Sunday, February 17, 2019

The Battle Rages On

religious words have so much to say,
yet war ‘n’ hate don’t go away,
take the words, and mix them up,
a load of bullshit, is all you've got.

so many killed, so many died,
ask the question, there’s no reason why,
don’t talk to me of love for my fella man,
you use the faith and don’t give a damn.

living in fear, is all we got,
it’s all about, who gets the final shot,
don’t ask me to understand,
you are a killing field, killing every man.

there is no reason, for what you do,
be serious, i’m human, just like you,
annihilation is what you seek,
vestal virgins, need to stand and speak.

you speak of death, and kill them all,
watch the mighty fall,
no one wins, yet the war goes on,
there is no road to glory,
the battle rages on!

Author Steve Boddey

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Paint a Picture

In my head I paint a picture
Of what I see in you,
Watch you grow from childhood.
Watched everything you do.
In my head I paint a picture,
I see it in my mind
I have to paint the pictures,
From birth I have been blind.

Whitesnakes do it better ........Always

Welcome to tuesday-platform

Sunday, February 10, 2019

Domestic Abuse

Abuse comes in basically 3 forms, Physical, Verbal and Mental. I think mental abuse is the worst of the 3. Broken bones mend, bruises fade, threats and choice words can be forgiven however all of these are never forgotten. Something said or done, a particular smell, a gut feeling, seeing the signs happening to someone else. These are some triggers to bringing the fears of ten or twenty years ago.

If you think women are the only sufferers you would be wrong, men, women, and sadly children can be victims. Two poems for Poetry Pantry

Her thoughts were her own
On the hospital bed,
Echoing words,
Of the things that he said
Control and cage you,
Break your soul to the core,
Say that he loves you,
Call you a scrub and a whore.

Her husband beside her,
Took his eyes from his book,
“Tidy your face girl.”
“You make me feel crook.”
It was then the door opened,
And there stood a man,
Who moved straight towards her,
And held out his hand.

The husband got angry,
And picked up his chair,
He threw it towards him,
But the man wasn't there.
Her husband's last memory,
Was the pain in his head,
The ache of ribs broken,
He’d wished he was dead.

Returned to the room,
She had tears in her eyes,
The man asked her no questions,
What-ifs and no whys.
He just held her hand,
As it shook and did shake,
He kissed it so gently,
No pain did it make.

For the rest of her time there,
He sat by her bed,
Telling her stories,
Of things they had said.
She swore then and there,
That never again,
Would a man ever control,
Or drive her insane.

By Steve Boddey

The blood was not his,
As he looked at his hand,
He just watched the child crying,
This despicable man.

No mother for comfort,
A child with no friend,
No brothers or sisters,
Want the beating to end.

Yelling and screaming,
Yet the child remain still,
Doing whatever,
Was this mans will.

A good hearted woman,
Passed by there one day,
She stared at the child,
Who had nothing to say?

The black marks and the bruises,
That is what she did see,
She told the poor child,
That has happened to me

The man was outraged
When he saw her stand there,
Mind your own business,
What do you care?

She pulled out a pistol,
And he heard the gun click,
He fell to his knees,
Feeling quite sick.

The squad car arrived,
Heard the things he had done,
This good hearted woman,
Came back for her son.

Author Steve Boddey

Share you creativity with Poetry Pantry

Monday, February 4, 2019

Children's Hour Poetry

Childhood Dream
Between the dark and the daylight
When the night is beginning to lower
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations
That is known as the Children’s Hour
All fed from the table,
Given such wondrous treats,
Washed really clean,
And smelling so sweet.
Giggling and laughter,
As bedtime draws near,
Awaiting  father's story,
Of adventure and fear.
Children sitting with their cocoa,
Father sits in his chair,
He begins a new story,
The children all stare.
Mother comes to join them,
Her chores now all done,
They all sit together
All listening as one.

Father, does all the voices,
As the adventure pours out,
Running and chasing,
Even romance is about!
Alas there is always,
An end to this time,
Off to our beds,
To rythmn and rhyme.
I look back at these times,
All the troubles and strife,
It was the magical stories,
The best time of my life!

Whitesnakes do it better ..............when the children smile

Poetry Pantry for all poets.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Otago University - James Bond is a Drunk

You could only find this kind of crap in our education system. James Bond is a Drunk Otago University researchers have spent their time to conclude that 007 drank heavily over 6 decades. This dribble of wasted time and effort was published in the Medical Journal of Australia (Christmas Addition).

We all know (well those of us with a working brain) that James Bond is a fictitious character and the adventures he has are from a fantasy world, yet the attention seekers of the world have taken it upon themselves to now want James Bond to be put into rehab or banned as his behaviour encourages the rest of us to follow in his footsteps.

I have a collection of 20 James Bond movies and have watched them all numerous times. I have NOT ONCE, had the urge to even try a vodka martini (shaken not stirred) I also have yet to try expensive scotch, bollinger, gin etc nor have I had any inclination to do any other of the activities as stated in the article.
Honestly, have the researchers at New Zealands Otago University got nothing more important things to research.
James Bond is not REAL he doesn't exist, he is a made up person, none of the drinking and his actions actually happened.

No wonder the next generation is fucked.

Steve Boddey


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