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
Whether its Blues blue grass where the grass is seen as greener it’s gotta be said with the feeling because the Blues is here to stay
Whether you like the jazz The rhythm and blues is meaner I don’t care what other people say Cos the Blues just won’t go away.
Whether the skies are turning grey It’s the coolest of summer days I don’t dare to listen to the rap Cos I know da Blues is here to stay.
Whether you are on your killing floor When you are wanting the music more Hold your own guitar firmly all day Because the blues is here to stay.
You woke up this morning in your room Hearing John Lee Hooker boom boom, You will stand up singing and then say Because the blues is here to say.
As I stood in a bar with Howlin’ Wolf Crying to the moon loudly up to the roof My backbone was jingling all the way Because the blues is here to say!
The Rock n Roll came, blasted but cooled Pop explosion hit us when we schooled All kinds of sounds created came our way Never mind, cos the Blues is here to stay!
I cry to the moon, what have I lost and how? It happened so sharply, quickly somehow, I must have taken my eye off the ball I wandered totally out of gear after all.
Did this happen behind my back in a sly way I did not notice what was going on even today, I’ve been done upon in a cruel manner for why? What did I do to make our love from me shy?
A thousand questions I ask of the moon basking in a dark and mysterious sky, I am of the asking having lost a love what have I gained for myself pain, heartache, resentment loathing of my self.
The underhand expression of losing a loved one like the bleeding heart left alone upon a stone, to let the crows devour the meaning of lost love, The moon tried to comfort me, trying from above.
"I talk to the wind but my words are all carried away"** I have heard the song sung from 1969 up to today, the meaning is not lost on me and I know what to say to my lunar friend, saying the words the right way.
** Line taken from song by King Crimson – I talk to the wind”
I’ve swept A hundred paths Of tears and broken leaves, And heaped them Into mounds Under trees, Maybe to go Back to remember Why they had to fall, I won’t ignore The effort spent To clear a path for all.
I’ve dug graves For people Who are still alive And breathing And have sung Their praises Cast petals On the leaving Shadows as the sun Sought its usual retreat From the sky.
Using tools so Tattered and torn Clearing a way Took hours long Longer than expected But what was to be Had to be done now No use to change The order of tears And leaves falling What comes naturally Comes not to us all, No not everyone.
Taking a moonbeam from your hair I only want to sit and stare Into the darkest of dark eyes For into each there is the tranquillity The love, the universe, the eternity.
Lifting a smile from your face I only want to see you clear Into this and the next world For into each, there is the spirit love The universal love – eternal love.
Take my hand and let me be your guide Settle with me for I am at your side As your life enters the tunnel of grey I am here with you night and day.
Don’t turn your head for you can’t see me Open your inner eye to realise me Don’t cast the stone of doubt at me For they are wounding and cutting me.
Lift your face to the clearing skies You will see that ahead doth lie The growth of inner peace – tranquillity Listen for the singing in your energy.
With the ages of time in your very cells You can become the messenger – go tell Speak to the earless ones to help, Don’t ignore them, don’t leave them out.
Though the seas strike emblems into the sky Birds wheel endlessly, I wonder why A sudden expression or unexpected cry Could almost seem to be important.
Though my outstretched arm caught in the wind Endless watery patterns emerged in my mind The collision of thoughts are agonies submerged Blindingly rhetorical ... not sudden ... not heard.
Though shoals of fish are captured in small territories Plankton eaten in massive unfathomable quantities Millions of nerve end messages could not reveal whether their infinite energies were ever real.
There are strands of words I put together at random, Now I discover there are some spaces between them, The spaces are filled with music that I did not put there, Beautiful music from where I know not but somewhere.
There are strings of sentences I manage to combine, Each ending with a sigh only audible every time When I breathe inwards collecting the sense of them, But what meaning in between can be revealed then?
There are small paragraphs I have crafted this night, That seek only to reveal the brightest of bright light, What purpose is the meaning when revealing happens, Is it a joke, a phrase to ridicule what comes from my pen.
There are longer paragraphs potted with words too sound To be dismissed like a cavalier wave of your hand, What can I do I am sitting at the beginning of this page Looking about me for meanings – this could take an age.
There are pages of words swimming around in pools of blood That have sweated all the droplets from me – a real flood Of words, phrases, holding the knives for someone’s back, Ready am I to shove the blades right in so life is lack.
There are chapters of my life that I wish to happily discard But I warn myself – life is hard enough but to be this hard? What is the purpose over creating mountains to climb, Am I to boast to all and sundry that this work is all mine?
There are books I have in my hand all of them incomplete Why bother starting another one when I know I will defeat The very reason why only my words are to be displayed; Do I conjure a pattern or words only to have them slayed?
There are libraries full of books that I will never read Nor ever know most of the titles or authors indeed, This is the paradox, how could I have met these words And not understood a single one, this is too absurd!
There are streets of libraries but I have ignored them all I will use my own words – I write them no matter how small The meaning or how great – to stir the mind into action, My laurels I have rested too long for my satisfaction.
I am stepping down from my cloud Measured only in rows of orchids I grasp them in my hand being at one With the aroma, do orchids smile?
I am sitting by the riverside relaxing In time to the shallow ripples waving, Staring through the water I am undone Wanting the wet sensation to come.
I am beside this tree watching leaves fall The boughs of the tree bend noisily My anxiety brought about by bending Branches only interrupts thoughts is all.
I am inside this cloud for a good reason Or so I feel, but it alludes me all the time The true meaning, is this really all mine, But I did not ask for this cloudiness
I am stepping into the river only ankle deep Waiting for the trees to whisper in my ears Can they reveal the meaning or will I lose all Sense that there is meaning any meaning at all.
I am always taken aback when a dream happens While I am awake taking control of each step As I descend the cloud to settle inside the water I always ask did this really happen at all.
I am in the dark hallways of indecision But I see the light streaming into my room Upon each ray there is a short message I have read them all over and over again.
I am uncertain what each message was meant To be seen as – realisation, satisfaction Did I need to have so many rays of sun Come into my room, answered as affirmation.
Brown and yellow legged spider Lurking without menace Loitering without intent Peaceful As though The wall it hangs upon Could have been a tree in a forest.
Gentle movements legs splayed A graceful presence Leaving no trace As it appears to be keeping a rendez-vous and you Shy away, are spiders meant to be creepy?
Really silly but a spider Can be so many things To so many beings It moves well in darkness It is well protected Lights freezes the spider in time.
In wooded glades I weep, seated by this tree, In words of a thousand my mind rips me open, There is no forgiveness there is nothing to see Or hear why the tears, scalding me – are welcome The mound in my chest was unbearable and heavy But sorrow happy sorrow I clasp both your hands.
Sometimes we don’t know what we really have Until it is lost forever, it escapes us quietly no fuss Then there is the emptiness that follows, the sorrow Takes us to centre stage and the anger engulfs us, Happy sorrow is familiar like a well-worn jacket habit is regular, over done though we have to hack it!
In the night sky a new bright star appears glistening The happy chance is teaching me the art of listening For the message from its light can overcome all kinds Of betrayals, the shine from its beam enters my mind I hang upon the new star, do I dismiss it as a dream? No I feel the reality of it – it is good this it seems.
DISSENTERS VOICE 