Horror – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Baby Vegetables And Puppy Dogs

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 25

Do you see something of yourself in this little child?
If so, what?

Baby Vegetables And Puppy Dogs

We can climb the tallest peaks

Where there’s the purest thin air to breathe

Yet we still dispossess children of their rightful freedom

Bagging them in plastic like vegetables in a fridge

We can dive into the oceans deepest chasms

Where without artificial lights it’s too dark to see

Yet we still blindfold children from the solar daylight

Abandoning them at night like forgotten homeless dogs

We can fly to the furthermost planets

Where there’s a willingness to meet the unknown

Yet we still treat frightened children like Saturn’s aliens

Caging them like feral animals in a desert zoo

Featured Dog Pictures: Bing, pinterest.com

Time’s Awry

Last night I awoke in a pool of blood

Surviving Noah’s great flood

There was no bleeding horse head

It wasn’t a dream, I wasn’t dead

The nightlight died instead

A dark shadow engulfed my bed

Sheets of oozy dripping threads

A deep flowing red

From where, I do dread

Petrified, motionless I’m spread

The hole in my heart is dry

Fearful tears of crystal white I cry

My bloodshot eyes are weeping, time’s awry

Puddles of gore descend from the Boar’s sty

Visions of devils and angels pass my eyes

I’m not ready to say my goodbyes

Am I suddenly being nailed to the cross to die

Or is it, that cupids’ arrow in my thigh

Featured Image: The “You Yang” hills/mountains, just north of Geelong, for my dear friend Colleen of “Chatter Blog”

The Other Side Of Red White And Blue

Happy “Independence Day” to my American friends, I suppose this is an appropriate day/time to repost this previous poem of mine, and beware as your party’s are moving into full swing

It was the fourth of July

The party seems to be finished

Wondering how long I dozed off for

Most of my friends have gone

A few bodies left, laying on the floor

Best I have a piss before I go

Now where’s that bathroom

Whoops, there’s a girl in here

Dressed all in blue, and she’s on the floor

Slouched in the corner, not moving

Her skins “a whiter shade of pale” *

Red lip-stick all askew

Then I see myself in the mirror

Agape, my white shirt’s moist and filthy

Splattered, deep dark red

Oh no ! It’s human blood

I turn the crumpled girl over

Her pretty blue dress, covered in blood too

What’s happened, I can’t remember

Only blurry images of red white and blue

My mind goes numb

And my legs start running

Out of here in a hurry

“Thump”, I trip over

I thought that bloke was asleep

I didn’t notice at first

His red shirt’s also oozing out blood

Holy hell, he’s dead too

I’m stumbling through the front door

Grappling, panicking, now where

Where do I flee to.

Think ! Yes, a nearby Church

Has an early dawn service

A sanctuary for my burning fears

And bumbling into the Church I go

Settling upon the nearest pew

I’m white as a ghost and turn to see who’s beside me

An eerily stunning red-haired girl

Wearing a dress of red white and blue

Memory flashes back, it’s Her, from the party

She’s staring at me now, with livid red and white eyes

I see fangs protruding over her blue lips

Dribbling fresh blood, hissing at me

She gurgles, “Did I miss one”

The Filia Sanguine suddenly grabs my arm

And her dark-blue fingernails dig deep

I’m seized, I’m gone, I know

There’s no safe haven here

“Where do you go to my lovely”**

Screaming tears of red white and blue

* A Whiter Shade Of Pale, Procol Hurum song Title 1967.

**Where Do You Go To My Lovely, Peter Sarstedt song Title 1969

Let Us Not Be Silent

Let us not turn a blind eye

Clear the dark clouds from our sky

Extract our heads from the sand

Join our national brass band

Blow loudly on your trumpets

Let us stop being pawns and puppets

We’re not the sheep of their lands

We can be the blanket for our lambs

A collective sheet, protective and grand

Let us not be silent and bland

Clear the stage, make a stand

The worlds suffering children need us

Before they’re herded onto the bus

Like lambs to the slaughter

Imagine, our sons and daughters

Laying on concrete, alone and caged

Crying, weeping, could it be our ice-age

We’re distraught and outraged

Compassion, love, is paramount on centre-stage

Ivor Steven: Pumpkin Soup Again

A big Slurpy Thank You to Slasher Monster Magazine for publishing “Pumpkin Soup Again”, in their fabulous magazine, please go over and visit the site.

SlasherMonster

Head’s falling like an unpinned grenade.

Soon ready to explode.

Burying shrapnel pieces in corners of shade.

Scattered like broken retina globes.

Razor blades shredding memory lockets.

Slivered icicles inside blurry sockets.

Needles of pain.

Sheets of sleet before the rain.

Bloodied eyeball tracks like meteor trails.

And the pain-numbing capsules do fail.

Oh please, blindly needing to set sail.

Upon swirling Oceans, like Homer’s tales.

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How Many Books Do I Take On The Cruise

I’m sailing on my Pacific cruise on Saturday 31st, off to the New Caledonian Islands, and I’ve not had a holiday for three years, and I’m looking forward to my trip. Hehehe, although I’ve still to dispose of that wicked witch !!

Ripe Tomatoes And A Garden Spade

Only another week to go

I’ll be on the cruise

I’m not feeling nervous

More that I’m fearful

Scared my plan might go amiss

Before the high seas deliver bliss

Taking two suitcases is normal

Other passengers may have three

I won’t look suspicious

I’ve bagged her precisely

Chopped her into small pieces

Stored separately in the freezer

The old witch, I caught her trespassing

In my private courtyard

Stealing my precious cherry tomatoes

I whacked her with my garden spade

Across the top of her green head

I didn’t hit her too hard

She lay there bleeding, not dead

How dare she come into my yard

She’s pleading with me, no mercy I said

As I dragged her into the shed.