Broken Plates And Rabbit Stew

Have you every had that weird fantasia sort of dream.

Where you can’t see beyond the silver screen.

The infinite edges are no-where to be seen.

Greyness is black and red is green.

Straight lines are wavering slivery beams.

Stitched inside your brain’s sewn-up seams.

Bagged and tagged a pale corpse unseen.

Blueness in blood and plasma in streams.

Like chunky bittersweet rhubarb pie and cream.

Being injected directly into your open arteries.

Hallucinating a mad, mindless vortex of fun and games.

Spiralling outside in moonshine, as bleak bedroom coldness reigns.

Over mountains made of bland home-style rabbit stew.

Slowly eaten with a wooden teaspoon, hundreds of times.

Digested, your tummy gurgles and ejects buckets of spew.

While a hairless dog chases the postie’s bike, a whistle screams.

Dawn awakened to ice-covered broken plates and frozen lakes.

Shattered upon creek-bed rocks and your floor’s underlay.

This nightmare dream begun in April and ended dismayed.

 

Ivor Steven  (c)

Advertisements

Let The Past Be Gone

The end of December, and January is near.

The bell tolls louder, and how perennially I jeer.

Those same old questions, and no answers, every year.

Annually dismayed, as new dawns disappear.

Let the past be gone, now that today’s here.

Let the future come, as I face tomorrows haunting fears.

 

Last years sins have been, and totally bygone.

The new year’s about to begin, could be right or wrong.

Next year’s eeriely hovering, and I anxiously worry far too long.

Knowingly waiting, for my angels mourning song.

Let the past be gone, vowed todays final word.

Let the future come, but tomorrow’s dying, I heard.

 

Ivor Steven  (c)

 

 

Afterlife

Why am I so adamant that I need to fight.

Feeling this chasm of pain every night.

Why am I so adolescent about my plight.

Longing for the love, the affection, of no-one in sight.

 

Why am I so uncertain within myself.

Desiring relief and a remedy for my health.

Why am I so sorry for my lost time on the shelf.

Pining after my souls drowned wealth.

 

Why am I still shaken, afraid of life.

Thinking there’s only loneliness without my wife.

Why am I still heartsick, pierced like a knife.

Wondering if there’ll ever be anymore afterlife.

 

Ivor Steven  (c)

“Afterlife” is an older poem of mine, and today I’ve revised and re-edited the words slightly.  The original poem was written in July 2012, and feeling in a reflective mood as the New Year approaches, I decided to post this version of the poem, from my past.

Time Travelers

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).

Help Me Raise £250 For The Dogs Trust By Leaving Me A Link To Your Blog

Hugh's Views & News

The Christmas tree is up, but something is missing. There are no gifts under it, and I need your help to put that right.

#charity #appeal #christmastree #christmas

For this year’s Christmas charity appeal, I’m asking you to help me raise up to £365 for The Dogs Trust.

The Dogs Trust, formerly known as the National Canine Defence League, is an animal welfare charity and humane society in the United Kingdom which specialises in the well-being of dogs. Click here to go to their website.

Want to get involved? Here’s what you need to do.

  1. In the comments section of this post, leave the name of your blog and a link to it. This can be a link to your ‘about me’ page, a favourite blog post you’ve published, or the home page of your blog.
  2. If you’re an author, you’re also welcome to leave me a link to any books you have published. So, for…

View original post 329 more words

Bobby

A lovely poem and absolutely gorgeous Christmas song from my dear friend Jane, enjoy….

Making it write

A soiled trouser leg
is tucked up beneath him, held down
by the weight of his ravaged body,
reminding me that I am one of the lucky ones
who have more than the average
quantity of legs.

His right foot
sits askew on the wheelchair’s footrest.
I straighten my back, as if to make up
for his crooked limb.

A paper bag
rests crumpled on his lap.
I think of fragrant Indian takeaways,
and of the free accompaniments my family receives
when we order a meal for all of us.

He grabs the bag with the eagerness of
a child on Christmas morning,
sliding down the banisters to join his parents
who grin beside a glittering tree,
eager to see his eyes lit by the thrilling surprise of a new bike
tied around with a wide blue ribbon.

He unscrews a cap and tips the bag
towards his cracked lips.

View original post 138 more words