Return The Bullets

I’m not very accomplished at writing about the problems of the world, I get far too angry and confused to write something sensible, but this poem is totally inspired by two of Tom Waits songs/words, “Make It Rain” and  “Satisfied”.

 

The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed.

All the violence of the worlds inside my head.

The killing and maiming of all the innocents who fled.

What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered.

When the peoples 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 wandering.

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 the 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 stupified.

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

Death to friends or foe, no matter, to 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.

Featured Image: Source, Wikipedia, mushroom cloud over Nagasaki, August 9th 1945…

 

Published by

ivor20

G'day, and welcome to my blog site. My name is Ivor Steven, I live in Geelong, Australia. I'm an ex-industrial chemist, and a retired plumber, and a former Carer of my wife(Carole), for 30 years, who suffered from severe MS. I Write poetry about those personal thoughts, throughout and beyond my life as a Carer. I've been blogging for over 2 years, and writing poems for 19 years. Of course a lot of my poems are about my favourite subject Carole, but since I've been blogging my writings have become quite varied, humourous, mystical, observational, and even a few monster/horror poems.

33 thoughts on “Return The Bullets”

  5. I think you are mistaken, Sir!
    You are extremely accomplished at writing about the problems of the world.
    However, I do so agree with WaltPage. If we spend all our time worrying, about what may be, it makes life terribly hard and miserable.
    Cheer up Ivor. The world will win in the end!

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  7. One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt.
    That’s what I can’t understand about nuclear arms – why would anyone use them, now that we know the far-reaching devastation they bring. It’s a bit like setting fire to an annoying salesman who’s standing in your hallway..

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  9. Thanks Jane, I wasn’t sure about this poem, It didn’t work for me, it felt disjointed, but I suppose that’s what nuclear war is, one big mass of human stupidity

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  12. Aha, I see my favourite line has already been commented on! “One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt.” That line sends home a heavy message. Like others have said, you’re definitely accomplished in writing about these matters!

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  13. “The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed.” – I found this line sadly relatable. We write to connect and I experienced the insanity of war within your words. But I believe that love will always win in the end.

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  14. All the above responses ring true. You are a true writer. And poet. I love that you write positive and melancholy and thoughtful. The world is a frightening and sometimes horrible place. But I look at the smiles on my grandbabies faces, the blush on my daughter-in-laws smile knowing she’s going to have one more, and know the world will go on.Thanks for the poem.

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    1. Thanks Claudia, the poem is more like a general question of where we are going, and I’m hoping for change. I’ve another I’m writing now, and why again. Haha, no comments about Tom Waits song yet.😐

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  15. Epic poetry, Ivor. I certainly can empathize with you in regards to how emotional and angry I can get thinking of the politics, wars, greed, etc. if our world. You did amazing work here and didn’t end up cussing or going over the edge.
    My favorite Tom Waits song is “Downtown Train.”

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  16. Ivor is again so poetic and skillful. In what a crazy world we live! It is terrible to imagine all this madness. I like the Tom Waits songs a lot. You mean that this madness can also be seen in the “little” things? Every environment of a human being is contaminated, and every man is polluted with his own thoughts?
    I agree with Ali Grimshaw. Love and fate will win in the end. Nevertheless, we have to follow the path.
    I think my closer environment is receptive to love. Everyone fights for his way, but in love and fairness. If I go now on unknown paths I will of course be uncertain and must weigh whether the trace is accessible for me. It is a groping in the dark, though I know the path is illuminated. I hope God will open my eyes.

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    1. Thanks Anie, for your comprehensive comment, and yes my poem is quite a jumbled confusing piece, with hopefully a solid message. I truly believe that peace will be achieved, but we can’t stay silent, and we must keep voicing our opinions.

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