Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus

I was catching a bus home this afternoon, as per normal, after my walk down Pakington St. However, mistakenly I caught the wrong bus !! I looked up, and I did not see the sign. In the long process of hopping on a couple of different buses, I eventually found my way home. During my time of the extra bus trips, I came up with the words of this poem.

Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus

 

Is this the air I breathe

A misty haze out in front of me

Is this the sky I see

A big smoggy Vee

 

High in the mountain plains, flowerless, without bees

Miles of burnt-out wasteland and no trees

Beyond the eroded soils, there’s the earth’s oceans

Mercury settled deep, with a topping of dead fish by the millions

 

Is this black bitumen I walk on

Long oily tar, rolled out by the ton

Is this real water I drink

Manufactured I sip, on my knees I do sink

 

Mother nature, please forgive us

We did not know, sorry, we caught the wrong bus

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

 

To Kiss The Sea

A sincere thank you to Efi, of EfiSoul63, << please click, to view her site, for being the inspiration behind my poem, and our mutual love of the sea

To Kiss The Sea

 

I wish to be at the beach and free

Saltwater and sand are out of reach for me

Oh, to be sunbathing and swimming

To be in the surf, playing and frolicking

I’m close enough to breathe the nearness of the sea

Just across the sand dunes and through the tea-tree

 

I wish to be under the sea

Rolling with the waves crashing above me

Swirling and unfurling

Bubbling and frothing

I’m close enough to hear the evening sea-mist

Just outside my window, I feel the bliss of the sea’s kiss

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

Courtyard Full Of Dreams

Below my window of fantasies

Lies my imaginary world

A courtyard full of my dreams

My garden of greenery

Plants of beautiful memories

Living treasures of my parents, and her

Like pictures reflecting their souls

And her craft, there for all to see

Come into my home, feel their hearts

Soak up the joy, share and smile with me

Hold my hand, fly with me

Let us climb the skies

Beyond my body’s boundaries

Fly away to distant families

 

“Now That You’Re Home”. Manchester Orchestra

Sweet Jesus I swear that I love you, no matter what the chariot says.
I’m biased and by this I’ll judge you on weakness wrapped up in my own innocence
And I think that’s fine.

My God you look so much different. From mirrors you looked like fool.
And your skin taste much better with aging not sweet like it was back in our Sunday school.

Just wait, don’t go. We’re gonna see if this bad boy can fly
Just wait, don’t go. We’re gonna see if this bad boy can fly
We’re gonna see if this bad boy can fly
We’re gonna see if this bad boy can fly
Cause I heard that it can after all.

Now that you’re home won’t you rescue me?
I’ve been trying so hard to be good again
Now that you’re home won’t you rescue me?
I’ve been trying so hard to be good
Now that you’re home won’t you rescue me?
I’ve been trying so hard to be good again
Now that you’re home won’t you rescue me?
I’ve been trying pretty hard to be good

Well now that you’re home I can see again, I can see again
Now that you’re home I can see again, God I can see

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

A Tree To Breathe And See

Dig and smash

Turn-over and break

Do the digging again

More bashing and crashing

Split up the lumps

Turn-over and over

Beat the hard pieces finer

Crush the broken dirt, if you must

Water the soil, and then feed

Rotate again, and again

Until the patch is pliable and moist

Come back tomorrow

Or even the next day, on trust

The garden spot is ready

For a tree to be planted

A gift to mother nature’s life

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Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Paper Tigers

The poet’s studio, is now the little litter part of my bedroom

A paper tiger’s haven, has become a messy grotto

I mean to roar it’s, uncomfortably untidy

Pieces of paper and cardboard kites

Scatter the room like confetti

Autumn leaves of the old poet’s pen

Scribbled words yet to be encoded

Foolscap overwritten and smudged

Out-lined by white-out corrections

Undefined and unlisted

Out of focus and twisted

Upside down and inside out

Uncategorized to the extreme

My disorganised dreamscape’s haven,

Looking like a moonscape’s junkyard

Here the poet’s rustic pen has been the ruler

Showing no regard for my bedroom’s demeanour

Three months since the mighty sword has cleaned-up

Blarney and Baloney, I do confess

I’m sleeping covered in my hurdy gurdy verses

I cannot see under these printed alien addresses

It’s time, to dispel my dream’s curses

Free myself of all wasted jabberwocky guilt

Let my alien poetry regenerate and begin anew

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019