Category: Poems

Plastic Man, Plastic People

My headache woke me early this morning, and I rolled over to look at my plastic clock, to see it was 4.00 am, so here I am typing away on my plastic keyboard, thinking about our synthetic world……

Plastic Man, Plastic People

 

There’s a plastic man in charge, of you

Politically, he twitter’s us the news

There was a racist called Hitler in 1942

And everyone thought he was crazy too

They didn’t take him seriously

Nor listen to his rants of jealousy

‘Til he pulled the pin, on humanity’s hand grenade

Pure white supremacy, his raving crusade

From his chants, “Pow”, World War II

And, “death to the Jews”

 

There’s a plastic man in charge, who’s rude

Financially he’s just a plastic money dude

Soon to be impeached for his glad-wrapped lies

We’re not to worry about his plastic eyes

That only see plastic smoke in the skies

Nor his yellow teeth that eat plastic mounds

Spitting out live human’s upon his plastic grounds

And the plastic people, still listen to his plastic sounds

 

And to think, Ray Davies of “The Kinks” wrote this wonderfully inventive song 50 years ago,  way back in 1969….

“Plastic Man”, lyrics by “The Kinks” (Ray Davies) 

“A man lives at the corner of the street,
And his neighbours think he’s helpful and he’s sweet,
‘Cause he never swears and he always shakes you by the hand,
But no one knows he really is a plastic man.He’s got plastic heart, plastic teeth and toes,
(Yeah, he’s plastic man)
He’s got plastic knees and a perfect plastic nose.
(Yeah, he’s plastic man)
He’s got plastic lips that hide his plastic teeth and gums,
And plastic legs that reach up to his plastic bum.
(Plastic bum)Plastic man got no brain,
Plastic man don’t feel no pain,
Plastic people look the same,
Yeah, yeah, yeah.Kick his shin or tread on his face,
Pull his nose all over the place,
He can’t disfigure, or disgrace,
Plastic man (plastic man).

He’s got plastic flowers growing up the walls,
He eats plastic food with a plastic knife and fork,
He likes plastic cups and saucers ’cause they never break,
And he likes to lick his gravy off a plastic plate.

Plastic man got no brain,
Plastic man don’t feel no pain,
Plastic people look the same,
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Kick his shin or tread on his face,
Pull his nose all over the place,
He can’t disfigure, or disgrace,
Plastic man (plastic man).

He’s got a plastic wife who wears a plastic mac,
(Yeah, he’s plastic man)
And his children wanna be plastic like their dad,
(Yeah, he’s plastic man)
He’s got a phony smile that makes you think he understands,
But no one ever gets the truth from plastic man (plastic man)

Plastic man (plastic man).”

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Dec 2019

Now, It’s My Turn

Again, today I managed to go out to the ‘Box Office Cafe’, for a coffee and a cake, and I sat adjacent to a friendly couple, Glen & Alison, who were relatively new to the area and the Cafe. They were happy to have a chat, and we talked about musicians, poetry(Haiku’s), and the wondrous “Doctor Who”. Alison was thoroughly engrossed with reading my Haiku Collection, and my poetry booklet “Tullawalla, Waterlogged Boots”, and believe it or not, Glen was also an Industrial Chemist, yes sometimes, coincidental meetings are meant to be….. Anyhow I told them, I had this little idea about a Christmas card poem… I think their genuine friendliness encouraged me to write this poem, and I hope you all feel the warmth and power of Christmas, through my words here,… a piece from this heart of mine…….

Now, It’s My Turn

The first week of December

Decades ago, what did she say?

Today I’m struggling to remember

“Don’t forget Ivor ! ”

“Now, It’s your turn, to do the Christmas cards”

I’ve lost my crown, I’m almost home

This time the task will be hard

But last night I was dreaming

Of her ‘everlasting smile’

And how through all of her suffering

She was always a brave angel with style

So despite my persistent head pain

There’s really no other excuses

It’s time to be the mailman again

 

To read my poem ‘everlasting smile’, you may view by clicking >>Here

Ivor Steven (c) Dec 2019

I’m Flat, Feeling Very Medium

Hello dear readers, as you may know, I’ve been struggling with continual (non-stop) headaches for 6 weeks, and it’s time for me to take a break from blogging. I’ll probably keep posting a few poems, when I can, but I’m finding the present situation almost unbearable… Hopefully my absence from commenting on all your wonderful articles, will be only for a few weeks.

I’m Flat, Feeling Very Medium

Mid afternoon and I’m late

Time to go out, for a coffee break

I’m escaping my sheltering haven

Avoiding that all too familiar hospital cavern

 

I order my drink, and I receive a paper trail

But I’m feeling my headaches, are still on trial

As the coffee mirrors my state of being

“Steven. 1 x Flat White Medium”

 

Here I am eating a lamington sponge cake

Listening to a melancholy Tom Waits

And I’m thinking, when will these bad-ass days

Ever be surpassed by more dignified displays

Ivor Steven (c) Dec 2019

A Wizard’s Wand

Hands of steel

Fingers, sinews of silver

Tentacles long and strong

Like a wizard’s wand

Probing and prodding

Pushing down and across

Pressure on, then release

Finding that ouch zone

 

Climbing the spinal ladder

Disc’s four, three, two

Chin on the chest

Opening the neck gaps further

The gifted silver rod pokes hard

Pressing on the point

A sharp pain hits

Behind the left eye

 

The knifing ache eases off

There’s acknowledgement

That was the spot

Then a few neck twists

Strengthening stretches

A session finished

Feeling improvement

Return again, in a few days

 

Ivor Steven (c)

 

Faeries And Books

Faeries And Books

 

Australia is a far away land

Only reached by ship or plane

Today, I saw the Ben Franklin Bridge at my door

Distant fairies were knocking, a message for Ivor

From my Philadelphia cousins, Maureen and Terry

They went to a Pop-Up Shop, a writers library

To meet Christine, our chief of  ‘Go Dog Go Cafe’

Who signed a book for me, and a joint photo for my display

Cherished Thanksgiving gifts, to make my heart beat

Now I’m looking forward to my cousin delivering the treats

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Dec 2019

Thanks For Giving

Thanks for being there

Receiving my poems through the air

Thanks for reading my humble words

Understanding my journey with ‘our’ bluebird

 

Sometimes I am an introvert

But inwardly I am a flirt

 

Thanks for your comments, all so kind

Soothing my self-conscious mind

Thanks for appreciating the songs

Tunes from my soul, I’ll be playing lifelong

Thanks for the hugs and kisses

Caressing my heart with rivers of bliss

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Nov 2019

 

That Drumming Sound

When you hit the ground

After your head has been bounced around

You will again hear that drumming sound

Rhythmical, thump, thump, pound

And your waterlogged boots are lower bound

 

Do they send you off, when you’re on the mound

Do they think you’re faking it, like a clown

One day they will notice, you cry and frown

And throw you a lifeboat, before you drown

But, those waterlogged boots are holding you down

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Nov 2019

Blinded by The Bight

Blinded By The Bight

 

With my eyes shut tight

I felt a blue shark bite

Angrily into my neck

How did he arrive on this deck

Floundering, covered in watery oil

His sad crimson eyes on the boil

The society’s outcast, washed ashore

A native ejection, from offshore bores

Hanging there, in our Great Australian Bight

And jointly, we’re sharing similar pains tonight

Both, corporate debris, lost and out of sight

He has dry landed, I am a broken kite

 

“Puppets”,  lyrics by Leonard Cohen

German puppets burned the Jews
Jewish puppets did not choose
Puppet vultures eat the dead
Puppet corpses they are fed
Puppet winds and puppet waves
Puppet sailors in their graves
Puppet flower, puppet stem
Puppet time dismantles them
Puppet me and puppet you
Puppet German
Puppet Jew

Puppet Presidents command
Puppet troops to burn the land
Puppet fire, puppet flames
Feed on all the puppet names
Puppet lovers in their bliss
Turn away from all of this
Puppet reader shakes his head
Takes his puppet wife to bed
Puppet me and puppet you
Puppet German, puppet Jew

Puppet Presidents command
Puppet troops to burn the land
Puppet fire, puppet flames
Feed on all the puppet names
Puppet night comes down to play
The after act to puppet day

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Nov 2019

Tonight, I Hear A Light

Tonight, I Hear A Light

 

From his tower of song

The teacher heralds his story

Thought provoking and foreboding

His words, are wise and profound

Almost a lullaby to your inner child

Or shaking your soul, almost to death

Recognising the ancient past

Honouring a vaccinated future

In a world that has been torn

His personal eulogy, is solemn but not forlorn

My heart will keep living the romance

Thank you for the dance

 

 “It’s Torn”  Lyrics, by Leonard Cohen

I see you in windows that open so wide
There’s nothing beyond them and no one inside
You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
The salt on your shoulders like sparks in the air
There’s silt on your ankles and sand on your feet
The river too shallow, the ocean too deep
You smile at your suffering, the sweetest reprieve
Why did you leave us, why did you leave

You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
It’s torn where you’re dancing, it’s torn everywhere
It’s torn on the right and it’s torn on the left
It’s torn in the centre which few can accept

It’s torn where there’s beauty, it’s torn where there’s death
It’s torn where there’s mercy but torn somewhat less
It’s torn in the highest from kingdom to crown
The messages fly but the network is down
Bruised at the shoulder and cut at the wrist
The sea rushes home to its thimble of mist
The opposites falter, the spirals reverse
And Eve must re-enter the sleep of her birth
And up through the system the worlds are withdrawn
From every dominion the mind stood upon
And now that it’s over and now that it’s done
The name has no number, not even the one

Come gather the pieces all scattered and lost
The lie in what’s holy, the light in what’s not
The story’s been written the letter’s been sealed
You gave me a lily but now it’s a field

You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
It’s torn where you’re dancing, it’s torn everywhere

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Nov 2019