Fish-eggs And Grapes

My mind’s witnessing warring hell

It’s time to ring the bell

There is a time

When enough, is more than enough

When the price, far outweighs the costs

Counting the countless heads, is a needless sum

Moguls perched high upon ivory towers

Swinging full circle in their leather chairs

Crystal glasses full of classic red-wine

From grapes, picked by the walking dead

Fine china cups full of black caviar

From fish, caught by the floating dead

 

My mind’s witnessing bloody hell

It’s time to ring the bell

There is a time

When the suffering is enough

When the suffering is more than enough

How many heads do the Mogul’s need to roll

Human alley-pins falling into blackboard bins

Buried under centuries of desert lands

Empty hands holding onto sandy winds

The lost children, mankind’s biggest sin

Temporary tents and stretchers their living sty

And still, bullets and bombs whistle by

I Was Only 19 (A Walk in the Light Green)

Redgum

Mum and dad and Danny saw the passing out parade at Puckapunyal
It was a long march from cadets
The sixth battalion was the next to tour and it was me who drew the card
We did Canungra and Shoalwater before we left

And Townsville lined the footpaths as we marched down to the quay
This clipping from the paper shows us young and strong and clean
And there’s me in me slouch hat with me SLR and greens
God help me
I was only nineteen

From Vung Tau riding Chinooks to the dust at Nui Dat
I’d been in and out of choppers now for months
And we made our tents a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
And an Asian orange sunset through the scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can’t get to sleep?
And night time’s just a jungle dark and a barking M.16?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen

A four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was a war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ’til they had you dusted off
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then someone yelled out contact, and the bloke behind me swore
We hooked in there for hours, then a God almighty roar
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon
God help me
He was goin’ home in June

And I can still see Frankie, drinkin’ tinnies in the Grand Hotel
On a thirty-six hour rec. leave in Vung Tau
And I can still hear Frankie, lying screaming in the jungle
‘Til the morphine came and killed the bloody row

And the Anzac legends didn’t mention mud and blood and tears
And the stories that my father told me never seemed quite real
I caught some pieces in my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
I was only nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can’t get to sleep?
And why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes
Can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Breakfast Tea, Lemon And Ginger

Today’s dawn is crisp and foggy

A gentle chilly breeze tingles my skin’s awakening

The cold air’s magically refreshing

As I sit here under my verandah

Protected from the cool settling dew droplets

Wetting every piece of exposed ground

Moisturising my garden’s fernery

Greenery leaves glossy and glowing

I sense my cheeks are warmly blushing

Feeling filtered rays of morning sunshine

Welcoming me to another enriching new-day

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Against the Next War, The Next Hell

Against the Next War

Hello dear Readers, I’m presenting this important poem written by, Sarah, of Fresh Hell Poetry, for you all to read.  An absolutely outstanding piece of poetry, definitely one of the best anti-war poems I’ve ever read. 

 Fresh Hell  Poetry  August 20, 2018

In response to CafePhilos’s call to make peace viral. A noble effort, and worth a try. Please give his post a read.

“Trying to do a slam-style poem. I really hope the audio turned out OK on this. Apologies if it’s too quiet, I’m still figuring out how to make videos.” – Fresh Hell

 

---

 

Don’t Feed Them

 

If I imagine them
Taking my brother away to war

I shatter.

I don’t want to lose anyone.
Especially not to something as stupid
As war.

Maybe you like the idea of war
Because you’ve confused real life with action movies.
Maybe you hate another group of people for what they have done.
I can’t convince you to forgive another’s atrocities
That is something you must grow into on your own.
But I can beg you this:

When dogs of war bark
Don’t feed them.
You will be told it is the honorable thing
To die for your country.
You will be told you have enemies abroad
Monsters in human flesh.
But the monsters are in your back yard
Baying for blood.
Don’t
feed
them.
You will be told
That if you love your family
You will abandon it
And submit yourself to the state.
Give up your mind, body, and soul
To be consumed.
Don’t feed them.
You will be called weak
You will be called subversive
You will be stamped
Kicked
Drowned
Thrown into jail
Dumped in the gutter.
Still,
don’t feed them.
They will scream about the chaos
Unleashed in the world
They will plead for your aid
They will put weeping women before you
They will show you the bodies of children
They will appeal to your humanity.
But if you join them
You become the monster.
You will rape the women
You will bomb the children
You will force them all into the machines.
Don’t feed them.
They offer you money
Insurance for your families
Early retirement.
Ask your wife how she feels
When you go abroad.
She may smile then, proud and supportive,
But when she gets the letter,
Insurance will be a cold comfort
A reminder
That her loved one was eaten alive.
Don’t feed them.
The politicians get fatter.
The generals get fatter.
Our fearless leaders
Have little to lose.
What is noble
About sacrificing yourself for these people?
Are they so wise, so just?
They have enough.
Don’t feed them.

• Written by Sarah, of Fresh Hell.

 

Eating Chocolates And Watching Wars

Let us join the movement, Against The Next War, and have your say. Please reblog or write your own story, and join Paul Sunstone, in the campaign for Peace.  << click here. I’m re-posting today, and attaching this important song “Spirit Bird”, by Xavier Rudd, and his lyrics are a pure statement from the heart, please read along with the music, and cry with me, for our spirits and our land.

“Leaving us

Stunned

Hollow ashamed”

My poem:

Eating Chocolates And Watching Wars

 

Hungrily I’m eating a liquor chocolate

A selfish heavenly delight

Arousing my old minds senses

I wonder

What she would be thinking

Looking down from the stars

Through her sensitive olive eyes

Her everlasting smile

Her gracious courage

Her generous heart

Her forgiving soul

Her love for me and you

I wonder

What she would be thinking

Seeing these futile bloody wars

Through her compassionate olive eyes

The dead and maimed

The millions of shuffling homeless

The distraught broken families

The crying children locked in sheds

The desperate refugees with no beds

I wonder

What she would be thinking

While she preciously holds the last white dove

Observing these senseless wars

That never never end

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

Eating Chocolates And Watching Wars

Let us join the movement, Against The Next War, and have your say. Please reblog or write your own story, and join Paul Sunstone, in the campaign for Peace.  << click here. I’m reposting today, with this song “Spirit Bird”, by Xavier Rudd, and his lyrics are a pure statement from the heart, please read along with music, and cry with me, for our spirits and our land.

“Leaving us

Stunned

Hollow ashamed”

Hungrily I’m eating a liquor chocolate

A selfish heavenly delight

Arousing my old minds senses

I wonder

What she would be thinking

Looking down from the stars

Through her sensitive olive eyes

Her everlasting smile

Her gracious courage

Her generous heart

Her forgiving soul

Her love for me and you

I wonder

What she would be thinking

Seeing these futile bloody wars

Through her compassionate olive eyes

The dead and maimed

The millions of shuffling homeless

The distraught broken families

The crying children locked in sheds

The desperate refugees with no beds

I wonder

What she would be thinking

While she preciously holds the last white dove

Observing these senseless wars

That never never end

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

Have A Say, Against The Next War

Let us join the movement, Against The Next War, and have a say. Please reblog or write your own story, and join Paul Sunstone, in the campaign for Peace.

A Mushroom Anthem

 

Why is there always a dark side,

When the moon shines so bright.

Who’s taking us on this blindfold ride,

While our reasoning is out of sight.

 

Why is there always a silver lining,

When the clouds are hovering so low.

Who’s making the lower world glowing,

While our malignant demons grow and grow.

 

Why do we call them magic mushrooms,

When all they bring is gloom and doom.

Who’s controlling this aging Mother,

While our pleading hands are hustled undercover.

 

Let There Be Peace In Our Time.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

 

Let Us Climb

Climb Aboard, (Introduction by, Jane Basil)
all who wish an end to war are welcome;
we beg you to share our message of peace,
that it may reach across the wildest desert,
weave through cities, travel with the waves of the seas
that stroke our shores and soak into our sands.
Let it grow to encompass our nurturing planet;
let every peacemaker of every nation join hands,
and be embraced with love in return.
Let peace become a pandemic
the like of which we have never known.

This was written for our peace campaign which was dreamed up by my amazing friend Paul Sunstone. Yep – remember the name; that man has greatness in him. We want the campaign to go viral. Share his post (see link below) and/or write a post of your own.

Click <<<<<<<HERE>>>>>> to find out more

and find even <<<<<<<MORE>>>>>>>   <——— there

The above introduction is copied directly from Jane Basil’s blog site and her post  “Climb Aboard”  

https://janebasilblog.wordpress.com/2018/08/16/climb-aboard/

Below an older poem of mine from over 10 years ago, and I’m afraid nothing has changed, and Click onto “Return The Bullets” title to view Paul Sunstone’s latest post.

Return The Bullets

The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed.

All the violence of the worlds pounding inside my head.

The killing and the maiming of all the innocents who fled.

What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered.

When the people’s of all religions and creed are dead.

And we can’t return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.

I’m afraid.

The backyard stairway is far too steep to climb.

The hand rails are way out of reach to find.

And the public change-room windows are covered with bars.

Now encircling the city hall, the security backdoor is ajar.

Entering the marble aisle, the White-room appears vacant.

And guileful leaders have run, leaving a chasm of gloomy dark.

I’m wondering.

Where to go, the healing house is full of ugly holes.

The citizens cowering in shadows behind splintered lighting poles.

And the crumbling streets are awash with rivers of leftover blood.

Now the warring bosses have to fight amongst themselves.

Throwing poison pens and paper darts at each other.

Never bruised nor battered, using ivory towers as cover.

I’m terrified.

The dusty mushroom cloud, slowly settles on the barren ground.

With sands of distant lands, shifting into every nook and cranny.

We need the good Doctor, to help us cure these alien scourges.

And foreigners arriving upon waves of our neighbouring seas.

The deathly TV images, wrongly implanted for all to see.

As the press only gossip and drivel with selfish glee.

I’m stupefied.

The guns of freedom lands, haven’t even stopped the cull.

Death to friends or foe, no matter, to the rulers from above.

Their only rules, the poor and weak to be kept totally down trodden.

One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt.

And the rich will feast upon their own contaminated bread.

And we’ll never return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018