Tag: Against The Next War

Heavy And Hollow, The Whitehouse Door

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

Intrusion

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

 

That Nightly Sound

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

Morning Tea With Dad’s Orchids

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

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. 

   Poetry  

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.