Tag Archives: poetry

Ancestors Race – Poem

Ancestors tell me

In voices clear

Be close, but not near.

For centuries they took us

Never seen again

Ancient bones remain hidden

Under greed, envy and pain.

Wrath settles in dust.

Waken state they wake

Soldiers shoulders wide

Enemies show their scales

Poking the bear on the line.

Snakes rattle and spit

Ancestors remind me of it

Pirates of Barbary

Fair freedoms fought

Hold children safe

Whilst history is untaught

As we move into darkness

I hold to brotherly faith

I remember the contest but

Never the race.

The end.

By Samantha Harris

In Dice We Trust – Poem and Article

We’re going down

The shadow found

Yet, faith in each other

Will scupper others, and

Harmony will ground

They are thinly around

With barks lesser than bites

In mobs they attack

The Sportsman’s ship

Having taken sail in the night

Throw out your arms

Do rituals and charms

Say a prayer if you must

Once the needle is in

Changes begin

In the NHS we all trust

Tonight we strike up a light

We remember what is right

We put pay to the false narratives

All the chiroptera and fedoras

And NHS board room snorers

Will burn into the history of the Brits

The End.

By Samantha unextraordinary Harris.

*Remember, remember!
    The fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot;
    I know of no reason
    Why the Gunpowder treason
    Should ever be forgot!
    Guy Fawkes and his companions
    Did the scheme contrive,
    To blow the King and Parliament
    All up alive.
    Threescore barrels, laid below,
    To prove old England’s overthrow.
    But, by God’s providence, him they catch,
    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
    A stick and a stake
    For King James’s sake!
    If you won’t give me one,
    I’ll take two,
    The better for me,
    And the worse for you.
    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
    A penny of cheese to choke him,
    A pint of beer to wash it down,
    And a jolly good fire to burn him.
    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray

Thanks for reading. First poem is mine the second is a traditional one – pagan. Pagan meaning ‘villager’ of course, it’s true meaning.

The 5th November celebrations in my country. They remember the time that religion attempted to overthrow our government. Back then, in the 1800s, we didn’t have newspapers or the media. We remembered things with poems and songs.

It was the Catholics back in the 1800s – hopefully no other religion would be so stupid.

Us English like our freedoms.

Every 5th November we celebrate by burning a dummy ‘guy’ on top of a bonfire. We usually have lots of fireworks too. This year, I don’t know what will happen. Large gatherings are illegal. Anyone found outside could get a fine up to £10,000.

But, this is England, our united kingdom spirit will not be soured.

Recent celebrations of Guy Fawkes night have found great entertainment in burning a likeness of anyone who happens to be really annoying the British public…

one of my favs

I think you get the idea.

It’s a great release and way to get celebrate without harm. It also is a celebration of continued free speech in our country. I know that the English will still find a way to celebrate. Things may seem really dark right now, and soon the nights will be coming in.

The sun will go down around 4pm and many of us will be happy to be home in the warm. Those of us still lucky to have work will be cursing the cold winds and rain. They will be turning their collars up, wrapping those scarves around their masks and looking forward to the Spring weather. In the mean time there is much to be thankful for in an unmaterial way.

Freedom and happiness, it’s not either or – it’s not a choice, both are essential for life. I’m grateful to live in a country where I have both. Long may it continue.

Today I am hoping warmth and peace to everyone, everywhere.

Thanks for reading.

2020 5th Nov 6pm

Fam – poem

Are you fam?

Would you know?

Who I am?

DNA will say.

We are in an age

When all alliances

Will go astray.

To find commonality

In humanity

I need to tell you

Hatred

Is distraction man

Love is

Bringing up the rear

No priority

Re-arranged here.

Fin

By Samantha Harris

Outside – Poem

No clouds

Clear blue

Green grass

Approaching, I can smell the scene

Tall trees

No breeze

Trunk seats

Followed by blackberry treats

Small talk

Greetings

Souls smiling

Eye to eye meetings

White butterfly flew by three times

Silently a muntjac creeps

Ahead of us unseen

Hoofed feet tread gently on the dock leaves

Nettles rise up on meadows

Reeds in dried up streams

Oaks and holly between, glistening

Ivy climbs high and binds the beech

Life seems and is, complete

With wooden fences

And squirrels dashing by

Outside.

Fin.

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris.

Green plants in our environment.
Nettles, dock leaves, thistles and very many trees all feature in munden estate.
shadow of someone sat resting.
Resting whilst out on a walk in the countryside.

Thanks for reading.

Blessed Relief – Poem

Worlds need

Blessed relief

From those that come to judge

Souls morally compete

Slow moving clouds pass above

No direction clearly

Wondering through histories flowers

Feeling the distance hour upon hour

The cards foretold of their power

Birds fly without his leave nor I

Do you know, she plagues me every day?

Sharing tales, she wishes to portray

Souls with darkness in their hearts rarely change.

Steeped and seeped in

Evil does not easily depart

Would I find comfort if I prayed?

Humbled on my knees,

Talked to this de-i-ty?

I’ve no questions to ask.

One, perhaps.

The winds are full of expectant air

Does he realise she remains?

Hands work

To turn the wheel

That atomic thread of will

Green Gilead sits still

Downward looking with eyes of steel

Do I have faith in thee?

I must believe that you too can see

My soul is pure

I believe yours too.

I open it, here, to you

In blessed relief.

The End.

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris.

Watford, Hertfordshire, England, UK…. Europe(geographically STILL).

Today, nineteen years ago, The Twin Trade Towers were destroyed in a terrorist attack, one of many that day against United States of America. It was the first time that Western people, en mass, had knowledge of the hatred that was felt towards them.

I remember that day so clearly. My home office had TV. I saw the first plane go into the towers as they were filming… and then the second as they reported on the first. Then the reports of the Pentagon being hit and other planes in the air literally wrestling with terrorists intent on killing.

Across social media we watched, stunned, not just at the Towers and that destructive horror but also ‘opened mouthed’ at the children in American schools jumping up cheering, fist pumping the air and the teachers trying to control the students. Also adults were seen celebrating on rooftops before the clips were hidden and the outpouring and healing started.

More recently we’ve had different types of attack. A corona virus which led us to be locked down in our communities. Swiftly followed by a state capture attack (that’s what I’m calling it). This led to terrible mob attacks. These attacks on our cultures didn’t come from outside. They came from within our communities. Using our national media, they then turned a frightened and scared bunch of communities against each other. Now we are experiencing increased, so called, ‘random’ physical attacks, especially at large gatherings. I’m pleased that we are being locked down again because of covid19 and that social distancing measures could be used to legitimately keep people at arms length.

These barbaric attacks are not perpetrated by real soldiers who’ve been tasked with any important and necessary field assignments. No, nor are they prophets or worthy of any religious reverence. These people have been living amongst us. Pretending to be part of the community but secretly feeding a terrible hatred of the society they are in. The stabbings and the vehicle ‘hit and runs’ are acted out by heartless criminals who attack out of hatred, attempting to justify the kills because they believe their victims are evil.

How far have we come in the battle against hatred and judgement?

Drinking Control

I don’t drink.

‘Got plenty of spirit already I think.

‘Always needed to have my wits around me

As Lords knows how they’d find me.

The End.

by Samantha ‘unextraordinarybint’ Harris

Written 8th September 2019.

This is just a comment on the perception of british women and alcohol.

I don’t drink and I rarely have – but I used to love the pub community, I miss pubs so much!

However, I love glass. At home I will often have water or juice in a wine glass because it tastes nicer to me than if it were in a straight glass…go figure.

In the pub you get your money’s worth by getting your soft drinks by the tall glass as soft drinks are incredibly expensive in English public houses because of the sugar tax.

Thanks for reading.

Just One More Thing – Poem

Just One More Thing

 

His famous line

Always makes the villain swim

Speaks from dark wavy hair

They wonder why, preoccupied

He drags the murderer out

 

Crumbled pristine

Upon the scene

Polite with anorak

Of brown and cream

 

Evil geniuses come unstuck

When he pulls up

In the motor, clunk

His classic pile of junk

 

No motive and missing clues

His demeanour leads one to think

He knows not what to do

Rolls up with his squeaky clink

 

Bear with me one second.

After the grisly scene

See what you make of this

And, do you know what you mean?

 

Their social hints ignored

Smoking in his old French car

Swave stupidity and delivery makes them bored

Chugging on his cigar

 

Not a stylish guy

He’d still catch my eye

But he loves his misses

And would never try

 

You can almost hear

Their brains scream and shout

I love it as he makes his move

Victims unaware; he’s smooth

 

There is no where they can hide

Like a hound

He hunts them down

Then emotionally hammers

Them into the ground

 

Ah the gotcha moment

If they only knew Columbo’s head

As, into his trap,

They always tread

Then the violins come in.

 

The End.

By Samantha ‘unextraordinarybint’ Harris.

Written in June 2020.

This is about Peter Falk playing Columbo.

The Actor Peter Falk died in June 2011 at the age of 83.

Fresh Horizons – A Poem.

In Callow Land

Owls screech

Down Fall the Roe

Submission  

Into light so bright 

Burning without

Moons healing shadow

 

Press hands 

On mercy knees

Smiles spread 

On face of He

Return to a place

Secreted in history.

 

We sense they come.

One sole hangs in the scales

Nought one shoe can do.

Beg Humanity to see

The beauty that surrounds us

In a leaf or a humbler tree?

 

So, although they silence me

And, cut me deep too

I bleed blue, a blackberry hue

I will come back and take

My land,

That’s promised you.

 

Your fear too real

Endangering

Life you would steal

I lay down the lavender

To placate, replicate

For You and Its late,

Ones at the gates 

 

Staring lusty eyes search for holes

Greedy to trade the souls 

They sayeth devil be blamed

Just Gods on side, and

Under his wing

Opportunists will hide.

 

Less married women!

Single breeders evil be.

Feed the children you have sown.

Become the Father

It’s your place to own.

Or should be! (If you took responsibility.)

 

The innocence of soul be free,

Stop taking it for thee.

Filling youths’ heads 

With catastrophe 

And calamity,

After calamity.

 

To survive I must desist.

Disappear into the mist.

My love, I leave you

Upon freshly axed logs

Scented of woodland fresh

Surrounded in bluebells

With honey and primrose breath 

Where dragonflies flutter

Unwritten but uttered.

 

The end

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

 

 

Dandelion Wishes – Poem

Dandelion Wishes by Samantha Harris

 

In you drifted

Eyed upon the kitchen top

Decided a wish I’d drop

I held you gently

Wished out loud

Outside I put you

Swiftly back in you flew

A second chance

For less selfish a wish

I hold you gently

Relocate thee

Place you out

My wish I did shout

Instantly I wished you returned

For pride in me still burned

I could have wished for more

You float away…

I’d wished for me

I wish for family

Dandelion if you could repeat

There is one wish left to complete

Please keep safe all that be

As well as my family and me.

 

The end.

 

Written 9th August 2020

Watford, Hertfordshire.

England, United Kingdom of the British Isles

Mesh Days – Poem

I hear the wind

It reminds me of outside

The outside I can see

But cannot be.

It reminds me of friends

Of times gone past

When I danced, socialized

And had a laugh.

 

I breathe in deeply

Try to remember the smells.

The greens, the scents, the stares, the charged air

Walking out in tottering shoes to forget my blues

Between trees, hedgerows and lamp posts

Listening to the cacophony

Query that I heard them at the time

Straining I hear them, I do not see them but

It’s not beyond memory in this history of mine.

 

I watch and check

My envy grows

Fairweather friends

That now I do not know

Their absence long adjusted to

Looking back, it’s what I would do.

 

Friends can’t deal with my selfish greed, my need to be ill.

I can suck the air out of a room in a moment with my sharp tongue

Thankful words stop where thought begun.

For this reason, I stay in bed

So, my evilness can’t be spread

Out of my heart and into my throat

One escape one moment and all would be lost

They would see mediocracy, at my cost.

Me

Not the graceful lady portrayed

But the evil woman, betrayed.

 

Pain and anger blow outside

Bash against my grace

The mirror shows lines

My heart feels the disgrace

I want to shout

Leave me alone, go find someone else

But, immediately feel guilty

Wishing this on someone else isn’t me

There’re no words where I could make people see

The simple truth is that mesh took my life away from me.

 

I’m listening out for different sounds.

I’ll explain it to you

The intercom will buzz, I’ll get a little excited pain because

My meals on wheels is due.

It will be delivered hot and appreciation I will show.

The meal will sit on the side all day and

Tomorrow into the bin will go.

 

The wind blows and gusts, howls past my block

Reminding me anew,

“Cheer up, smile, turn up the charm, there’s still some fight in you”

The slicing pain as I move reminds that I must attend

The sting, the pain, the wipe again, twenty or more times a day

Pain on pin movement, on moving legs this or that way.

Tedious as life could be

Breathe in, be calm, ground myself again.

The wind blows and the rain lashes against the pane.

 

My delusions tell me to “Eat like a bird.”

Wellbeing, they have never heard

What do you do when soul continues to grow?

When you feel wings trying to show?

I look at my dinner, that I managed to plate

There’s still warmth and nutrition

It’s not too late!

I put down my pen, I try again.

I choke on the food.

The tears fall down my face.

Well, that’s ingratitude,

And my hatred starts all over again, not displaced.

 

I stare out the window, searching for the sun.

Calm myself, ground myself

Breathe in the sounds that are near

Life continues outside, this brings me some cheer.

I force down some mouthfuls, with the aid of weak coffee and a smoke

Deal with my own wind and convince myself, I can cope.

 

The day suddenly gets better

A call from my daughter

Can she visit? Would I let her?

The smile that you can’t see is wider than the distance between you and me!

My granddaughter with her will come

And a better antidepressant there is none!

So goodbye dear misery, for today

My life just blew a wonderful way.

 

Ah, discomfort and pain slide insecurity in

Will she be upset that Nanny isn’t better yet?

Oh, delightfully we will play

A new pair of shoes she comes to show me today.

 

I wait eagerly, the knock the on door

To see her bright eyes, smiling as before

A cuddle and a greeting I will get

They haven’t invented a pill yet

That gives you the happiness of love

It’s paid for in heartache in the family abode

It comes back in spades when you least expect

Overwhelms me, yet,

I’ll never take love for granted

My loss had to be done but

Love given out cannot replace wrong

My disgrace is mine and mine alone.

 

I wait for the doorbell, I can hear the lift

I wonder if it who I think it is.

Soon I will hear her laughter

Soon I’ll hear her steps

Soon I’ll get a hug from the best granddaughter yet!

 

How soon the hours do fly past

One, two maybe more, it’s hard to tell

We had a blast

“I’ll miss you loads,” she says

As off to the lift she yells.

My daughter and my eyes do meet

An animated, chatter journey home, her treat.

I press the memory firmly to my heart,

Close the door with blown kisses,

Now, my lonely afternoon starts.

 

The end.

 

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris. Written 27th July 2020 at home in Watford, Herts. UK.

 

 

 

Skin – A Poem

What do you want from me?

Turn me inside to see, turn me inside to tell and turn me upside down as well.

I can not change to be like you. My colour is my colour

I am white with veins of blue and I’ve always loved you.

Now I see you do not love me and do not want equality. This makes me sad but what can I do? I can not change to be black or blue.

I hear, I listen, I try but can’t understand. I too can be foreign, in a foreign land.

To feel different, a sense of belonging, neither is ours to command. Skin can not supply this. Belonging is beyond our hand.

My colour cannot hurt you. But my skin I’d strip off and find a new but if I wish to survive, this is not possible to do.

Perhaps I should leave my land? Go and find somewhere new? Leave you behind and those I knew.

Where would you have me go? There is no where left. Only lands of ice and snow. And I do already feel the cold.

I’m tired of being referred to by my skin. Hey you – I’m a human too. Not just a ‘white’. But do I have that right? Or is that offensive too?

The term ‘silence is violence’ is beyond belief. In Newham dark skin is 90% deep. This secret we must keep. Please give me relief!

Seems minority status can be a lie. But these are things upon which one relies to gain the things which once were mine. I wanted to share with you but apparently this is not what you do.

Play with the facts. Ignoring the tracks. And hoping that folks will fly. We do hate our skins, disgust begins…Do with us as you will. In the light, unfortunately, white I will be still.

Only, now there is no where to go. Is this why so many die? Hanging from trees, lofts and left in parks and walks bys?

Tell me how I can make you happy. Tell me how I can make equality be. Tell me how to colour my skin and find your kind of equality.

Maybe I should go to school. But I would never make you see. I’d still watch as you swap black for white and use my own words against me.

It’s irony that ebony and ivory is blasphamy. Yet should it sound better black and proud – would it really be?

Maybe I could educate. But white is the only colour I can know. I would change it, in an instance, if I knew it would help us grow.

I would change my colour in an instant I really would. Colour me and make you feel free, to show you I’ve understood.

26th July 2020. By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris.

Three Ants Told Me, or My Testimony, The Journey – Poem and Article. Long Read.

I’m born, I be

But, I am not yet me

I love as one

But become lost

Inside of thee, I plead

I tried to please but leave.

 

I travel and navigate

Educate

I fall in love

Copulate

Gestate

A mother I become

In mother, I belong

 

Three ants taunt me,

They alone made me see

Oh the journey

I have gone

To try and bring this message home

Look after your soul

Place it safely

Where you know.

 

The land is safety

It provides our bread

If we are good to it

It will provide warmth and a bed

If we are environmentally bad

She will take all we had

 

Three ants told me

To pass this to you

Judgement isn’t mine

To bring life anew.

Three ants told me

Sorry it took so long

To bring the message

Look after our home.

The end.

by Samantha unextraordinary Harris. 23rd July 2020.

 

The Three Ant Story.

I was raised as a Methodist. At nine years old I was struggling with a secret. I’d been sexually assaulted the year before (not at the church, but I’d asked them for help and they didn’t) and I was due to be baptised along with my step sister.

It was a treat that I been given a Ribena juice drink and was having a break in the church hall with it. I felt the sexual assault was wrong. It had gotten me into a lot of trouble. I was disillusioned. I’d expressed negativity about my upcoming baptism. I was told to help out in the hall, which I had, and then told to think about things and have a break.

I was thinking about it. As much as a ten year old can. The Ribena was purple and sweet. I finished my delicious drink and I looked into the bottom of the glass and saw three ants. They were alive and seemingly enjoying swimming around in the last remains of my blackcurrant juice. My reaction was to leave the church and not get baptised.

I’ll be honest, I was just a little girl, I felt sick of and cheated by god. I thought him cruel and hurtful. In my eyes, then, he couldn’t even give me a drink which wasn’t tainted. He couldn’t be nice to me just for one moment. Everyone around me spoke of mothers and fathers. How the father would after me. My perspective was that my own mother had gone, leaving me with a father and step mother who did not care.

Everyone spoke of belonging and because of what had happened to me, I wasn’t innocent anymore, so how could I sit in church? I felt so alone. My decision to leave the church was not questioned by anyone. No one begged me to stay. That vindicated my decision to me that I was purely ‘unwanted’. I was seen as ‘the bad penny’ or the ‘unlucky’ one and I was sullen.

But my father moved us abroad with work. I stopped praying and started singing. A wonderful teacher took a caring interest in me. He taught me kindness and in turn I pass on kindness where ever I can. Thank you Mr Roberts. Although now I class myself as pagan, my life straddles and rides the feelings of the good parts of all religions.

Nowadays, of course, I know god was wrong to decide not support me after I was sexually assaulted. More than this, that it was the people of the church who let me down not their god. God exists as a concept of comfort and security for many people and in that matter his presence is felt and is very real but as an entity not (sorry). This knowledge helped me so write it for that reason, not to offend.

However, love, us, the planets and animals do all exist and they all exist regardless.

More importantly morality exists regardless of gods, sometimes in spite of gods – I never went on to sexually abuse a minor and never will, and I understand how people deny things that disgust them so much so they cannot discuss it.

My choosing to walk away was my saving grace for others finding church is a saving grace…there is no light or dark only shades of grey or colour.

The beauty which is around us is only reliant on us looking after it… looking after gods will not affect it directly, this we know as we’ve got a history. In fact looking after gods has been quite harmful. We need to find ways to look after souls without this harmful authority over things.

I think about those three ants. Those pesky little ants.

I understand The Earth needs no sacrifice. The rituals she needs are wholesome, like clearing weeds so vegetables and fruits can grow plentifully, she needs balance, she needs managing; leaving enough trees so she can hold back the floods and keep the land secure, keeping poisons from building up and becoming troublesome, thinking about where we are mining, forest fire monitoring and clearing…these are the sacrifices she asks from us. For us to notice her.

We can’t be greedy…no one gave us this Earth. It is infinite but we are not.

We know these lessons, these lessons of putting people, animals and land first before profits. As humans we did learn from nature that the most important thing is working together, like ants, to achieve goals for ourselves and those that come after us.

It is not my land. It is not your land. It is her land so all gods and conscious souls should respect it and those who reside here. The ants have spoken 😉

Thanks for reading.

 

 

The Matter of Babies’ Hearts – Poem

Based on a real life scandal at a NHS Hospital in Bristol 1990s and Bias BBC coverage.

 

The Matter of Babies’ Hearts.

There is a story to tell

A parent’s living hell

Created for them, here on Earth

Janardan Dhasmana is his name

Babies hearts are his to gain

The NHS his surgery, his choppity chop,

As if a grocery shop

Learning on the hop

In Bristol, England baby’s hearts

Were put upon the block

From one of their bodies he did part

Little Joshua Loveday’s heart

Those that came forward to say

Fired from their jobs, sent away

Three good men lost careers

But Dhasmana carries on today with impunity

They gave the parents the babies hearts in a box for free

The BBC claimed, “The doctor had lost the most.”

Hurtful to the parents of the Bristol Babies’ ghosts.

 

The End.

by Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

 

Slavery And My Lilley White Arse (poem)

Slavery in the United Kingdom

My stance on removing slavery completely, in all its forms, in England. Poem is at end.

Human slavery unfortunately, is a growing concern not a dying one.

Our government is allowing workers to be flown in from Europe during covid19 rather than pay a proper wage to farm pickers here. The discrimination that the Latvia workers and people suffered whilst in the UK was disgusting levels. In fact, you could say, Brexit was anti-European.

We have in England zero-hour contracts, bad working conditions, no entitlement to holiday or sick pay and less and less facilities available due to the growing population. Housing is built but the infrastructure is left small, these developments are straining to capacity. The new housing is filled by newcomers with ‘protected’ statuses.

Au pairs are brought in from France and kept in terrible conditions and mistreated, sometimes killed. Denied food, money to phone their parents, money to return home, their passports taken from them by their ’employer’.

Sophie Lionnet should be remembered; her masters tried to burn her body in the garden after they’d drowned her beaten body, this poor white woman endured torture at the hands of her captives for months. As their nanny she looked after their children so lovingly. She had no one adult to turn to.

Sophie Lionnet was a beautiful soul. Her killers easily caught as Sophie was white, they didn’t think anything of just burning her body in the back garden. Neighbours smelled it and called firefighters. The Old Baily put them down for thirty years…not long enough.

One of her killers (I will not name them) has been given public money to appeal the conviction, although they videoed themselves beating her and were both in the garden trying to destroy the body when authorities appeared, they lied and said they were having a barbeque – when do victims matter?

It seems whilst the world argues for a more superior outlook on all black people (regardless of their characters), they’ve dropped the ball on protecting everyone. It seems the effect of promoting black lives matter seems to do the exact opposite to white people who continue to be the most trafficked.

Thirty-nine dead Vietnamese bodies found dead in a truck last year in England were bound for Ireland…when will their lives matter?

So, this Angry White Woman has something to say and a little historical reference from ancient times is going to help me, as this divisive treatment has been going on since slavery was introduced to literature through Hebrew texts and before.

The Israelites took what was around and wrote the Mosaic Law which included rules like foreign slaves could be kept forever but Hebrew slaves could be released after seven years and rules about their care.

Hebrews didn’t invent slavery, they were just the first ones to put law down on paper; their law about slaves covered what and who you could and couldn’t do, etc, but this was in the Middle East, thousands of years ago, before the Bible or the Qur’an were written.

There was already a slave code called The Babylonian Code of Hammurabi in place in 1750 BC that is almost two thousand years before Christ is reported to have been born. Slavery has been around for a long time. It was used for all sort of reasons.

  1. Spoils of war.
  2. Kidnap
  3. Voluntarily – by need or punishment or debt

Slavery was the grease which seemed to keep these empires going and it didn’t fall out of favour for a very long time and I would argue that as it is still legal in some countries more should be done to stamp out what is left, or at least educate against its ideology.

Several Roman Emperors used their positions to make conditions better for slaves, AntonioPius (138 – 168 AD) brought Roman laws in stating slaves could be freed if treated cruelly. Masters could be jailed if they killed a slave. And before that Nero made it that slaves could have their day in court.

The Roman Empire embodied and still encouraged most forms of slavery and it was very much part of religious systems too. The Romans did many things which Angles/Celts or native Britons did not. The Romans did not conquer the United Kingdom with warriors.

Brewers Dictionary of Phrase and Fable quotes (Pope) Gregory the Great as saying (540- 604 AD) – this is a famous saying, most English are not taught Latin at school so do not understand it but manuscripts were written in Latin.

“Angles, Non Angli, sed angeli”

Which is Latin for,

“not Angles but angels”.

Legend has it that Gregory the Great, prefect of Rome, saw some fair headed slaves in the local market and he enquired where they came from. He was told they were heathens from Angle. Heathen means doesn’t believe in God.

On hearing this, he sent Augustine to convert the Angles.

Augustine set up his mission on the Angle islands in 596AD (Britain). Both Gregory and Augustine were sainted for what they did. The internet will tell you that Angles came from Germany, but Angletere is still the French name for England, it means land of the Angles. The Romans had previously tried to conquer all of United Kingdom and failed.

So, I wrote all you would be, modern day, trade slavers and ‘cavers’ a poem. It seems my persecuted history is screaming out to be heard and listened to right now. There are rumours flying around in the media that China is trying to take over – nah, I’m still convinced this is elitists from black lives matter making a move to subjugate the country known as Great Britain, for a Christian or Unified Faith and a brand New Order of Faith and Grace – more legal responsibility given to faiths in Sharia or Mosaic courts.

I’m really hope I am wrong and that I am suffering from white persecution anxiety because of all the news coverage of black lives matter and losing three white male friends to covid19. My experiences at the hands of a few black people are also colouring my view, pardon the pun.

However, having spent many hours discussing with young people online in black lives matter it has come to my attention that they are badly informed, almost radicalized to black lives matter movement and are angry at White British people for ‘ruining the world with colonization’.

Having not argued with one black person about black lives matter I doubt this agenda is actually doing them any favours. It has been Christian white women and Indian/british women who have been pushing the black lives matter ideology in Watford. Not discounting the rising chorus and very public statement of Anthony Joshua telling folks to only buy from black companies and stores. This boy was not oppressed growing up, he led a charmed existence, cossetted by his UK based Aunt in the social services and his wealthy family in Nigeria.

So, in true British banter form here is my take in poem form, of course. If it offends you it’s done what I wanted it to. We didn’t invent Colonization, we just did it. Like, right now, in Africa there is colonization going on. Cameroon killing Ambazonians because they want to continue to speak English. Do their black lives matter?

I thought it to be funny in my poem, as right now humour and education beats violence and threats hands down. There is a nod to the computer language uform and spell binding. The so called white magic lightening peace keepers within our code. Really? Hmmm. Adding to the drama of the fight for ‘good and evil’.

There is a tiny nod to another pagan friend of mine who has just done a course of magic and got a certificate for it. She is studying the Yoruba religion which funnily enough declared its people were going to take over North America this year.

I’m sorry but pagan at heart I just don’t like it. Looks like we are not all the same.

Paganism means more to me, it means freedom and living well, not under oppression.

My Lilley White Arse

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris written June 2020, under lockdown.

Don’t you just love my skinny butt?

Does it make you jealous much?

Do you like my Lilly white skin?

Notice how it shimmers within.

In the moon and the sun.

How about my blue blood?

What’s under your hood?

History would hasten to add

That not all of you are bad

But envious many of you are

Of my beautiful scars

Oh, you,

Those with souls as dark as night

As black as mud

What were you thinking of?

Your blackness does you defy

Shining in the pupil of our eyes.

You’ve murdered, raped and killed

Across the lands

You’ve multiplied and lied.

You’ve kept hatred in your hearts

And, now you have to start,

Again.

Your skin is not worse than me

But your behaviours undesirable be

You communicate

That you want to separate,

So you can plot against me,

In_security?

Is the jealousy why you hate?

Oh, the spirit world is very clear

All bad magic comes back near

I see what you have done

The darkness you’ve become

It’s not for me to judge

I know the worthiness of me

And I deserve to be free

I will not be enslaved to you

No matter what you do

I will not take the knee

Or break bread with thee

As that would physically

And

Metaphorically be

Just because you hate me.

You hate me because of my skin,

Not for what lies within.

You are a master is every way

And your hatred is gaining sway.

Emily Jones, Lee Rigby,

Luke O’Connell, Daniel Rush,

Too many we can think of

Innocents stabbed as they lived along

Do you justify this hatred in your hearts?

Perhaps it is time to part?

It’s not the way it should be

But yes,

Right now, I’d like you far from me.

Every chance has been given you.

Will you ever be true?

Integrity what a joke you be

Your lies will catch up with thee.

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humans Write Words – Poem

Jesus said,
To the blind man
“Look and you will see.”

Look to the sky,
Where are the words
You live by?

Look to the ground,
Where are the words
You’ve found?

Our souls are home
Your gods took
Earth from me

Keep false idols as memories
You need history to see
The journey from there to thee

Let the Truth be known
Mother Nature
Sits on the throne

Humans
You will find
Are genuinely kind

The End
23rd June 2020

coutnrycraft1

As always, thanks for reading.

This is my comment on bad education.

The photo is from a book called The Handbook of Country Crafts. It is a library book available to school children and adults.

As you can see it tells a dirty great lie about ‘Phrygians’ – gypsies to most of us.

When you are educated into disgust that is called state manipulation or brain washing.

There is currently, 23rd June 2020, NO EVIDENCE SHOWING ritualistic CANNABALISM, in the whole world. Did you know that????