Featured Image Above: A bleak sky, fleeing wings, and a world on edge—echoed in the voice of “Iron Sky.”
A thank you to Derrick for inspiring the theme of this poem, even though I didn’t use his photo this time. His article nudged me to write. >> Confusion About The Month – derrickjknight
Gulls Over Dover
The sky turns a hessian dull as our silly world spins towards another war zone cull.
The frightened gulls of Dover flee north to Hull, too wary of looking backwards, haunted by humanity’s disparities
Today’s Throwback Friday poem was written in March 2022, and appears in my third book, “Until Eyes Hear Sound”, Chapter 1, Little Creatures and Birds, page 6
Innocent Millipedes
Please Mr Shootin’ Putin Do not roll your tanks of destruction Over the innocent Mr & Mrs Millipede Millipedes were the earliest animals to breathe air And make the move from water to land They date back 428 million years Now people of the world cannot hold back their tears
Did you know Mr Shootin’ Putin That Millipedes are fairly timid critters Docile decomposers that live in the leaf litter Of forests all over the world! They aren’t flashy or fast And they follow the motto “Slow and steady wins the race” Millipedes are peaceful They don’t bite They can’t sting And they don’t have pincers to fight back
Please Mr Shootin’ Putin Do not roll your tanks of destruction Over the innocence of creation
Here in Geelong today we had some cool summer showers, which reminded me of the 2020 summer, when the devastating bushfires were raging throughout Australia, and in late January, we were in desparate need of some relieving summer rain. Feature Image Above: I’m standing in light rain, at the end of my lane, but the sky is still a smokey haze, which is very eerie…..
Left. A smokey beach in the morning Right. Looking straight at the sun on the beach
Left. The smokey sky and sun at end of my lane. Right. The thunderstorm this afternoon
Eerie Sky, Teasing Rain
The eeriness is hard to explain
Our sky is smokey again
But here I stand in the rain
At the end of my dusty lane
Smelling the stench of our fiery haze
Now mixed with the aroma of wet maize
I’m stunned, and unearthly amazed
As Thor’s neon lights add to my daze
This summer storm is yet to fully expound
Tiny drops are struggling to cover the ground
The day’s hot, but our sun cannot be found
And this afternoon’s darkness leaves me spellbound
Footnote: When I was about to post this article, the heavy rain did come…. At last the sky did start crying over the fires of South-Eastern Australia, and gave our exhausted firefighters a timely reprieve.
A few days ago(29th Nov 2017), I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks Collection”. So apologies to Ray Davies for using his song titles in such a manner.
I am ecstatic to have my poem “Atlantis” published at Spillwords Magazine today, and I am very grateful to the editors at Spillwords for accepting my piece .. Pease go and visit my poem at Spillwords and if you wish, leave a ❤ for my article, by clicking on this link >> https://spillwords.com/atlantis/
Atlantis
Nature’s abundant history
Bounces forth in front of our eyes
The view is silently stunning
Nature’s assets keep running
Our hearts keep drumming
In tune with nature’s humming
Gently step into her ocean surf
For beneath the waves lays her sodden turf
The Atlantis carpet of ancestral bones
Remnants of ruined millennia covered in fallen moonstones
Hi dear readers , below is a poem from two years ago, one that I really didn’t want to post again, but sadly, here the story is, on repeat again…………
Here I am in bed now, with a sharp raging headache(again). I’m not well, my occipital neuralgia has flared up (again) . All I can do is rest, so I’ll be lying low for a few days (or more). I’m beginning my treatment on Tuesday, physiotherapy and acupuncture, which in the end gives me some manageable relief. The whole process can take up to 4 weeks,…. Yeah… I should be ok for Christmas……. Hope you all have a good weekend
Mind Games (Again)
There’s a sharp pain
Inside my brain
Harpooning my eye
More than Ouch, I cry
So hard to write
Blurry is my sight
All I do is peep
And I must rest and sleep
I’ve not lost the knack
And I shall be back……….
Hopefully soon
Before they play my tune
Occipital neuralgia is a distinct type of headache characterised by piercing, throbbing, or electric-shock-like chronic pain in the upper neck, back of the head, and behind the ears, usually on one side of the head. Typically, the pain of occipital neuralgia begins in the neck and then spreads upwards.
The Weekly Prompt, Photo prompt is : Fences.. Across the road from my home, there’s a large housing development, under construction with a high wire fence around the site. It’s in vast contrast to my private little yard here. I’m on my exercise bike, Yorkie, pedalling away and looking around at my courtyard fence. I’m wondering, how I got this far and how I arrived at this place, jumping all of life’s tall fences on my to journey here. On my courtyard fence hangs so many memories, and it takes me back to when I wrote a poem, of when life was extraordinarily hard and I felt the end was near, it was just after I had my first Stroke eighteen years ago, and I couldn’t jump “This Fence”<< Click to view the Weekly Prompt’s site
This Fence
I am quickly nearing this fence.
An obstacle of a lifetime I see.
And from my side of this fence,
The hurdle is too high for me.
And on the other side of this fence,
There seems nowhere to land or flee.
I have arrived at this fence,
Above the pickets, just grey sky.
And on my side of this fence,
The grass is brown and dry.
On the other side of this fence,
The grass is green, but still I cry.
How am I to clear this fence,
There seems nowhere to go, or get by.
This fence, all built of stones,
Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 