John 3:16

I’m so sad, it can make a person mad. The ignorance of many with a narrow point of view you have to ask oneself.. am I one too?.

He came to save man and woman, without scythe and hammer, no hardened rules, no stutter or stammer. 

Without any sin, he saved and healed, no malice or feeling of ill, the blind could see, trapped set free, accept Jesus now to free you from sin, eternal life is given by him.

Simple verse and an act of god when he was put to death upon a cross, a clear message with a point of view ‘believe in me and I’ll save you too’. 

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Message in hope - I love my family and friends, there is no place that I’d rather be when I leave this earth except heaven, there is no’ nothing!’  as some would have you believe. To be with all the people that I wish to be surrounded by, such as Nan, grandad, Mum & Dad is a hope that is worth keeping. It’s a hard world, every so called god talks of revenge and evil response to an action except Jesus Christ, I’ve made my choice... Have you? 

War and Austerity

I sat down to reflect on a history of thy own

I am old now and weep to a song, a sad story is mine with all that have now gone.

I saw a vision in thy mind a beautiful woman singing at the worn old butler sink, she has the voice of angel, I cannot speak, I listen intently to every word it’s a little dainty about a bird, she whispers soft and perfectly in tune, it fills every inch of this tiny little room. I heard that she sang on a stage when she was young and not a mum, she has a frame that is small yet to me she is the biggest person and ever so tall, she holds me up when I fall, she is more than just nice, loving and fun, she is more special to all.

I see a man about forty years old, he speaks of the Second World War, of the men that were bold, he showed me a house that was bombed, a church too, the street replaced where houses were few. He was a fireman at 13 years of age, just helping out due to his tender young age, I never heard enough, for I was too young to care, I just wondered why he had no hair, however I would give the right answers and longingly stare. 

1945 seemed ages in the past, in the 1970’s we were having a blast, with T-rex’s Marc bolan and slade’s noddy Holder, Elton johns big glasses, singing rocket man to the classes, I had no time to hear besides it seemed like...... well ‘just gone’... I wish I heard more of mum and dads sweet song. 

My aunt always bathed in my other aunts flat, my uncle paces the streets and is not allowed back. Vic likes a doughnut and an apple baked with fruit, the ulcers in his stomach reacted badly to suit. the siren at the end of the street warns us of floods with a hum, the old are scared, it makes them numb, for reminder of war and what was to come.

The old man would chatter, the old woman said “shut up, you don’t know what your talking about”, they never argue or shout, not for thirty years, grumble or moan just sit there holding hands, would not leave each one alone. Grandad died 2 days after Nan, together in the same ward, he wanted to see Her safe and on her way, then he spoke and said “I can go now”  closed his eyes and idled away. 

I wish the world were better and in some ways it is, I would not want to live without her sweet kiss, then I think, of the cold we now live in, no not the weather,  the hardness of others and the damn awful sin... the judgement of the poor, sadness of the lonely, homeless and weak, all to do with greed for the money that’s  saved and the money we seek.

 Neighbours never leave their doors open anymore, perhaps they are just waiting for the next world war or they are bored with the peace, the money, the hundred year lease. Ant is a hero, his life has gone bad, overwhelmed by the good and mattress filled clad, can’t you see people, everyone’s been had. Cancer from pollution, what makes you mad?, it all been forgotten, that’s why I am sad.

History of a great war has long since past, far too few story tellers, now children fight in action clad iPads, killing with realism on PS4’s networked headphone speakers and VR wars. Drones fly high across the sky, illiminate the wicked and justly unseen, while the operator of the fast machine sits comfortably still to drink his tea, receiving a medal for bravery. 

Where is sir Winston Churchill’s legacy, the British fought to bring an end to Hitlers Joy, to destroy tyranny, live with dignity not in a land with hypocrisy, bureaucracy, Tom foolery, we pay off yet still owe more, give to the rich and steal from the poor, we still owe more, austerity is making people suffer, is the country worth saving...my grandchilden are bright, clever, will they be fighting? what for?, let’s hope they find peace and not war, will the Brexit farce,100 billion in brass, be furthermore suffering for the poorer class?.

Wires Crossed

The world over people living in squalor, poverty wealthy and rich are sad and depressed, twisted mindfully by an imaginary friend, the better or worse side of him, her or me. 

Positive thinking is fine when your positively perfect, are you perfect? In such an imperfect land, is the great house you bought or built lying on sand?. I don’t care and don’t want to know, now we’re getting to the crux of it, we reap what we sow.

Every person I meet desires what they seek, try telling that to the neighbour who is tired and meek, we sat and watched television for the entire week where did it get us? like the Tower of Babel, unable to understand when the other does speak. 

Turn on the light for the entire earth feels, the tenderness of sargasso, the loss of its eels, was it merely a breakdown in communication, I’m not listening anymore, you have all your wires crossed, I am afraid you’re a bore.

The wiring in a million houses across the earth all give light, intelligent people understand it’s the same,  work out the colours then you cannot be to blame. Go get a gun, find fortune and fame or die in a gas chamber, it is only a game. 

I’ve reached nowhere and climbed many mountains, not knowing which path to take, an intellect wasting time exasperatingly deflated by failure, fifty years in the making, would have won a prize had I not stagnated. 

Dermot

A hero inspired the neighbourhood devoted to his passion, he often cried when on a losing side, he was the pinnacle of obsession.

It is with such passion great things arise, however being too emotional, then he was cut down in size. 

I have no right to be here any longer than him, have not achieved anything, I’ve never had a win.

Arsenal, Chelsea, Blackpool, football has lost, a heart treated Crawley and mean, the best the footballing world would ever have seen.

I know this all to be true, he was my friend in my inevitable youth, we played cricket, football and all kinds of games. Like knock,down,dinger and blind mans buff. 

I would like to have said please don’t, just have fun, life is better all round when your not trying to be the best. He would have been a loser like me but a living one. 

'IT'

We tread carefully with the mere thought of getting it so dreadfully wrong, one may ask what ‘it’ is?. Is ‘it’ the walk of life?, the work we do and the love we hold so dear?, is ‘it’ that everything we cherish could so easily turn to dust with our fear, a nightmare beyond proportion fighting for survival, striving for success then at the stroke of achievement like a wonderous ice sculpture the weather changes to dissolve all that is beautiful into water.

Our ways as homosapiens meaning ‘to be wise’ go forth with the ability to survive, to be the most attractive man, she is the petal that must be plucked and in order to do so will smile with dignity, to be set as a rare orchid singlely displayed in a meadow of poppies frozen through a winter chill, then all of a sudden there is a spurt of joy, a warmer climate dramatically climbs high into the sky drawing the moisture away thus remaining the only flower to survive and win through with courage to the end.

Man' with a strength of conviction and willpower becomes whatever he desires to warm the heart of that lonely orchid, yet after seasons of change from urgent beginnings wilt into that empty nothingness we all eventually endeavour, leaving a gaping hole, falling through, on and down, until everything that once was open and light deepens into a black hole, yet what adventure awaits on the other side. 

Apathetical incorrectness

Tyranny is a ridiculed master, greedy for success of position and wealth, a success story of thwarted cynical evil
Power is a condition of the mind threatening control over the fearful to speak out the truth or  to believe in an alternative opinion, lest they be deceitfully destroyed
Capitalism although intricately designed for the growth of wealth for all, is a tool which the haves of power and tyranny use for the excuse of controlling the nation, blaming the poorest for wanting something that they themselves  abuse to the end of their own greediness.
Xenophobia is a hatred of foreigners adjoined with racism to gain the same end , it is a condition brought on by a fear of people different to ones self, the same as pointing out a spot on another child’s face in school, a person with a disfigurement that others dare not look at. A person mistreated for being weak. It is a strong tool used by politicians to gain power by evoking fear into the heart of everyman and woman in the street which has by deceitful means of the government brought the United Kingdom the vote of a Brexit from the European community, the obvious reason for this would be breaking down of Health and Safety regulations including protection of workers rights for obvious gains.
Fascism is a combination of Tyranny, Power, Capitalism, Xenophobia, Jealousy, hatred, fear. not purity as Adolf Hitler would have had the world believe. No it is an evil, a cold hearted  greedy collector of wealth by villainous means it can and must be overcome by the masses of Good hearted people all over the earth looking around at each and every person as another ordinary person that requires food, a home, a car, a Job and a loving family, putting aside age, gender, race, wealth and any other idiosyncratic reason for jealousy or hatred of others because they are different. Fear is also the enemy within everyone of us.
Or maybe I’m being simplistic

No historical statute left by S.A. Scope.

Once proud England stood low on the mountainside, the greatest war lost with no last post, greediest of worms weakening the foundations of the pure white suited host.
Blue blood is the colour of the already dead corpse that defeated the dove, incomplete without wings, peacocks of the millennium hoodwinked, magpies claw away remains of roadkill, minority fleeing, congratulatory sings.
Era ended away to crumbling farcical amusement, reducing at a level of absurdity, crime in the hood, needles of a drug addict, not exactly a peasant revolt moreover a joining at a level of accomplished nothingness with beauty.

Af.....is.......let...

Dear ...........
I don’t know how to begin this ...... ...........leaving for a most important.......... I may  not return due to the dangerous conditions as there are lots of.............. bastards will know. Further more can you visit.............. Next year. I hope to see you at............. winter cheer with a beer and a Happy new.......... car is in the wash........... as I am selling plenty of them at................. the time to go and collect the dosh. Please give my love to............. all the beautiful.................wildebeest are amazing.....................torn apart by lions or grazing, anyway I...................... closing, make out what you say, I’ll be coming home in.......
Au revoir
Patric....

Sweet Little Creature

In the dark shadows where the deepest doth lay, beneath the brambles on a hot summers day, hidden underneath the bails of old hay is a sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

A collision of thunder, a pelting of rain, a cool bitter winter stands in the way, snowy covered fields on a icy cold day, but it does not destroy or change the mood of the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

Enter the spring when the winter has failed, beginning new life with all that’s allowed, soft soil found from trodden old leaves, planting afresh dispersing the seed, yet “what happened to the past?”  You hear some of them say, the hedgehog laughs on, still hidden away to the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

New Born starting life every place around, there are lots of baby kits around to be found, a new little owl has fallen to the ground, a feed for a fox teaching her cubs silence, not making a sound. “It’s a wonderful time of year” some would say, except the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May, sadly fell  asleep and died on this day under the bail, of rotten old hay.

Rethink

Wile away, while I am away, waste your time staring all day for you might miss something if you turn away from the fireplace clock that ticks and tocks from June till May.
The futures in the past, if we’ve  learnt from our mistakes, fashion once again bell bottoms at a stake, not likely with those high waists.
I keep fit, thinking hard about it, that poor horse  has a bite on a bit, like chewing gum, what an ache in the jaw with a gnaw, better than a bite in the head or the bum
Once upon a time when I did not have a dime (or a penny) could pull a piece of string through a needle, now twine is like a rope, I hope I get that letter from the queen. I hope.
Heads gone crazy, busy or lazy, I cannot clear my mind, “no I’m going to town, what’s with the frown, “no I don’t remember booking that circus to see a damn clown” . “I know he is five and it’s his birthday, oh he is six, is he my grandson?, no need to get shirty”, where did it go?
It’s despicable, unpredictable, Tuesday night I went for a walk and was hit by a fool on a bicycle, he never apologised, not a word, worst thing is he never heard the rude things I called him, it was dark, there are 25 thousand traffic lights in the uk, where was I ? Okay.
Look in your wing mirror, a little bump could cause misery to an unsuspecting jerk on a motorcycle, my, my, red is a beautiful colour, depending on your point of view.
0800 3627784 been buying PPI since 1984, “no I haven’t had an accident”, “JW take your foot from my door” remember religion can be a bore, yes, the beatles were top draw, "you throw the dart mate and ill keep score". "Please take me off your List!.
light a candle for your friend, he’ll never send the message, he could not send or eat dinner with us again. I’d love a fish tank, 500 gallons should do it, no I can’t swim.

Norman

He’s big, He’s old, He’s rather bold, on his arms his muscles have dropped instead of being up on top. His scars are there for all to see, marks of hardship in his history.
His children see dad,  his grandchildren see nothing, a bald headed old man that once was something, he stood on one whilst swinging at another, back to back with his hard arsed brother.
 One day on a dark winter night, a shot in the dark through a gangsters sight. Blood ran fast from his temple down, he fell in the river and almost drowned, surviving a hit, his brother did not, stabbed in the chest from a criminal yob, a big part of him died that day, his brother lost, gone...away.
Sat in his chair now, quiet, in thoughts, memories of times he could have bought, a flash suit, Italian shoes, a Ford Cortina, he met a beautiful woman, you should have seen her, wife of ten years until she was not, he remembered her mostly until he forgot.
Retirement leaves him quite alone, surrounded by family wishing him gone, forty years a special in the force, the police were his closest family of course, long hours, long years, lots of joy and lots of tears, a Medal for the times he done his best, a fairly good pension for years of fight, it does not help him sleep at night.
The nights are dark and woefully long, so much time left to continue on, grand children look at him and say “old man”, give us thirty quid I’m in a jam, really to buy 1/4 of a gram.

Alarm

alarm... ‘get up’... Doze
alarm alarm.... ‘get up!’.... Doze
Alarm alarm alarm... ‘get up get up!’.... Doze
ALARM ALARM....’GET UP!’..... Doze, have wee
ALARM! ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!
wife.... “WILL YOU TURN OFF THAT BLOODY ALARM, AND GET UP!!”
get up... “Sorry”
Panic

Rana Plaza

United Colours or the monsoon, they met death all too soon, over a thousand I hear the score, dare not forget a hundred and thirty four more. Joe Fresh with the Mango, Pri their Mark make enough profit to keep a whale size shark. Quiet though they be free, seven dollars, thirty a worker  is a complete travesty.
The building heard a rumble with weight too much and most of it on top it began to crumble, generators on the highest level, the floors were at a bevel. Workers were panicky and frightened  “go back to work or your pay will be tightened”, threatened with the sack, too scared not to go back, each one walked in too soon, their fate sealed their doom, there was death in every room.
Floor by floor the building collapsed, while others worked hard, for fear not to, go back. Most tried to run, the night met the sun, the devils hand at work once more has gained victory with his plan.
Lessons were learnt that fateful day, a domestic building not to be used that way, fire safety, sprinklers and all, generator on top is a forbidden new rule, workers lines have been set up for most of complaints, the workers are treated better, but not as good as saints, pay has improved a few dollars a week, more work, tighter schedule their owners do seek, exonerated, nor blameworthy their fashionable house , one dollar more cost for the conscientious louse. Crumble the concrete or pay the bill, there’s profit to be made if your prepared to kill.

Out of the darkness

The slippery slope of hell, I could not tell. Gradually slipping down shrouded for my miserable existence, I questioned everything, everything replied with anger, viciousness, gnarled teeth from angry black dogs grabbing at my mind tearing at my sanity until I became withdrawn from all of mankind, hurt by the way they mistreat each other, anything to cause pain in a cowardly malicious way so as to protect themselves from their own stupidity and fiery spitefullness, beckoning to challenge those weaker than themselves for sickening joy.
 I whom continually am surrounded by people, yet alone pondering troublesome thoughts for whatever cause over many years, entering a blacker tunnel as I begin each day, year, realm of sadness, never finding the worthiness of life on this Earth, burdened by more than debt could afford, going on until the end when suicide is the only answer left before me, then you were born from one of the dreadful mistakes I have become. Overwhelmingly mesmerised by your sight, light shone from your eyes, your wonderfulness pulled me from the brink of death and desperation, out of the darkness into the light it was there at that last gasp that I found life and began to live.

The Milestone

A stone marks the location where the highwayman waited, where the fisherman baited, where the lost man found his way from lost and exasperated Grass grew on its quiet country lane, a horse drawing a cart slowly up a hill start, 1 mile from where a lover feels the need to depart, from a beautiful lady that broke his heart A marathon was won, joy on all the people's faces then there were none left for the races, a motorway can be seen in the far off distance, yet it lies there still, quiet at the bottom of that hill, there's Buttercups and daffodils, the spring is here, goodbye at last to winters chill, dust spread far and wide from the old windmill Sat navs and gadgets packed lunches with faggots, 70 miles per hour, bread from the flour, it lies there still and for a thousand years will, a secret to tell forever more keep, tears from my eyes where I once did weep, you passed from us mother, my memories still hold, the wonderful things and the stories you told, a lock of your hair is under the throne of the little white rock called a 'Milestone'

Normal/Insanity

Are we a person who is inward looking out, other people around moving at a pace while we consider it's just another race, perceiving that insane normality could be on the sharp point of a blade, maybe the slanted edged absorbing disciplines to be normal, the other sliding down into the depth of hellfire losing the will to be strong, evidence of any emotional adjustment regressed to a former self of loathing and fragility, anger & paranoia pursues a weakness buried deep within humbling broken spirits, one predicament left to decide, hopefully for not too long is 'which side are we presently on?, are we going to slip to reveal a deep wound for others to pick at opening to a sizeable crater, the poor will of an exposed crumbling nothing for all to see or the strength of an ox with plasticised skin?.

When the darkness fell

The months were warm, the sun shone bright, a picturesque few weeks that were quite serene, the greatest times in life were shortened by that scene, as the dark cloud ascended from who knows where, into a life of confusion wrought with despair, destruction and chaos had found a new friend  that's when i knew, it became the new end.

 Unexpected, imaginary life times of trial for man had become the weakness in himself, that killed with a smile

Limbs torn from flesh, bodies lay still, blood on the kitchen floor, thick and congealed, flies lay the eggs for their own chosen meal, tortured in mass dying and ill, the future of man silent and still.

The corruption of the makers were the only takers, allowing that wretched horror to be brought,the national health weakened by greed, the filthy rich had grown their own seed, poorest of all died long ago, left in the mess they were allowed to sow. Poor health, hunger and disease had killed, all in its path all weakened until still.

The months were warm, sunny and serene when the darkness fell it was quite a scene, the dark cloud grew larger in the sky, no one had time to stop and ask why,

In a moment we were there, then no more, when the darkness fell at our front door....

It fell

It fell a long way into the depth of an upturned spire, a cross of Christ the lord crucified upside on.

Falling and falling, flowing downwards around the shape of barley twist, begging to catch a barb on the way, yet missed. forgotten memories, names long gone even the one with the consideration of a song. The chemicals not working, barbiturates all the same, forgotten the tune, word as a name, tumbling on into darkness lay asleep or dead?, it's all going on inside of the head, only one can tell for the thoughts still trouble, treasured history among the rubble, lights long fading in to dark of night 

love to be saddened the lessened to share

But what's the bother now, not a soul alive cares.

The last time

He recalled a reflection of his own history, it was brief although he had lived more than one life, in his time. He remembered his children, they needed his love so much when they were young, now all grown up living their own lives in the way they wish to live them, they had wonderful children of their own, his grandchildren, his future generation, carving a way forward, more precious to him than they  could feel.

The love of his life is beside him, clenching his hand with her slender pretty fingers, knuckles holding the gold rings stopping them from falling off, she is weeping yet accepting that fate must have its glory, he is so tired now, the pain in him is ill conceived, striking sharply. The nurse speaks quietly to his passion, he cannot hear what is being said however a thin tube is brought over to the bedside and a bag with Clear Liquid inside is placed on a hook, a syringe driver is put into his arm with the tube attached, the liquid flows through the small tube. He cannot concentrate on anything with the dull, yet piercing ache through every part of his being. As his body consumes the liquid, he can feel an immense throbbing pain bound with a paradoxical feeling of no pain at all as if he was not in his own body.

 He takes a look around the room, there are many faces, his Mum, Dad, Children, Grandchildren, Sisters, Brothers, Uncles and aunts and others that he did not recognise, "Oh My, How.....?" then felt as if something or someone stopped him from speaking further, he turned to glance at his love, "you are so beautiful" he told her, he thought that from the first time that he had seen her bright smile across a darkened room although he always pretended that he had not noticed her at all, he reached to touch her short blond hair and wipe away the tear from her soft blue eyes, "it is what it is" he said quietly, "yes" she replied with that same bright but now feint smile that she had shown him many years before, he grasped her hand with as much strength as he could muster then felt no strength at all as his hand slipped away from hers, he had become very weak, with a longing for sleep at the same moment the pain binding his body appeared to lift out of him and dissipate into the light above the bed, leaving him with immense peace, he moved his neck for a glance at her beautiful face then shut his eyes.

History of a decent man

Catch a thief by the toe, watch him die for tales of woe, burdened by the birthright genes, poor as muck the stealing fiend, bread for dinner, potato for stew, hardly enough for me and you, he feeds his family that's the score, then walks to work at half past 4, twelve hours striving for not much pay, goes back home to sleep in hay, fortunate enough to pass some bread? or wildly wicked and hung till dead!. Judged as dirt by those in power who live so well in ivory towers.