Eating Our Own Waste

Is It only me ?

that feels this way

my thoughts gushing out to sea

without knowing what to say

 

our world is being flushed

down the sewer drain

water-rat politicians eating leftover crusts

every-time our dying clouds rain

 

never ending, poisoning of the bays

strangling plastic bags

suffocating polystyrene trays

wrapped in bloody newspaper flags

 

animals killed by our waste

governments retain their ego for greed

T.V. and press reports, via copy and paste

while our planet’s going to seed

 

are we trying our best ?

for the creatures in need

stop, this shitting, on our own nest

how much more can the oceans bleed ?

 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

 

Juggling Our World

Are we lazy computer hacks

Blindly laying on our backs

Not caring for this solitary girl

Headlessly juggling our world

Placing nature in a guillotine of doubt

Ignoring her tears, inside and out

Tossing her grains of sand

From our feet into empty hands

Not catching her falling  dust

Upon yesterdays stolen trust

Washing down foreign lands

With bullet holed cans

Collecting  dirty money

From polluted milk and honey

Leaving undead souls

No air to breathe, and no goals

Throwing poisoned daggers into our hearts

Fearing our babies tainted blood, with every new restart

 

To Leave Something Behind, By Sean Rowe. Lyrics

I cannot say that I know you well
But you can’t lie to me with all these books that you sell
I’m not trying to follow you to the end of the world
I’m just trying to leave something behind

Words have come from men and mouse
But I can’t help thinking that I’ve heard the wrong crowd
When all the water is gone my job will be too
And I’m trying to leave something behind

Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
Oh the future ahead is broken and red
But I’m trying to leave something behind

This whole world is a foreign land
We swallow the moon but we don’t know our own hand
We’re running with the case but we ain’t got the gold
Yet we’re trying to leave something behind

My friends I believe we are at the wrong fight
And I cannot read what I did not write
I’ve been to His house, but the master is gone
But I’d like to leave something behind

There is a beast who has taken my brain
You can put me to bed but you can’t feel my pain
When the machine has taken the soul from the man
It’s time to leave something behind

Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
Oh the future ahead is already dead
So I’m trying to leave something behind

I got this feeling that I’m still at the shore
And pockets don’t know what it means to be poor
I can get through the wall if you give me a door
So I can leave something behind

Oh wisdom is lost in the trees somewhere
You’re not going to find it in some mental gray hair
It’s locked up from those who hurry ahead
And it’s time to leave something behind

Oh money is free but love costs more than our bread
And the ceiling is hard to reach
When my son is a man he will know what I meant
I was just trying to leave something behind
I was just trying to leave something behind

 

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Ivor Steven (c)  June 2019

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

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

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”

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

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

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

* 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 (c)  2018

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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