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They're calling it
and once again
we're
falling for it,

it's only the one percent
that are doing well
the other ninety-nine percent can't even
******' spell.

it'll be higher taxes
and
higher rents,
the only cheap things
will be our lives.

Off-grid sounds so good
to
live in a tree made of real wood
and
not that plastic crap.

I'd do it tomorrow
if I could.
Now.
them men what think they're gonna break me
think they'll take me to the hill
and then they'll stake me
to a cross that's laden down
with iron nails and a thorn crown

that's what them men are gonna do.

Getting sick of all this **** that still surrounds me
so
I'll go wash down by the Sea of Galilee
have some fish for a late meal
then I'll see just how I feel
about those men who think
that
they are gonna break me.
Too far away for a day trip
so Australia's out,
no doubt
there's somewhere else
I can go.

I know
Selsey Bill
said,
at the end of
'The manhood peninsula'

I never made that up
said Bill
as he sipped on his
iced lemon tea.


From Wikipedia.
Wee passed by Chichester observing only that there are many small Currents of Fresh Water, and breaking into the low Lands by the Flux of the Sea between it and Portsmouth in and about the Islands of Selsea and Hailing, But all Passages into the same from the Seaward being Covered by the East Burroughs the dangerous Rocks called the Oares, and the Sands of the Horse; There is no Room among them for any improvement for the Navy nor did there appear to be any Place fitting to Build a Shipp of the 4th. Rate within any of the Havens of those mentioned Islands upon the enquiry which was made thereof about 4 Years since by your own Directions.
There is a quiet beauty
in those souls society has deemed 'not enough'.

A beauty that glows in the eyes,
pooled with the depth of pain—
a soul that was wounded,
but never broken.

The world sees only their quiet treading.
But I see—
a warrior in rest.

Where can you go
when your mind is the battleground?
Not of ideas,
but of your very existence—

when the judge,
the jury,
and the executioner
all live within.

Does society not see?
No flesh could ever contain
such a fearless warrior,
hiding in themselves
from
themselves
just to walk among us,
mere mortals.
This poem is for the quiet fighters, the ones who have made a home in the battleground of their own mind. You are seen🫂
thinks of 1963
and I wanted to be
a train driver
or
an astronaut

and then came
1969
puberty
a time of exploration

and now in 2025
thinks of
trying to stay alive
until
1969
comes round again.
Poor people can't afford to 'spill the beans'
because they need them for sustenance
and abstinance ain't a problem that they
have to solve.

yeah
yeah
a million housewives
and every day
they sharpen their tongues
ready to slay

best to keep quiet
whether in the doghouse
or
the poorhouse,
that's what I've found.

and we're always unsure
because
even though we are poor
we're not stupid.
Edited
your life is being forfeited
what would your forefathers say?

Different strokes for
modern ways
and the olden days
are long gone.

This government
cramps my style and
it 'gets my goat'
I'm getting my coat
and going to skedaddle.

Doing a Josey...
off to the badlands
they
cannot be worse
than
this.
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