A COLLECTION IN TIME, JASON RONIN [best contemporary novels .txt] 📗
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- Author: JASON RONIN
Book online «A COLLECTION IN TIME, JASON RONIN [best contemporary novels .txt] 📗». Author JASON RONIN
place
you move with such grace
A freeman of the land no idea of sin
part of a people that don't fit in
not bound by the cages of lifes light within
about the streets like a modern day Huckelberry Finn
In Swansea town
you wear the crown
unofficial King of the Hobos would make you frown
part of the landscape wearing a Hobos gown
At night in the drinking quarter
you stand and watch the beer fueled slaughter
and listen to the music like an etherial hawker
no slave to that night or whore of the daily dustbin porter
Tbag Pete they call you but is that your name
You did not ask for this kind of fame
You did not want to join in the game
So wander you do wearing no shame
With your life so free
and empty of worrying chi
I just wanna say don't you see
we should envy you Mr Hobo lifes absentee
© 2011 Ronin
The soudtrack to your mental machinations
As the bodies hit the floor
Do you think your a soldier of the class war
Victims arn't we all of your death dealing gyrations
© 2011 Ronin
THATCHERS SPAWN
A Poem by Ronin
"
Just a rant at the return of the Thatch
"
In stygian dreams the reaper will play
He will look at you your entire glamor in sway
You think you know best without reason or rhyme
But you don’t realise you’re wasting your time
At the height of your power by old Blenny’s shadow
You ensnare us all in a political tango
You open your mouth and give us the spin
If you are wise you will take it on the chin
For lies they spew no doctrines that are true
And we are enslaved by their Machiavellian sway
So on we go life day after day our pockets grow smaller while they take our pay
Our streets grow deep with the detritus of living
While life goes on but the bag rats unforgiving
In your high castle you sit playing at god
Then smacking us all with your priministerial rod
The Iron Lady came before
With her policies brought our world down to the floor
Brother against brother and father against son
When she lost her crown we thought we had won
Now Thatcher’s children are in the house of evil
Weaving her magic like a Boolean weevil
And on it goes because we put them there
Believing their lies we let the spectre rise
Now they are here without compromise
And the reaper arrives once more in a suit his disguise.
© 2011 Ronin
Freedom aka Benthams dream.
A Poem by Ronin
"
Is freeedom an illusion.
"
Cities of gold now gone so cold
Full of creatures with slime in their souls
For gods are now the contents of your wallet
The eternal Jester sings a leprous sonnet
Watched by Orwell’s eyes at every corner
And freedom is a word that is whispered by mourners
In a Panopticon world of Bentham’s dream
Our lives are sutured like a surgical seam
In the dark we cry for life’s loves lost
Freedom we cry whatever the cost
And TPOB say but you are free
And laugh and say but only if we agree.
© Copyright 2010 Jason Ronin
cycle of life
A Poem by Ronin
You got your house your car your two point four
but your just a capitalist whore
a slave to the system of a greenbacked class war
The ties that bind are the ties that grind
from birth to death it is written you will find
your life is owned with no peace of mind
part of orwells machine designed to make more bread
your only reward is when you wake up dead
cause you will lose your house with the money lenders crash
and who gets it the same men dealing in petty cash
So dream your dreams and light your lights
and prepare your wallet to receive the last rites
cause freedoms just another word when you got nothing to lose
I will wait for you to join me at the bottom of this bottle of booze.
© 2011 Ronin
© 2011 Ronin Imprint
you move with such grace
A freeman of the land no idea of sin
part of a people that don't fit in
not bound by the cages of lifes light within
about the streets like a modern day Huckelberry Finn
In Swansea town
you wear the crown
unofficial King of the Hobos would make you frown
part of the landscape wearing a Hobos gown
At night in the drinking quarter
you stand and watch the beer fueled slaughter
and listen to the music like an etherial hawker
no slave to that night or whore of the daily dustbin porter
Tbag Pete they call you but is that your name
You did not ask for this kind of fame
You did not want to join in the game
So wander you do wearing no shame
With your life so free
and empty of worrying chi
I just wanna say don't you see
we should envy you Mr Hobo lifes absentee
© 2011 Ronin
The soudtrack to your mental machinations
As the bodies hit the floor
Do you think your a soldier of the class war
Victims arn't we all of your death dealing gyrations
© 2011 Ronin
THATCHERS SPAWN
A Poem by Ronin
"
Just a rant at the return of the Thatch
"
In stygian dreams the reaper will play
He will look at you your entire glamor in sway
You think you know best without reason or rhyme
But you don’t realise you’re wasting your time
At the height of your power by old Blenny’s shadow
You ensnare us all in a political tango
You open your mouth and give us the spin
If you are wise you will take it on the chin
For lies they spew no doctrines that are true
And we are enslaved by their Machiavellian sway
So on we go life day after day our pockets grow smaller while they take our pay
Our streets grow deep with the detritus of living
While life goes on but the bag rats unforgiving
In your high castle you sit playing at god
Then smacking us all with your priministerial rod
The Iron Lady came before
With her policies brought our world down to the floor
Brother against brother and father against son
When she lost her crown we thought we had won
Now Thatcher’s children are in the house of evil
Weaving her magic like a Boolean weevil
And on it goes because we put them there
Believing their lies we let the spectre rise
Now they are here without compromise
And the reaper arrives once more in a suit his disguise.
© 2011 Ronin
Freedom aka Benthams dream.
A Poem by Ronin
"
Is freeedom an illusion.
"
Cities of gold now gone so cold
Full of creatures with slime in their souls
For gods are now the contents of your wallet
The eternal Jester sings a leprous sonnet
Watched by Orwell’s eyes at every corner
And freedom is a word that is whispered by mourners
In a Panopticon world of Bentham’s dream
Our lives are sutured like a surgical seam
In the dark we cry for life’s loves lost
Freedom we cry whatever the cost
And TPOB say but you are free
And laugh and say but only if we agree.
© Copyright 2010 Jason Ronin
cycle of life
A Poem by Ronin
You got your house your car your two point four
but your just a capitalist whore
a slave to the system of a greenbacked class war
The ties that bind are the ties that grind
from birth to death it is written you will find
your life is owned with no peace of mind
part of orwells machine designed to make more bread
your only reward is when you wake up dead
cause you will lose your house with the money lenders crash
and who gets it the same men dealing in petty cash
So dream your dreams and light your lights
and prepare your wallet to receive the last rites
cause freedoms just another word when you got nothing to lose
I will wait for you to join me at the bottom of this bottle of booze.
© 2011 Ronin
© 2011 Ronin Imprint
Publication Date: 12-04-2010
All Rights Reserved
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