing wrong, mistake! This shows he is a psychopath on the make.
He is lucky to escape a possible life sentence There is no excuse for rape, nor any defence, It is on a similar level as murder in seriousness, To carry on contacting his victim is senseless.
He has no regard nor love for his victim For such a person is incapable of loving Anyone but himself, my level of loathing Says killing him would be too good for him.
DISSENTERS VOICE 