

A whispered protest beneath a heavy sky—this poem emerged over coffee and quiet defiance.
No More Alibis
I shyly worry, and quietly sigh
about today’s ugly, dark sky.
In the blink of an eye,
the sun might say, “Hi”
and the world awry,
could be rectified.
No more alibis,
or black eyes.
It’s time to notify
the blow-dried wise guy:
The world is not his money supply
We will not be tongue-tied,
nor listen to his falsified
“War cry.”
Ivor Steven © January 2026




























