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
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'
The Wardown Poets meet every 2nd Saturday of the month at 2pm in the Quiet Room inside Stockwood Park Discovery Centre Garden Cafe, Luton. Next meeting will be 13th Dec 2025 – for more information please contact Francis at – mcdonnell.francis@googlemail.com Outside patio of the Garden Cafe Posted on 23/11/2025 by The Hard Bard
I hand you a lemon coloured flower I wish I had more so I could shower You in fragrance and yellow energy, To help remind me of what I really see.
I held your face in my warm hands I listened to gathering happy bands The air was still time had vanished Just the look on your face remained.
Come rain or shine we will be camped Inside the ring we call friends stamped Is the sign that all is well no pressure No expectation this is real for sure.
I don’t want a girlfriend it can all go wrong, Your friendship is good this is a feeling strong It is better than being lovers for your caring I really appreciate, friendship is ever lasting.
I never look down on you my good lady, Not do I raise you up on a pedestal really You are you and I feel your friendship Our friendship is being guided by spirit.
Our higher connection remains intact I still pick up your thoughts that’s a fact I try not to interpret the messages I receive I just let them roll across me as they leave.
The signals from you are about being hopeful Talking to you I hope you value as being helpful When you need another’s support I am there Not judging you but giving you all that I dare.
Friendship is precious I think you may agree Learning to listen while we wait and see. Friendship is solid throughout this last year, We both recognise its worth for me that is clear.
Our friendship is now something we treasure We can open up to each other without measure Knowing our thoughts are wrapped in honesty I have never before had a friend like you dear lady.
Lacewing views oblivion In the dew- planeted threads of Charlotte’s house the waves wish to be iced the shores wish to be warm the longest local road is a frozen Styx and the raven thinks he’s Charon carrying black the carrion-bird cackles a claxon for the silent maelstrom of emergencies craneflies waltz in cathedrals of frost sharpening the transient infinities of mucus in winter the postman delivers gulls disemboweled on the thorns of slow trauma in winter the policemen place live coals in their boots which throb like the eyes of a baby cold and cribbed and quacking in a chemist’s dripping doorway in winter the cows gather in grey hollows to tell tales of terror their dreams of bolt-guns conveyor- belts,the smiling of knives and the rumble of exhaust in winter things kill other things this winter gives
A question often levelled at writers is ‘why do you write?’ It’s one I’ve mulled over myself often enough (a compulsion, a fascination with language, a head full of stories I want to share, and the conclusion I come to most often, a simple need for communication). As I was writing The Aziola’s Cry, I started wondering what Percy Bysshe Shelley’s answer to that question would be.
He has the compulsion from childhood, clearly, as he and his sister Elizabeth managed to publish a small collection of poetry in their youth. But where Elizabeth seems to have left the hobby aside, it became a lifetime’s vocation for Percy Bysshe.
There are two significant answers to why Shelley wrote, and I believe they can be summarized in two of his most famous quotes.
The first is a bold statement that occurs in his essay Defence of Poetry: “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”
This is perfect for a poet so political and philosophical. We see him picking up his pen time and again when he sees something amiss in the world. The publication of his that had the most impact in his lifetime was probably the pamphlet he published while at Oxford, The Necessity of Atheism, and the person it impacted most was himself, seeing him expelled from university and branded a dangerous radical for the rest of his life. On closer inspection, the title is probably the most shocking thing; Shelley talks earnestly about the dangers of corruption and hypocrisy in the structures of Christianity. Although he maintained an antagonistic relationship with the church, he greatly admired the actions and teachings of Jesus Christ, and was spiritual in his way, later saying he was a Pantheist rather than Atheist, and often talked of the ‘spirit of the universe.’ For more please go to - https://www.historythroughfiction.com/blog/the-radical-spirit-of-shelley
The open open snow laden hill Waiting for the wind to kill The only remaining tree The melting memory The ever-widening space.
The wide valley of virgin snow Aching as if wanting to know The coolest deep sorrow The landing of tomorrow To the endless useless race.
Deepening furrows lie stark Whilst the body feelings turn dark The blackest eye resting The cold thought nesting Waiting for its lonely place.
II
Beyond the peace that is loneliness Is an urgent maddening mess Where the collected tears fall The briefest look is small Darting a print into the snow.
Behind the unblinking eyes Caverns echo to the surprise Of finding the lonely tree alive The hill will always survive For the wind will never know.
III The pitiful well laden tree Is the thought of wasted time really The hill will rise slowly And the snow will melt eventually And the sky, blue looking cool below.
DISSENTERS VOICE 