I have memorized pain
I feel caressed by the rain
Soothing my daily pain
Let it rain
I am over being a champion
Floating on a cloudy high
I breathe in and sigh
Be at peace I decry
Stop doubting how and why
We are one world
Under the one sky
I have memorized pain
I feel caressed by the rain
Soothing my daily pain
Let it rain
I am over being a champion
Floating on a cloudy high
I breathe in and sigh
Be at peace I decry
Stop doubting how and why
We are one world
Under the one sky
I’m too tired to continue
Carrying this Olympus torch
The flame is not staying alight
Under my sheltering porch
All I want to do
Is watch the birds
And selfishly forget
The hungry and dying herds
My bell has become too hollow
To ring against the war
Too heavy to lift
High above the floor
Too wide to pass
Through the Whitehouse door
Too noisy to tell
Humanity the real score
Soon we’ll all board the Ark
Row away from our shores
Fly our rescue flag aft
Explore the sky with Thor
Listen to the heavens
Hear the peace-bells last encore
Proudly ring the bells that still can ring
Chiming so loud, no-one can ignore
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I didn’t realise I had written so many of these sort of “life as a carer” poems, these were written years ago, when I was struggling with the process of coping…… Please do not over react, many years have gone by, I’m Ok these days. Hopefully my words may help other carers that maybe in a similar situation, and realise that they are not alone out there, with their thought and doubts
Intrusion
The process of being alive
Such an intrusion on going awry
The engagement of caring in life
Such an intrusion on living to get bye
The labour of toiling for pay
Such an intrusion on flying away
The dishonour of begging for more
Such an intrusion on failing to score
The exhaustion of continuing to care
Such an intrusion on needing to dare
The silence of the evening moon
Such an intrusion on hearing too soon
The explosion of morning sunlight
Such an intrusion on pleading for quiet
The disharmony of singing this song
Such an intrusion in sighing, so long
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I’m at my desk wondering
Sitting here deeply pondering
Whether I’m a strange sort of writer
And am I, an only loner
My keyboard is covered in moisture
A wetness from my overflowing tears
I cry about my latest plight
I cry for the world’s hungry, sleeping tonight
I cry during Xavier’s song, Spirit Bird, like the, Last Post
I cry for the children, the ones we have lost
My heart bleeds tears from within
My heart writes with soul filled ink
My heart dampen’s with every word I weep
My heart floods with emotions every time I sleep
I was wondering
And I am pondering
Do other writers, hear that nightly sound
Hear the pitter-patter of naked feet
Hear the noise of shuffling feet in their sleep
Hear their dirtied feet, the millions of poor children, yet to eat
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Dawn’s spring-time sunshine bathes me
Relaxing here under my verandah tree
Sipping on lemon and ginger tea
Watching a busy working honey-bee
Dad’s annual orchids are blooming
The flowers are glowing and beaming
I hear their spirit-bird songs swooning
Good morning dad, mum, and my girl, our day’s booming
Xavier Rudd, Lyrics
“Follow The Sun”
Follow, follow the sun
And which way the wind blows
When this day is done
Breathe, breathe in the air
Set your intentions
Dream with care
Tomorrow’s a new day for everyone
A brand new moon and brand new sun
So follow, follow the sun
The direction of the birds
The direction of love
Breathe, breathe in the air
Cherish this moment
Cherish this breath
Tomorrow’s a new day for everyone
A brand new moon, brand new sun
When you feel life coming down on you like a heavy weight
When you feel this crazy society adding to the strain
Take a stroll to the nearest water’s edge, remember your place
Many moons have risen and fallen long, long before you came
So which way is the wind blowing
What does your heart say
So follow, follow the sun
And which way the wind blows
When this day is done
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
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.