Music – Page 232 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Pako Festa

Haiku:

A Street Festival

Festa of nations

Multicultural Colours

Together and free

Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus

I was catching a bus home this afternoon, as per normal, after my walk down Pakington St. However, mistakenly I caught the wrong bus !! I looked up, and I did not see the sign. In the long process of hopping on a couple of different buses, I eventually found my way home. During my time of the extra bus trips, I came up with the words of this poem.

Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus

Is this the air I breathe

A misty haze out in front of me

Is this the sky I see

A big smoggy Vee

High in the mountain plains, flowerless, without bees

Miles of burnt-out wasteland and no trees

Beyond the eroded soils, there’s the earth’s oceans

Mercury settled deep, with a topping of dead fish by the millions

Is this black bitumen I walk on

Long oily tar, rolled out by the ton

Is this real water I drink

Manufactured I sip, on my knees I do sink

Mother nature, please forgive us

We did not know, sorry, we caught the wrong bus

To Kiss The Sea

A sincere thank you to Efi, of EfiSoul63, << please click, to view her site, for being the inspiration behind my poem, and our mutual love of the sea

To Kiss The Sea

I wish to be at the beach and free

Saltwater and sand are out of reach for me

Oh, to be sunbathing and swimming

To be in the surf, playing and frolicking

I’m close enough to breathe the nearness of the sea

Just across the sand dunes and through the tea-tree

I wish to be under the sea

Rolling with the waves crashing above me

Swirling and unfurling

Bubbling and frothing

I’m close enough to hear the evening sea-mist

Just outside my window, I feel the bliss of the sea’s kiss

A Tree To Breathe And See

Dig and smash

Turn-over and break

Do the digging again

More bashing and crashing

Split up the lumps

Turn-over and over

Beat the hard pieces finer

Crush the broken dirt, if you must

Water the soil, and then feed

Rotate again, and again

Until the patch is pliable and moist

Come back tomorrow

Or even the next day, on trust

The garden spot is ready

For a tree to be planted

A gift to mother nature’s life

Paper Tigers

The poet’s studio, is now the little litter part of my bedroom

A paper tiger’s haven, has become a messy grotto

I mean to roar it’s, uncomfortably untidy

Pieces of paper and cardboard kites

Scatter the room like confetti

Autumn leaves of the old poet’s pen

Scribbled words yet to be encoded

Foolscap overwritten and smudged

Out-lined by white-out corrections

Undefined and unlisted

Out of focus and twisted

Upside down and inside out

Uncategorized to the extreme

My disorganised dreamscape’s haven,

Looking like a moonscape’s junkyard

Here the poet’s rustic pen has been the ruler

Showing no regard for my bedroom’s demeanour

Three months since the mighty sword has cleaned-up

Blarney and Baloney, I do confess

I’m sleeping covered in my hurdy gurdy verses

I cannot see under these printed alien addresses

It’s time, to dispel my dream’s curses

Free myself of all wasted jabberwocky guilt

Let my alien poetry regenerate and begin anew

Red Crown

Red Crown: Haiku

Red the morning sky

Day lily my courtyard Queen

Garden summer crown

Feeding Them Up On Bullets Instead

I wrote this poem last night, when I woke up at 1.30am. The featured image above, is looking up at the Geelong hills north of the town, they are called the “You Yangs”. I suppose my poem below is about, how our politicians, should look up , to see what’s coming down on their heads. This post is for the Weekly Prompt, Photo Challenge: Up <<Click on, to view The Weekly Prompt site…..

Feeding Them Up On Bullets Instead

How hard must we hit the nail

On their heads

Before the white house wooden hearts

Finally count the living-dead

How hard does the rain have to fall

On their heads

Before the farmer’s empty buckets

Only fill via tears from the living-dead

How hard shall the sunshine burn

On their heads

Before the number of extinct birds

Light-up the dark gap between government heads

How hard do crumbling icebergs break

On their heads

Before both polar ice-caps melt

Flooding our storage silos and sheds

The answer my friends, rests

On their heads

Before all the starving arise from earthen beds

Crying out, stop feeding us up on bullets instead

Words, Between the Lines Of Age . Neil Young. Lyrics

Someone and someone were down by the pond
Looking for something to plant in the lawn.
Out in the fields they were turning the soil
I’m sitting here hoping this water will boil
When I look through the windows and out on the road
They’re bringing me presents and saying hello.

Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.
If I was a junk-man selling you cars,
Washing your windows and shining your stars,
Thinking your mind was my own in a dream
What would you wonder and how would it seem?
Living in castles a bit at a time
The king started laughing and talking in rhyme.

Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.

Tell Humpty Dumpty

I’m feelin’ groovy

Rockin’

Without reeling

Like a soft shoe shuffle

Floating on air

Without a stumble

No crumbling or tumbling

Tell Humpty Dumpty

To hold the horses

And the walking soldiers

I’ve found my extra pieces

On the other side of the fence

I’ve fallen on my feet

Like a cat with nine lives

Lucky as a four leaf clover

Like a minstrel boy and his violin lover

I Am Waiting To See

I cry at what I cannot see

But don’t worry too much

That’s just me

I am soft of heart

I am tender of soul

I smile while I cry

The world’s reflection, crying within me

That’s just me, asking why

There’s the earth beneath my feet

There’s the sky above my eyes

Eyes that see rain fall on the trees

Creating life, like my backyard bees

Feet that feel, sand between my toes

Travelling to where my life must go

Rocking Shoes

I’m not using grand-dad’s rocking chair yet

I’ve a pair of rocking shoes instead

Walk the streets of New York in soft treads

No matter, I’ll always have this pain in my head

As long as I don’t fall in the gutter

And left there, to crawl and stutter

I’ve sites to view through my shutter

Cafe’s to visit, eating cakes, jam and butter

I’ll click my new shoe’s heels

Stroll around, play beside the local seals

Go to Central Park, soar with the eagles

And savour the famous restaurant meals