Month: September 2025

Please Press Play Above And Follow Along With The Poem Below.

Angels are painted in colors so bright,
Wings made of wonder, of beauty, of light.
But shadows are cast where the dark angels tread,
Harbingers walking the halls of the dead.

Not robed in gold, nor faces fair,
But cloaked in darkness, cold as the air.
Symbols of midnight, of sorrow and gloom,
They enter unbidden, they visit the room.

Skeleton figures with eyes like coal,
Summoning silence, reclaiming the soul.
No friendly embrace, no gentle cheer,
Their presence brings shivers, whispers of fear.

The “Grim Reaper” name is often bestowed,
On angels of death where shadows have flowed.
Cultures may differ, beliefs are not one,
Some fear their coming, some say it’s begun.

For some it’s transition, a step that’s required,
For others, a terror profoundly inspired.
For death is the end that all must face,
No status or fortune can alter that place.

We fear what we lose, the love torn away,
When angels of death bring night from the day.
Unready to part, we cry and we plead,
Feeling time stolen by their ghostly speed.

Yet comfort may dwell in their solemn embrace,
When illness has wearied a once-smiling face.
For then these dark angels are said to ascend,
To carry the spirit where sufferings end.

With wisdom and age comes a quiet accord,
A sense that their presence might offer reward.
In art and in stories, in games and in lore,
Their figures emerge through eternity’s door.

On screens they are demons who drag souls away,
In blackness and horror, in shadows they stay.
But whether as terror or solace they gleam,
Death angels still walk through humanity’s dream.

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Find Out MORE! About ‘The Dark Angels’  >> Here!

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Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below

The Few conspire in shadows deep,
With whispered vows they vow to keep.
Their schemes are hidden, sharp, refined,
To fracture families, hearts, and minds.

Divide and conquer—ancient art,
To prize the world and tear apart.
They’ve gained a tool, both vast and strange,
A DNA Bank to rearrange.

With codes of blood, the secrets lie,
Of lineage traced, of truth or lie.
A costly search, yet some will pay,
For proof to show, for love’s decay.

A child may seek the father’s name,
To test the bond, to shift the blame.
Yet fatherhood is more than seed,
It blooms in care, in daily deed.

A cruel show once, on TV aired,
Where human pain was cheaply shared.
A banker smiled while families broke,
Each test a lash, each word a yoke.

And spiteful youth, with money near,
May buy the truths they should not hear.
A parent shamed, a home undone,
A war within, that few have won.

But worse, the rogues with hearts of coal,
Could blackmail life, could damn the soul.
A secret loosed, a weapon made,
A trust betrayed, a love decayed.

TheFew will dress this gift as kind,
A cure for sickness, peace of mind.
They claim it heals, they claim it saves,
Yet dig instead a field of graves.

For who can guard the strands we keep,
When Few awake and rest still sleep?
Their baby steps, their creeping plan,
To bind the beast, to cage the clan.

So question what they sell as sweet,
Beware the prize that tastes of deceit.
For none so blind as those who say,
The Few are gone, or lost their way.

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Catch Ya Later ….

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Copyright © Ven Bunce  2025

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Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below

Has the world caught dry-rot’s breath?
Most definitely, the signs foretell death.
Both instinct and common sense conspire,
To whisper truth through creeping fire.

We think of fungus gnawing wood,
A worm that hollows what once stood.
At first a weakness, soft, unseen,
Then dust and nothing where strength had been.

Returned to soil, to who-knows-what,
Experts define the tale we’re taught.
Their truths are filtered, tightly spun,
Decided by “The Few” for everyone.

So what have we done in all these years?
Mined the earth through sweat and tears.
Diamonds stolen, rubies bled,
Gold and silver torn from bed.

Aluminium, plutonium, rare ores,
Coal and gas from ancient stores.
Billions of tons in hungry hand,
We feed our greed, we scar the land.

A fungus feeding, that’s what we are,
Predators circling a fading star.
This Blue-Moon home, once bright, once kind,
Now choked by rot of human mind.

Drive a road in Britain small,
Imagine fuel in tanks of all.
Unfathomable, a daily drain,
And worldwide, the numbers chain.

Are we the rot? The answer’s near,
The echo whispers—yes, my dear.
Subterranean halls are made,
For Elites to hide when debts are paid.

Fracking blasts the earth’s own veins,
Poisoned water, fractured plains.
Where is wisdom? Lost, betrayed,
Life for The Few is all that’s weighed.

Climate’s mask hides deeper lies,
Media chants, the truth denies.
Wake your senses, raise your sight,
We are the rot, the endless blight.

A cancer burrowing through the blue,
But is this world still ours
or theirs, or you?

Mother Nature Cared Since Birth
This Blue Moon that We Call Earth.
We ALL act on Her Command,
We are caretakers of Our Land.

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Catch Ya Later ……
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Copyright © Ven Bunce  2025

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Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below

You Silly-Billy … ….
You KNOW! how this works.
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You Become an MP.
You’re a Gofer for Dark Angels.
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You Become the PM.
You Become! – A – DarkAngel
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You Go’fer TheFew
You’re Now Subservient there too.
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You WILL Do! & Say!
What! You’re TOLD!
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If You Don’t!
Well God Knows
You’ll never grow old!
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But do as They Say!
Do as You’re Told.
As a sitting MP
Your Finances are FREED!
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No More worries,
Where Money’s concerned.
You can collect the tab,
The ‘Security’ You’ve Earned.

‘The Run-To-The-Hills Society‘
Set up for YOU!
Reward! – From The FEW!
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Surely You KNEW!?
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Catch Ya Later

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Copyright © Ven Bunce  2025

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Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below

At eight the boys take up their guard,
At each end standing, watching hard.
A whistle calls, a signal clear,
For every car that dares draw near.

The street they claim as bed-sit land,
A place the police let slip from hand.
Once dubbed the worst this nation knew,
The truth was harsh, yet spoken true.

By day the blinds are closed, asleep,
By night the shadows crawl and creep.
A lawless brood, with fearless eyes,
Where innocence and mercy dies.

A drunk returns, his steps unsure,
The blows descend, the screams endure.
Bloodied bodies left to rot,
Or dragged inside, their torment wrought.

The women meet a subtler snare,
A punctured tyre, despair laid bare.
A kindly voice, a guiding hand,
A trap too cruel to understand.

A sudden crack, a body still,
The van awaits to take its fill.
Another car will take its place,
Another victim’s fleeting grace.

The neighbours watch yet dare not speak,
The gangs ensure their silence bleak.
Three basements burnt in grim display,
A warning none would disobey.

Reporters shrugged, the stories died,
The gangs grew rich, the law stood by.
Till rising rents forced them to flee,
Their evil spread elsewhere, set free.

But streets like these still hide their scars,
Behind the pubs, beneath the stars.
Where law is blind and greed holds reign,
The streets of shame are born again.

……….. Catch You Later ………..

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Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below

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Why are more children, more adults today,
Shaking with fear in a world gone astray?
Is “anxiety rising” a natural tide,
Or a mark of control that they cannot hide?

Do labels of illness give “lesser” a name,
A category built for control and for shame?
Are governments pushing our buttons too hard,
Forcing compliance, erasing the scarred?

In thirty years past, the councils have grown,
Enforcers emerging with powers well known.
From traffic to litter, new titles arise,
Each one a warden with watchful eyes.

Daily we walk, yet we’re never alone,
For fines wait in shadows where rules have been sown.
Slip once with your coffee, your child drops a sweet,
The Jackboots are waiting to pounce on the street.

Filmed in the shadows, they skulk for their prey,
Salivating for errors to fine on the day.
If you turn from their judgment, resist or walk on,
They’ll chase you to doorsteps until you’re undone.

Who gave such power to these Little Hitlers?
Not by election, not by the voters.
Uniforms merging with police in disguise,
A trick of the mind, a game for our eyes.

Once trust in the Bobby was part of our land,
Now officers walk with no helping hand.
Respect is dissolving, replaced now with fear,
The lines have been blurred, the purpose unclear.

Subservience taught in the classroom’s domain,
Obedience drilled in the national brain.
With fines, prison cells, and humiliation,
They tighten the chains of a docile nation.

Enforcers are tools of the puppeteers’ scheme,
To fracture our trust and dismantle the dream.
Hate for the police then grows by design,
The Perfect Storm rising, all planned, all aligned.

Martial Law waiting, the uniforms near,
The PACE card of power enforcing our fear.
Homes open for entry, objections erased,
Consequences delivered, dissenters displaced.

And TV distracts with its glossy charades,
Police chasing joy-riders in loud cavalcades.
A circus of waste, a spectacle staged,
To brand them as fools while the system’s engaged.

Do you see now the path where this story will go?
A world under watch, where freedom runs slow.
For the price of compliance is liberty’s fall—
And you, Friend – Are under the Eye – After all.

Catch Ya Later ………..

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