Contributions are welcomed here of creative nature, whether artistic, poetic, anecdotal, humorous… Do send us your masterworks, in whatever state of making! (go the the Contact tab)
A Gathering of the Tribe | POWERFUL Short Film by Charles Eisenstein w/ Jon Hopkins & Aubrey Marcus
Another one of JP Sears brilliant pieces, this one on the ‘Metaverse’ – a take-off on Facebook’s new invention, all set up to embed you in their virtual reality! A prompt to stop and… think for ourselves! before we sign our creativity, thinking and lives away to a huge multi-national corporation which is only too delighted to profit even more from – you!
How farre that little candell throwes his beames,
So shines a good deed in a naughty world
William Shakespeare (Merchant of Venice, Act V, Scene 1)
Why life jackets should be mandatory – for everyone!
Another brilliant JP Sears video – leaving his and your head spinning at the (il)logic… but that’s the point! It’s the same logic we are hearing… Whoops! Won’t spoil it for you — you just have to listen to it!
You can find other JP Sears videos on this site under Blog Posts, e.g.
https://independentviewpoints.net/how-to-not-get-deplatformed-in-2022/
https://independentviewpoints.net/authoritarian-bills-in-new-york-state/
https://independentviewpoints.net/how-social-distancing-rules-are-created/
For other Awaken with JP videos, see his YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/AwakenWithJP.
Neil Ferguson – the man who knows the numbers!
What is the Use of Poetry?
What is the use of poetry? Why, to live upon, when one can’t get bread and cheese; to clothe and warm oneself with, when one is ragged and cold!
What’s the use of poetry? To keep faith and hope and worship alive in the heart of man, to reconcile him to life, to make him at home in his world.
What’s the use of poetry? To pour vitriol on deceit and vice, to seam and scar the detested face of hypocrisy and lies. To add hate to all things hateful, and shame to all things shameful.
What’s the use of poetry? To give beauty to beauty, more grace to grace, more truth to truth, to deck the flowers of the field, to rain perfume on the rose and music on the nightingale.
What’s the use of poetry? To be a stumbling-block to the worldly-wise and the proud, and a camp and pillar of fire to children and the childlike.
What’s the use of poetry? To embalm the immortal dead, to interpret this aimless Universe, to snatch the secrets of the stars, to unleash the seas and the winds, to fling a double rainbow of hope and glory across the heavens, till all the Universe shouts with one voice, and beats with one heart, and pants with one breath.
What’s the use of poetry? To make this wide world drunk with its loveliness, to make this garret a palace and me the King of Death and Fate!
Poetry not real! not useful! It is you who are not real, you practical people – you herd of money grubbers, you bats, you owls, you moles, you human vegetables, who root yourselves, and fatten up your dull, petty, miserable lives, and eat and drink and sleep, and buy and sell and toil in one long round of humdrum death-in-life!
It is you who are not real. You were dead and huddled into oblivion before you were born; you do not live at all; you are smoke from the nostrils of death.
Poetry not real! Not useful! There is nothing useful but poetry, and nothing real but the poet!
Henry Arthur Jones 1851 – 1929.
(contributed by Marcus B)
A Tale of The Plague and the Visit of Death — or ‘The Power of Fear’
Once in the Middle Ages a woman sat on a bench at the gates of a city. While sitting there she saw a haggard old man come walking through the gates. She asked him who he was and where he was going. He said, ‘I am death, and I have brought the plague which will cost the lives of 1000 people in this city.’ He walked slowly on.
And truly, the plague did break out in the city, and many people died. A while later the same woman was on her way through the city when she happened to meet the old man again, who was getting ready to leave. She again spoke to him.
‘You said that a thousand people would die from the plague, but I have heard that over ten thousand have gone to their grave.’
‘You are right,’ the man answered. ‘A thousand people have died of the plague – the rest, though, from fear.’
To Althea from Prison (1642)
Richard Lovelace (1618 – 1658)
When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates:
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye;
The Gods that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone, that sore above,
Enjoy such Liberty.
Utopia – a short creative drama
A man lives in a society where citizens police each other with their mobile phones…
Maybe this is where we are heading?
A Witty (but maybe true) Tale of Politicians…
Walking down the street, a Member of Parliament is hit by a lorry and dies. His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St. Peter. He says, ‘Welcome to heaven. Before you settle in, it seems there’s a problem. We seldom see anyone in such a high office around here, so we’re not sure what to do with you.’
‘Just let me in,’ says the politician.
‘Well, I’d like to but I have instructions from above. You’ll have to spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven, then you can choose where to spend eternity.’
‘Really, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven,’ says the MP.
‘I’m sorry, but we have our rules.’ replies St Peter
With that, St. Peter escorts him to the lift and he went down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and dressed in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the Devil, a very nice, friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They’re having such a good time that before he realises, it’s time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and wave as the lift rises….
The door opens in Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him. ‘Now it’s time to show you around Heaven.’
So, 24 hours pass with the MP joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing harps and singing. They have a good time and, before he realises it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns. ‘Well, you’ve spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity.’
The MP reflects for a minute, then answers: ‘Well, I would never have thought it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell.’ So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down down to Hell.
When the doors open he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and refuse.
He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the rubbish and putting it in black bags as more garbage falls from above.
The Devil comes over and puts his arm around his shoulder.
‘I don’t understand,’ stammers the MP, “yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?’
The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, ‘ Yesterday we were campaigning… Today you voted’
First They Came
by Pastor Martin Niemoller
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me…
An image gallery… from witty to thought provoking!
