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February 17th, 2016 
Awake Goy Anyone familiar with the intrigues of despotic regimes knows the fear they have of writers, musicians, and poets. Such literati provide a nation with its roots and inspiration. The orchestral works of Finland’s Sibelius were rejected by the Soviet regime. Bolshevik Occupied Russia was notorious for its denigration, exile and imprisonment of dissident literati.
The United States has its share of dissidents, the most notable being Ezra Pound. Britain, not to be outdone, is infamous for character assassination and the suppression of writers who are ‘not on message’.
It is what American historian, Harry Elmer Barnes described as ‘the iron curtain of discreet silence’. This curtain is drawn aside for the regime’s alternative bogus literati. The work of charlatans is spurned by the public but promoted by ‘on-message’ media. Thus, the nation loses its culture and its respect for the arts; mission accomplished.
At height of Empire the works of English poet Rudyard Kipling was drummed into every child’s head. Every home displayed the framed poetry of England’s most iconic poets. Many, like George Bernard Shaw and Oscar Wilde discovered that for marketing purposes they had morphed into Englishmen. Regimes, when it suits them, are adept at hijacking the arts.
Posterity alone can decide on the merits or otherwise of Liverpool-born Irish poet Michael Walsh. What has been decided by circumstance is that in 2000 his poetry was the most in demand in the United Kingdom.
Writers and Artistes Year Book, the bible of Britain’s literati, suggested that poets be realists. Because poetry was no longer popular the likelihood of selling 500 copies was delusional. Was this surprising given the incomprehensible fraudulent scribbling then promoted as poetry?
Yet 1,000 copies of Michael Walsh’s first collection were sold out in six weeks in one small city. A second volume was published; the 2,000 copies were as quickly snapped up.
What was the secret? Michael Walsh had returned to the people poetry that made sense, verse the people emphathised with. The plaudits poured in from all over the world, from every strata of society. Truck drivers and stars of the theatre, a city’s archbishop, Britain’s most revered playwright and the nation’s most loved veteran singer / comedian all paid homage to the poetry of Michael Walsh. A Deputy Prime Minister positively commented on his poetry as did he police and the proprietors of two or three of Britain’s most iconic business enterprises.
Had Michael’s poetry focused on minorities, those of sexual ambiguity; had his verse promoted left-wing, race-mixing or liberal values, he, and literati like him would be canonised. Had his verse been what was described as ‘on message’ by Alastair Campbell, Prime Minister Tony Blair’s media guru, poets like Michael would be feted by local government, literature-related NGO; there would be constant media exposure; radio, television and periodicals would form a queue to present his work. But sadly, the West has its dissident literati too.
Can the curtain of discreet silence be drawn back? Yes, the internet has finally broken the grip of leftist / liberal media elite. We are all editors and publishers now. Do as the corrupt presstitutes of conventional media do. Gather the stories that appeal to you and use your online power to radiate them by sharing them with the people, your people. The internet has made poets and writers of you all; just do it.
Ma Vourneen
When time and distance separate us,
Then you will find the spirit of our togetherness,
In a glass of wine.
My darling; Make it a long stemmed glass,
To remind you that even the minute apart is the longest one.
Fill it to its very brim,
To symbolize the fullness that you bring to my heart;
Sip it gently, and often,
That you may know that each slight touch,
Or glance is a kiss from you.
And most of all;
Let its spirit warm you as yours warms me.
Raise the glass and salute both the past and the future that link us;
But most of all, toast the emptiness that lies between,
Without which there could be no anticipation.
And if the spirit of the glass brings warmth, peace and joy to the inner you,
Then you will understand what you have brought to me.
Let the shimmer of the wine’s sparkle on your lips,
Hint at desire;
The coolness of the chilled bottle the long ago.
The chuckle of its pour, the future.
But most of all may it, as it becomes part of you,
Remind you that you are a part of me.
Ma Vourneen is Gaelic for My Darling.
POETRY WEBSITE
www.spanglefish.com/michaelwalshpoetry/
Source Article from http://renegadetribune.com/bards-and-bullies/
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