31.12.2024: At eight o'clock I was met by a remarkable blood-orange sky, low down over the sea, as if all the tragic juice of the East had been poured into it. Why do our nations not care what is happening there? Why not a word of condemnation from our political leaders? Are we ALL in the icy grip of the Devil?
19.1.2025: David Berry
David Berry It didn't start on Oct. 7th but seventy years before. It doesn't take much intelligence to see the Oct. 7th was a fabricated event by the Israeli state itself, for propaganda purposes and as a pretext to do what it did to Gaza in an effort to make it unliveable. It was suffuced with exaggeration and lies such as the 'beheading' of babies, the 'mass rapes' (not one has been substantiated!); 'burning in ovens'; the attack was a 'surprise' in the most intensively monitored and protected border in the world; and despite specific intelligence both inside and outside the state! Nor has the proportion of the dead killed by the IDF ground and air forces itself, ever been properly researched or revealed but it was significant. Notably no one in the security or armed services even been reprimand for the signal failure if it is to be believed. Israel sacrifices its own in support of its over-riding policy objectives and enshrines it in the 'Hannibal Directive' in place on the day. If any event qualifies as a deceptive 'False Flag', the 'Oct. 7th Invasion' is it.
Depressing December by Tim Veater
A profound silence descends upon us
Because it is December.
The bare branches all turn fawn,
Shorn of their dying leaves;
The muslin sky betrays a faded light,
The morning air hangs heavy -
The remnant of a frost-filled night.
No morning movement is discerned.
At the dog-end of the calendar,
Or summit of the year;
Yet also at its gutter point,
Suffuced with doubt and fear,
No bird, no song, no cheer,
Just morbid silent atmosphere.
So to compensate we make a noise
And substitute with fun and toys;
Make up the lack of warming sun,
With brandy tots and blazing fires
And fill the absence with our greed,
Our best and worst desires.
Pretending all is well, sending
Goodwill to every man and woman too,
Whilst at the same time
Bombing all to hell and back!
A thousand infants in their numbered sacks
Point tiny fingers at us from their graves,
In high-pitched voices pose the question,
“Why, why were we not good enough to save?”
Even sans a foot, a hand, a leg,
Without even arms to beg,
Not yet aware the cruel irony
That awaits the innocent
At end of year and distributed fates.
So very apt this dark and dismal
December-tide, so lacking hope
It cannot be denied.
The brutal works of man
Are there for all to see in Gaza;
Pity and compassion are all amiss,
Hang limply from the Christmas tree
And hollow is the rotten stump
Of our claimed, much vaunted, humanity.
Buried the remnants of a Christian past,
In acrid smoke of lies of 'self defense',
We miserably fail the acid test
And all the angels wail amidst the dust.
Our so called values evaporating like mist,
Dispelled by swish of devil's tail.
Old shuffling Andrew Porter used to say,
We shouldn't celebrate but rather pray
And seek forgiveness for our sins.
As children we thought him silly, strange,
But now much older I agree and vote with him.
Sack cloth, ashes and hair shirt
Are more December di rigueur than paper hats.
Funereal garb should be the 'Order of the Day'.
"The Prince of the Power of the Air?"
Looking for prophetic answers?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mSiOauiY1s
30.12.2024.
Gone Away by Tim Veater
My sister's gone away,
She lives in a different world,
There's little I can do or say,
To bring her back again.
And words have lost their meaning,
They're very hard to find,
It's utterly frustrating
And cruelly unkind.
She thinks she's being obvious,
Made everything quite plain,
The lack of understanding
Resides elsewhere, Again, again, again.
I suppose she's heading inward,
On her journey who knows where,
The nameless place is indicated
By a long, cold, distant stare.
Where logic no longer matters,
Where memory is dimmed,
Where nonsense reigns within the veil
And rational thought is binned.
Today I met a woman,
Who had run from London with a pram;
Intent to jog right round the world,
But first the end of land.
Then Brazil, Argentina, Africa.
The Middle Earth, China, Japan.
I too was lost for words,
I knew not what to say,
A different sort of madness now confronted me,
Before she also ran away.
"The world is hard and cold;
"We are here, none knows why,
"And we go no one knows wither,
"We must be very humble"* so I'm told.
We can but search the dusty corridores,
The convoluted plains,
And hope to god we pass away
Before we lose our brains.
*Somerset Maugham : "The Moon and a Sixpence".
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