Yesterday’s ancient graves
Sent me a parting wave
Passing the higher fools
Leaving me to drool
My body was shivering
Bones were rattling
My leftovers are for the taking
Mum’s sponge-cake is baking
I need a change of attitude
A party at high altitude
Up here on level seven
Close to heaven
I could invite my unknown bacteria
Sing along to Leonard, sharing hysteria
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
P
I’m presenting you another of my fav’ singer/songwriters in Sean Rowe, his glorious song here “To Leave Something Behind”, is typical of his style of music and thought provoking lyrics, please enjoy, I’m going to work/plumbing soon, damn it’s only 1’C !!, I’ll be wearing my new beanie, (Thanks to Soulgifts xx)
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
[Lyrics from: https:/lyrics.az/sean-rowe/to-leave-something-behind/to-leave-something-behind.html]
There is a beast who has taken my blame
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
This is a poem written by Paul Sunstone. Please read and reblogg if you wish to do so.
(About a 3 minute read)
The internet has made it now
Bound to happen
Tomorrow or the year after.
Bound to happen.
Maybe.
Up to you.
The politicians and the preachers,
The two dogs of the capitalist class,
Will once again want a war,
Just as they always do.
War to them is a gift, you see,
It’s not personal, it’s not their blood.
But war makes some folks rich
And you will never change that,
You will never change that,
Though the dogs will bark it’s not so.
A war of aggression
Against some people somewhere,
Most likely brown,
Most likely poor,
Most likely weak,
Most likely no real threat.
War for the sake of the banks
And for the merchants of death.
War for the sake of the pulpit,
And for the corridors of power.
But not a war for the sake
Of you and of me. We don’t count.
Our side is the one side
That has never counted.
Never.
That’s how war goes, it’s always been so
And it’s bound to happen again,
Soon happen again.
This is your world,
How it really is —
The world you think,
The world you were taught,
The gods want you to live in and love
Them more than you love each other.
In your world are great nations:
Nations the greatest in history,
Nations with the power of suns,
A thousands suns,
To do good, make truths come true
For even the poor man, the poor woman,
The poor child. Make truths come true.
But these nations,
Nations great and greatest,
Act only like whores,
Filthy whores,
Fucking folks raw,
Spreading their diseases,
Recruiting new girls,
Ever younger girls
To fuck you, to fuck all of you,
To fuck everyone.
This is your world
Your world without end.
But now someday you see
Someday now for once it will happen
For once it will stop
Stop the day they give a war
And you
You rise up, join hands
By the millions, possibly billions,
Linked together by the net
And by love, and by common sense.
At last,
At last you will rise, singing
“At last my spirit shall have water!
At last my cries shall be heard!
At last my thirst shall be slaked!”
Yes, you will rise up and you will say
In a voice thunderous and magnified
By the whole world joining in,
Say, “Those people are our friends,
We chat with them by day and by night.
We know their hopes, we know their dreams,
We know their troubles, we know their fears.
We know them, we know their names.
“Jane and Matthias. Terese and Sindhuja.
Mark, Parikhitdutta, and Min.
We even marry them now and then —
They shall not this time be murdered.
“You will not touch them,
Our brothers, our friends;
This once the bombs won’t fall.
This once the bombs won’t fall.
You politicians and preachers,
You capitalists and bankers all —
This once the bombs won’t fall.”
Yet you know it will ever be a dream
Just a dream, just a mere dream.
It will ever be a dream
If you, if we, keep on dividing,
Never uniting, never joining,
But instead just staying, just keeping,
To my echo chamber or to yours.
So let’s come together
Let’s come together,
Let’s come together.
So let’s come together
Before the nukes fall,
Before the demons fall.
Before we die in the winter,
And we come together
Never once come together at all.
Please seriously consider spreading this poem — spreading it to your site, to the social media sites — in an effort to make it go viral. We need it viral well before the next war, we need folks mulling over the idea of rebelling against the violence. Spread this poem and then you too write — write about the ideas presented in the poem. For you, for your brothers and for your sisters, for your children after you — stop the wars of aggression!
Please Note: Matthias has responded by dedicating his poem, Pooling Strength, to this cause.
For my readers, followers, friends and all those who doubt my connection to our unidentified Aliens, my “Mothership” landed for a visit today, to check-up on how I was handling the planet earth’s present dilemmas, and I’m afraid I had to report that the situation here is stagnant and quite grim.
Zap, a gigantic lightening bolt precedes a mystical power surge
Traversing the cobalt skies, like horizontally sleek outriggers
Vividly scoring chords to hang our every word on
Like musical lines, writing out our lost dreams and regrets
Sound-waves echoing, poles apart, going north, south, east and west
Conducting iridescent lights over our purple and orange sunset
Vibrating quasars, pulsating from deeply inside, outer-space
Focusing towards the huge magnetic Receiving Dish, signalling “An Arrival”
Recording a celestial traveler, singing with an angel’s voice
Resonating sweetly, like Handel’s, Messiah Hallelujah Chorus
Translated into our universal language of symphonic sound
Digitally televised for the world’s population to simultaneously view
The Super-Sonic Cosmic message to be heard loud and clear
“We’ve returned to your degraded planet earth”
“To again, bestow upon you, Peace And Goodwill”
“Like we’ve done before, Eons of Millenniums ago”
Ivor Steven (c)
