Monday, May 16, 2016



Perceptions in the world have changed,
imprisoned minds unblocked,
eyes are quite wide open,
no longer closed or shocked.

September brought the earthquake,
October brought the war,
November brought insanity,
by December we were poor.

The global coup came creeping,
every nation on the block,
the twists n’ plots so furious,
economies held, grid locked.

The world’s been set on fire,
arsonists are in charge,
raging fires burn our homes,
insanity by and large.

Demons run the country,
more are in the wings,
trained to spawn the chaos,
and the turmoil that it brings.

Heaven help our children,
their futures not so clear,
and so the world keeps drifting,
in panic and in fear.

About this expression:

I’m appalled and outraged by all the violence, greed and destruction that the US establishment has imposed upon the people of the World…I simply cannot accept it, nor can I live with the reality of it, therefore I write to express my disgust of it...

Friday, May 13, 2016

Death of Empires

Death of Empires

Old world fades, empire dies,
forgotten books filled with lies,
barren promise, empty platitudes,
hubris lurks in hollow attitudes.

Malevolent empire, on your knees,
burnt out quick in the breeze,
embrace the world of ash and smoke,
now rest eternal your evil yoke.

Pass away, pass away, we hear no more,
of evil deeds on foreign shore,
nor thieving twists or crimes of hate,
we embrace your fall, embrace your fate.

The Arch of history, has your name,
inscribed, the truth, your endless shame,
now fade away with sands of time,
malignant empire, malicious crime.

About this Poem: One Might call this a prayer for salvation...

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Reality Mask

Reality Mask

Awareness arrives by first breath heard…
eyes open, imbued with confined realities,
choices offered from a box of masks,
one that I must choose.

Consciousness diminished, I’m awake,
reality plane unfolds in a world shared with others,
where patterned movements repeat in rhythm,
by occupied masks, and choices made.

Beings surround me,
clothed in white flannel,
cautiously walking invisible tight ropes,
confiding in their manuals.

Do not disturb signs around their necks,
they walk silent in all directions,
lost in sequential patterns,
as operational programs.

A mask,
I do not choose,
but instead sit down
watching wasted time,
by a thousand mimes on aimless paths,
all working to feed the machine god,
that gives them light to do so…

They have chosen,
as have I,
who gets up,

and looks for the door.

About this Poem: We are born into a World that expects us to choose from a limited set of choices that serves only the machine of Industry and its master.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Erdogan: The Judas Sultan

Erdogan: The Judas Sultan

He claimed to be on Palestine’s side,
promised an escort with Turkish pride.
Yet freedom flotilla set sail alone,
Mavi Marmara left on its own.

Strange the Israeli’s had the passengers list,
hitmen with photos strapped to their wrist.
Betrayal was flush by Erdogan’s sort,
before Flotilla set sail from port.

Ten people murdered, nine on the spot,
by Israeli criminals who took over the yacht.
Global waters were stained with blood,
the day our freedoms turned to mud.

Erdogan hollers, “I’ll take them to Court”,
then buys their weapons in support.
Several years on, the court case ends,
charges dropped, and back as friends.

Fake messiah and Ottoman king,
Erdogan reaches for the Sultans ring.
as Palestine burns by Erdogan’s nod,
his smile reveals the demon god.

One by one Arab nations go down,
each one a jewel in Erdogan’s crown.
The Judas Sultan betrayed them all,
destroyed their peace as they did fall.

The war on Syria proved Erdogan mad,
backstabbing his neighbour, Bashar al Assad.
With NATO approval, and American shield,
Erdogan plundered Syria’s yield.

His family swims in Syrian spoils,
a neighbour to loot and strip of oil.
Tanker convoys, stretch miles long,
bleeding Syria is Erdogan’s throng.

Turkey furrows as Satan’s bane,
terror camps built in his name.
Arming and training the terrorist thugs,
That rape and pillage and run the drugs.

Turkish Military transports the scum,
there and back, to and from.
Caught on tape by Serena Shim,
her death then ordered by Erdogan.

Freedom in Turkey does not prevail,
all that criticize are thrown in jail.
Crimes not covered by mainstream news,
unless the stories are Erdogan’s views.

He Wars at home, many have died,
another Turkish genocide.
Kurdish citizens live in fear,
their cities attacked throughout the year.

Western nations arm the Turks,
who butcher Syrians for EU perks.
All do suffer Erdogan’s insanity,
a nefarious stain on all humanity.

Bloody dictator on a murder spree,
Sending millions to panic and millions to flee.
Expelling his victims to EU shores,
extortion paid they promise him more.

German Poets express their revulsion,
Feelings expressed by their convulsion.
Erdogan freaks, demands their arrest,
Merkel obeys, to appease the pest.

Freedom of speech now against the law,
for the German people, the final straw.
Apathy now spells Europe’s doom,
division and promise to consume.

It’s time to hang the tyrant’s ass,
the dictator, the monster, the piece of trash.
Here’s a middle finger for the Ottoman Turk,
and a poem of truth about the fuck n’ jerk.

About this Poem: Jan Boehmermann, Bruno Kramm were recently arrested in Germany for reciting a poem about Turkish leader Recep Tayip Erdogan. At the Turkish presidents insistence, Angela Merkel the leader of Germany obeyed her fuhrers command…thus eliminating free speech in Germany…this poem is in celebration of free speech and in solidarity with both Jan Boehmermann, Bruno Kramm who were arrested in Germany for expressing their opinion. Time to repeal that fascist law! AND deal with Fascist leaders…

Monday, April 11, 2016



Life evolves by the planting of a idea...
resonating into light, to become a sea of profound changes.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Truth and Lies

Truth and Lies

Brought up to be truthful, honest and fair,
and told that the answer to life was in prayer,
we made our start with endless giving,
and when assailed, we were forgiving.

The promise in life would come down the road,
but things got strange when the economy slowed.
Oil costs went up and inflation appeared,
the tale of life became very weird.

Things didn’t make sense as I grew,
the more I questioned, the less I knew.
All we had was what we were told,
and no internet for minds so bold.

The bully emerged, then came nine eleven,
criminality surged, and released building seven.
we watched it all unfold on our TV’s,
collusion of media, government, insanity.

The systems governance and media cries,
expect you to believe their pernicious lies.
While society bubbles around the World,
begin to pop as their sovereignty unfurls.

People the World over, awakened by events,
research the internet till their energy is spent.
Building seven fell, in its own footprint,
takes months to wire, should give a hint.

War was launched from that moment on,
economy is worse and the jobs are gone.
Fifteen years later, ignorance resumes,
criminals still free in corporate boardrooms.

Architects and Engineers: Solving the Mystery of Building 7 - w/ Ed Asner

Video Source: ae911Truth

About this Poem: We want a REAL independent investigation into 911…! Millions of people around the World have paid with their lives because of a story that was covered up and continues to be unresolved. The evidence against the “official story” is overwhelming and so we owe it to our future generations to conduct an impartial independent investigation into 911.  

If this investigation is not conducted, the direct result of 911 will lead us to World War III…that path is already in motion…

Match Day’s End

Photo Credit: Artist Bob Barker Painting “Secret Messages”

Match Day’s End

Winter furnace, row on row,
chase away the evening’s cold,
lights are out, day’s at end,
half past twelve, as quiet descends.

Match day fest has come 'n gone,
derby, cup and the song,
all is quiet, village asleep,
save two boy’s on their feet.

Backyard friends so elated,
connected by cup and wire,
sending message to the other,
no signs that they do tire.

Brimming joy and happiness,
excitement fills the air,
game replayed by voices,
in detail ‘n great care.

All seemed lost and over,
biting moments in the game,
seconds remain with corner,
last chance for glory 'n fame.

Moments held in disbelief,
prayers of hope relieved,
last minute goal by Teddy,
our chances now retrieved.

Jubilation stirs the nation,
and two boys barely nine,
electrified emotions,
ecstatic and divine.

Stadium’s roar still lingers,
match resumes again,
red rush down the sideline,
our captained side of ten.

Official checks his watch,
as our team gains the area,
a forty yarder tally,
sending all into hysteria.

The Bench and stands do empty,
cover pitch at Wembley way,
players aloft, paraded,
by emotions, carried away.

Delighted minds replay the game,
well into the night,
reliving glorious moments,
two friends in red and white.

About this Poem: Some magic moments in sports stay with us forever especially when experienced in our youth. All our worldly problems with their daily strife falls away to ecstatic feelings that embrace moments of hope and divine thought; and so this poem depicts the lingering euphoria of that moment by youth, having won the championship.

Visit: Artist Bob BarkerOfficial Website
Bob Barker Art on: Facebook

Monday, March 21, 2016



I live by society’s grace,
and in disgrace by their revulsion of me.
No one hires my kind, an experienced person in life.
“Get a minimum wage job, or live on the street…”

It’s not for the lack of trying,
that emails remain unanswered, phone stays silent.
If only someone took a chance,
I might not die of embarrassment,
when asked what I do.

I have all the skills required,
except the language of choice,
I’m in my mid fifties,
Am I too old to?

I paid for my own training,
when recession took the jobs away.
Electrical engineering, technologist,
in a lean manufacturing boom.

I paid to get ahead,
but soon those jobs left too,
and took my first marriage,
my family, my sanity, my health.

Ostracized by siblings,
frowned upon by acquaintance,
they’re no friends,
their chorus of condemnation parades me.

“Look at him, he doesn’t work.”
“I don’t like his lifestyle” they say.
when all I want is to support my family.
I’m not asking for much…

Maybe I can create my own work,
try to evolve once again to build that damn dream,
maybe help out other’s, so they don’t have to go through hell,
when asked, “what do you do?”

Hard work never pays off when all the avenues are blocked,
…and that endless condemnation…

I don’t like this world,
they would prefer I leave,
well just wait a little longer,
while I try to give my family a fighting chance.

My little girl understands, she’s learning French.
Though she need not defend me from emotional scars,
her battles lay ahead, when ignorance again, rears its head,
and people say, “Look at her, she doesn’t work.”

About this Poem: What it feels like, to be an unemployed Anglophone in Montreal Quebec.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Western Blindness

Western Blindness

For we who see beyond TV’s noise,
the broken Gaza girls and boys.

The Syrian children screaming far away,
the bombs on Yemen by the Saudi’s today.

Israeli prisons full of children, concrete bed,
Palestine’s suffering, empathy dead.

Of children’s torture, rights abuse, and death,
the silence, their sentence, their last breath.

I who speak out unlike western leaders,
demonized, by misguided readers.

To those who wish my mortal end,
my judge and jury, your message send.

The pain has overwhelmed me today,
I guess you just need to have your say.

But God will judge me, and you too,
What’s important, humanity or you?

Caesar Incorporated

Caesar Incorporated

When Caesar Incorporated won the war,
their vets came home to mind the store,
while Patricians, ever busy,
put American’s in a tizzy,
and made the nation their whore.

All seems right, until economy begins sliding,
then age-old monsters come out of hiding.

Decisions cast by suits in costume,
ship the jobs to Chinese stockroom,
unemployed, now so restless,
vets in rags became the crestless,
and poverty the sonic boom.

Tempestuous exit, jobs down the drain,
economic tailspin, communities in pain.

Monetary cards now all played,
new world autocrat plans are made,
with proxies picked, monsters slated,
foreign dictatorships are created,
backed up by Military aid.

Plans in action, red lines drawn,
both sides supplied before the dawn.

War unfurls, fought by fools,
recruitment made by broadcast tools,
while bets are hedged,
new private banks pledged,
Patricians still create the rules.

Tempestuous exit, life down the drain,
economic slavery comes around again.

Two nations engage in conflict appalling
one in growth the other falling,
new economic powers rise,
with propaganda battle cries,
war becomes their calling.

When Caesar incorporated wins the war,
The cycle will begin on another shore…

About this Poem: The United States and its OECD friends are controlled by an international economic crime syndicate that has come full circle since the end of World War II. The empire has now been hollowed out by those in control who are well on their way to establishing their final phase of ruling the World from a new and final economic empire…but before that can happen, they need to take the World to World War III…

Monday, March 7, 2016

Cardinal Spirit

Cardinal Spirit

Cherry red, in snow covered tree,
Cardinal spirit visits me.

Social bird, sadly alone,
Perched in tree behind my home.

Winters mourning, with twilight’s birth,
In cold he sings, all puffed in girth.

Throughout the day, he bides his time,
expectant wait, for song in rhyme.

Conscious whispers, find my ears,
from father gone, so many years.

Visit your mother, was his plea,
Empathic feelings, whispered to me.

Never knowing what life brings,
I visit mother, with heartfelt things.

Arriving early, mid afternoon,
surprised to find emotions strewn.

Her spirit appeared so far away,
Though a pleasant time we had that day.

With tears in eyes, yet very caring,
though why she cried, she was not sharing.

Ninety years old, tired and alone,
All she wanted, was to go back home.

Empathic nod, I understood,
as memories flood from childhood.

Our visit ended, we said goodbye,
She smiled at me with tear in eye.

Arriving home, deep in thought,
I watch the birds, and Cardinals spot.

He flies to me, on window’s bay,
The song he sings, soothes my day.

The evening reigns, his vibrant sound,
Chasing blues and sorrows crowned.

When sunset casts its evening shroud,
Cardinal sings, return is vowed.

Night brings sleep to weary eyes,
Old dreams pass, with greying skies.

At three AM, I’m suddenly roused,
It’s chateau place, where mum is housed.

The news is sad…mum passed away.
I reflect on time we spent that day.

Pain and sorrow bites with grief,
My systems flush with no relief.

Mourning gathers, Cardinals return,
on window sill, emotions churn.

Eyes meet mine, understanding fate,
for there behind, his new found mate.

She hops to window, looks inside,
Chirping brightly, old soul and bride.

Together they sing a hopeful song,
bestowing strength, to keep me strong.

At that moment, memory recalls,
the story she told me at Twin Falls.

The spirits of loved ones will visit you,
and appear as Cardinals, to see you through.

About this Poem:

It is said that the spirit of a loved one comes to visit through the guise of a Cardinal. The Poem “Cardinal Spirit” is dedicated to my late mother and father.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

A Mid Night’s Walk

Photo: Wet Feet Warm HeartBob Barker

Poem by: Stewart Brennan

A Mid Night’s Walk

The blue grey flicker of theatre’s twilight,
pales and recedes to red velvet curtains and end credits.
Fright night is over, and just begun,
for worried faces with no way home.

Movie house ushers left behind,
two boys barely nine,
unattended left in mid nights darkness, alone,
walking empty streets, they plan their journey.

A mile to go,
roads devoid of life, dead,
young audacious intellect no longer composed,
agree upon the shortest distance to sanctuary.

Autumn fog floods the air over cobbled streets,
leaving atmosphere crisp with biting chill, swelling panic,
and two young boys attentive to surroundings,
ready to bolt on the faintest sound.

Evenings haze billows on nights breeze,
absorbing lamp light, voice and vision,
to mirror strange reflections in pools of water,
on stone roads and imagination.

Shadows lurk on silent streets, trailing,
provoking image, form and being,
by young omnipotent minds,
creators of tales, myths and legends.

Dragons breath emerges from sewers and moorish fields,
ringing alarms heard by two quickening hearts.
Foul stench and fires steam,
shed the weight of cumbrous legs.

Eyes of the beast zigzags the nebulous fog behind,
Spreading panic in the marrow of its prey, fearfully running.

The screech of the dragon is upon them,
Enticing one last blood curdling shrill of life before their fall,
Adrenalin pumping, blood flowing, lungs inflate larger,
Speed and pace faster in guarded rhythm, accelerating…

The glaring whites of the beasts eyes close in,
Nooooooo! Therrrrrrrlll…

“Who you running from? Get in the car ya dumb kids!”
Arriving at the right moment, our champion slays the beast,
and drives us home with much relief.

About this Poem: Two young boys walk home after a late night horror show.

Photo Credit: Bob Barker Official Website
Bob Barker Art on - Facebook

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