*The Prison-Masters Marionettes*

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They rise in suits with polished grin and practiced, empty praise,
Yet many never earned their bread through honest working days.
They mouth the script, they nod on cue, they bend to unseen hands,
And sell the latest polished lie as if it were ‘their’ plans.

They do not steer the ship of state, they merely paint the sails,
Repeating what the masters wrote in whispers, threats, and veils.
They call it service, call it truth, call duty to the land,
But all too often policy is puppeteered by command.

A few still bear the calloused mark of labour, grit, and strain,
Who once could grip the helm of power – and chart against the rain.
Now sidelined in the fading rows, their voices worn and thin,
They serve their towns with what remains – while hollow men still grin.

Yet through the smoke a newer breed begins to find its name,
Condemned by polished party tongues and branded into shame.
They’re called Hard Right by those who fear the loss of bought consent,
While common folk just see a will – to stand – and not relent.

They fight to save a battered isle once proud in bone and breath,
From creeping schemes in velvet gloves that smile the nation’s death.
A slow agenda, dressed as care, has tightened every chain,
And traded hearth and heritage for managed loss and pain.

Since iron rule was undercut by cowards soft and pale,
The wet and meek unstitched the seams and set the course to fail.
The creed survived in altered coats, in blue and scarlet dressed,
A single beast with painted heads – and one command impressed.

They purged the roots, removed the spine, and kept the label bright,
Till only hollow banners marched and called their left turn – right.
They passed the baton hand to hand, same engine, different paint,
And drove the U.K.P.L.C. toward the cliff with every smiling saint.

Near bankrupt ran the battered cart, near sold for foreign gold,
To waiting powers eastward-eyed and patient, sharp, and cold.
They almost sealed the final deed, they nearly locked the gate,
Till one man balked – and would not sign – the mortgage of the state.

He dropped the torch, refused the purse, stepped back from promised gain,
And left the eager zealots there to dance beneath the chain.
They marched it on with moral void and doctrinaire delight,
Believing they would rule the heap once day consumed the night.

They dream of thrones in ash and debt, of comfort bought by lies,
Still trusting those who taught deceit to crown their compromise.
But masters forged in fraud and greed keep no one safe or warm,
They feed on use, discard the spent, and bless the coming storm.

So pensions fade – and fortunes flee – and exiles cross the foam,
Not knowing every border bends – inside the same vast dome.
One prison dressed in many flags, one globe in managed grey,
You may check out whene’er you please – yet never get away.

Copyright © Peter Moring  2026

The problem is, that MOST Politicians are ‘career politicians’ who’ve NEVER done a days work in their lives and OBEY! – ‘Their Masters Voice’ – over all else!

They Vote, Nod & Lie whichever way They’re TOLD to. MP’s are not ‘driving’ policies, they are ‘propagating’ them for their Masters .. There are a Few Grafters, Independent speakers and thinkers, who ‘used’ to have their hands on the Tiller of Power! But now find themselves irrelevant, sitting out there tenure only able to offer help and support to their constituent’s …

Luckily we DO have a new breed coming along who the ‘Uni-Party Masters’ are calling ‘Far Right’ … Which most right-minded individuals just see as RIGHT!Because They are FIGHTING to try and SAVE this ONCE Great Britain (and also The World) from the Socialist/Communist Agenda that fell into place and has been in Constant Power since Margaret Thatcher was stabbed in the back by Her Treasonous WETS!  … The New Breed of politicians who are totally subservient to Their ‘Uni-Party-Masters’ … We remember during the last spell of ‘Conservative Governance’ that the Tory Elite who held all of the ‘Strings of Power’ within the party, did away with ALL of the conservative MP’s until Only TORIES were LEFT! To run with the Socialist/Communist Baton as They tried to Bankrupt UKPLC and make it Ripe! For Russia or China to just Walk Right IN and take over.

They! Got to the point where they almost succeeded! But Their latest PM actually had a Conscience! He couldn’t go through with it, and certainly didn’t need the ‘Financial Arrangement’ from his ‘Masters’ … SO! – He handed over the baton to an ever-willing bunch of Idealists who form the ‘Momentum/Labour Party’ .. THEY! Have no morals, ethics or honesty in their make-up. Following their Master’s Decree 100% Is all They’re interested in, because they will then reach their Utopia – An Oligarchy, where THEY Think! They will be Kings/Queens of the PILE!! .. They Think! The Monster will THANK them and keep them in the Financial Comfort They have been Promised!

Problem with THAT! Is! – They were told LYING is acceptable, so they LIED at every opportunity. – Their Masters are ALSO LIARS and these degenerates who are driving Us ALL into Bankruptcy will simply become Victims! Of KARMA! – And Serve Them RIGHT! – So it doesn’t matter if They STOP Our Pensions, because as a ‘Socialist Oligarchy’ We will ALL be brought DOWN to the same level of POVERTY!

The Rich and Well-Off are already Flooding abroad to safer havens until the Political Climate Changes. Not realising of course that #TheFew/#Globalists/#Masters are ‘Satan-Driven’ to turning the Whole Globe into ONE Great Mass of Communism – With Oligarchy’s – Not Nations – Being Sub-Countries and that They won’t have ESCAPED! But simply moved to a different AREA of the SAME Prison! …..

#ThePrisoner … “You Can Check-Out Any Time You Like! – But You Can NEVER Leave!” ….

Check My Youtube channel for the FULL Story …. Playlist … Or … Channel

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You WILL Receive Consequences

Governments Worldwide Are Complying With The Agenda2030 Goals Of ‘Comply Or Receive Consequences’

Please Click The Image Above – And Follow Along Below:

Through centuries of fear we’ve grown,
A leash of rules to guide, to own.
Civilization, they softly claim,
A shield of order, a noble name.

No pillage, no rampant fire,
No lust, no theft, no savage desire.
A world of morals we’re told to keep,
Or consequences rise from deep.

Yet behind the curtain, shadows steer,
The Few who whisper, bend, coerce,
Their end game waits, control complete,
Where freedom bends beneath their feet.

We’re shaped as drones, our hours sold,
Our spirit drained, our fire cold.
They harvest energy, thought, and breath,
And bind our will in chains of flesh.

Each rule imposed, each petty line,
Dulls the spark that once was mine.
We’re fed illusions, endless streams,
False foes designed within our dreams.

The films, the games, the flashing screen,
A theatre vast, yet never clean.
Billboards shout, the ads confide,
All to keep us pacified.

Sweeteners gifted, toys of light,
To veil the darkness of their night.
Like children set with games to play,
While parents turn their eyes away.

Big Brother’s house, a cage of glass,
Where baited souls perform and pass.
We cheer, we laugh, we take the test,
Yet miss the chains upon our chest.

The net, their web, both trap and key,
A mirror vast of you and me.
And all the while, the lesson clear:
Consequences—control through fear.

Copyright © Ven Bunce  2025

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Please Leave A Comment Below – Thank You …

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The Fabian Society Objective View

 

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In eighteen eighty-four, a vision was born,
A gentle flame in socialism’s dawn.
The Fabian Society, steady, not fast,
Believed in change that would last and last.

Not through revolt, not sudden might,
But gradual progress, steady and right.
A think-tank formed with pen and mind,
Seeking reforms for all mankind.

They write and publish, advise and train,
Through reports, debates, their ideas gain.
Health and education, work and skill,
Policy shaped by reason and will.

Linked to Labour, yet not the state,
Their influence comes through intellect, not fate.
Ministers, MPs, some in their fold,
Carry their ideas, gentle yet bold.

Events and seminars, networks grown,
Young Fabians learning seeds once sown.
A whisper of guidance, a shaping hand,
Ideas ripple through the land.

They do not govern, do not command,
No secret cabal rules the strand.
Power resides in votes and law,
Not in think-tank halls or what they draw.

Yet myths arise of hidden might,
Of shadows steering day and night.
History fuels such tales untamed,
Because their influence is widely framed.

But influence is not the same as reign,
It’s thought, not force, that spreads their gain.
Ideas take root, some ministers see,
How Fabian vision may help set policy free.

So subtle yet real, their role unfolds,
Through intellect’s touch, not iron holds.
A society old, still shaping debate,
Not running Britain, but helping create.

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Catch Ya Later ….

This is the ‘Official’ Objective View – Make of it what You will.

With ‘Hope Not Hate’ Influencing  the Curriculum in the UK Education Systems
… AKA; ‘Woke Indoctrination Hubs’
…. The Future Of Great Britain is now looking very bleak!

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Copyright © Ven Bunce  2025

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The Rise Of – ‘The Enforcer’ – Jack-Boot-Warriors

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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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