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

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

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.

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

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

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

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

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

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

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

Heavy And Hollow, The Whitehouse Door

I’m too tired to continue

Carrying this Olympus torch

The flame is not staying alight

Under my sheltering porch

All I want to do

Is watch the birds

And selfishly forget

The hungry and dying herds

My bell has become too hollow

To ring against the war

Too heavy to lift

High above the floor

Too wide to pass

Through the Whitehouse door

Too noisy to tell

Humanity the real score

Soon we’ll all board the Ark

Row away from our shores

Fly our rescue flag aft

Explore the sky with Thor

Listen to the heavens

Hear the peace-bells last encore

Proudly ring the bells that still can ring

Chiming so loud, no-one can ignore

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

A Crescendo For Peace

Sounds of music, ring in my mind

Our hearts beat, to a slow drum

My soul hears the rhythm of life

I see angels playing a harp’s serenade

In harmony with the royal string quartet

Grand orchestra’s loudly join in

And choirs of the world are singing our song

Together, chiming the peace-bells of our time

Creating a crescendo of music, ringing in my mind

Ivor Steven (c) 2019