“I See The Universe In A Blade Of Grass”

FIFTY YEARS AGO — WE SANG THIS SONG

 

“I See The Universe In A Blade Of Grass” **

I’m exhausted

And wearing paper-thin

I’ve been crying too often

My salty tears

Have dried my skin

Cracked the corners of my eyes

And etched my chin

My retina’s are burning

X-rays through hedges

My troubled bridge is worn

I cannot see the dawn

I sit alone and stare

At this daily glare

From the children over there

Innocent eyes looking sad and bare

Desperate for care

Gasping for free air

 

** These words are taken from a line in Sean Rowe’s song, The Lonely Maze, 2012.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

Tit Bits #13

This is my 13th writing of “Tit Bits”, and coincidently today is Friday 13th. I’m not sure whether this means good luck or bad luck for my post today ??

Our pain is like rain

The pain comes and goes

Heavy and light

He’s got us trumped

There’s more poison

In his venom

The facts are there, for all to see

But all the blind eyes are covered in cotton wool

Their ears are buried in the sand

And toes paddling in their own bullshit quagmire

Now is the time to help

Doing the little things that count

Little step after little step

And in time they become one big stride

I hope these tears of mine

Become the glassy mirrors

Of hope

For the frightened children

They need our love

Love is a life-line

Love feeds a soul

Love revives a heart

Love is the meaning of life

Life is love

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018 

 

A Single Atom

Weekly Word Prompt:  Subliminal  click to view all the responses to this weeks word prompts 

For the weekly word prompt “Subliminal” I’m reposting this old poem of mine “A Single Atom”, which I originally created from a very mixed up and vague dream I had when I was experiencing a lot of guilt complexes about a new relationship I was having at the time, only a year after my wifes passing. My subconscious was subtly  injecting doubts into my mind during my sleep !!  

I see a shooting star, traverse the full-moon

Like a jungle bushfire, raging out of sight

I feel the heat of midday, smothering the night

Like a warm body, inside her tomb

I see the dawn, without the golden sun

Like a Lyrebird, singing all out of tune

I hear the morning rain, without a cloud in the sky

Like yesterdays floods, leaving her high and dry

I see a sandy beach, awash by a tidal wave

Like a burning desert, water is her grave

I fill lonely sheets, with empty dreams

Like a dark chasms’ irrelevant beams

I see a summer leaf, wilted by a frosty Autumn

Like an unwatered orchid, opening to an old anthem

I feel like a splintered heart, inside a single atom

Like a snakes dead skin, her rejected emblem

 

Ivor Steven. (c)  2018

 

Baby Vegetables And Puppy Dogs

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 25

girl-in-trash

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

 

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Featured Dog Pictures:  Bing, pinterest.com

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Grindstone Potion

From before the start

You ripped out my heart

And splintered my bones

With your sharpest stones

You laugh and mock

I’m pieces of crushed rock

 

Waiting at every station

You left me in slow motion

With beach-sand in my pocket

I’m holding an empty locket

Cast adrift in the ocean

I’m free of your grindstone potion

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Featured Image:  Bing.  whyou.deviantart.com

A Single Weeping Tree (A Villanelle)

This is my first attempt at writing a Villanelle style of poem. As a beginner, I took the easy way out and restructured one of my old poems, and actually I’ve wanted to revise this old classic of mine, the poem was originally called “This Lost Shadow”, and dear Shefali of  writtenframes  ,inspired/prompted me to try to write one. I’m not sure if I’ve got the Villanelle style technically ok, so please, I’m open to any suggestions and corrections to my effort here.

 

I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree

Why am I so sleepy, am I ageing too quickly

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold

 

I’m so physically worn and mentally at sea

Why am I so anxious and lonely

I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree

 

I’m writing a song about my return to the fold

Why am I so sore, have I lost my plea

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold

 

I’m a furnace log, burning up with glee

I’m a sinking ship, all about to flee

I’m writing this song about a single weeping tree

 

I’m an overburdened camel, not to be told

I’m an empty desert, a void, far as the eye can see

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold

 

I’m a broken branch, withering and dying, oh so slowly

I’m this lost shadow, wandering this barren land furtively

I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Thank you to dear Shefali for her wonderful encouragement and invaluable assistance, and if you would like to have a try at a Villanelle here’s a very good “How To” link,              A link to help you : https://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Villanelle

 

 

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