Monday, 21 August 2017

That Day





That Day, started like any other day. The sun came up, I had a coffee, we argued about money and I went to work.
That Day, progressed like any other day. I worried about our life, our home, our family and how I was going to apologise to you for my faults.
That Day, was just a normal day. I knew what I would say when I got home. I had organized in my mind where I would get the flowers and what colours they would be.
That Day, I realized that I hadn’t told you how much I had loved you in a long, long time.
That Day, I thought of all the petty arguments that I had with folks, both close and far from me.
That Day, I tried to work out how to be a happier person, how to have more time for people.
That Day, I decided to put things right with friends and family.
That Day, I stepped off the bus and didn’t see the car. 


bobby stevenson 2017

Thursday, 17 August 2017

The Hearts of Dying Stars


There was a moon that night,
That shook my comfortable existence
On this little Earth
And as I looked at the stars
I almost lost my breath
When I remembered what great men had said
That I was made from the hearts of dying stars
All of me was not from here, but belonged out there
And as I closed my eyes
I realised that those twinkling lights
Were not just heavenly bodies
But like an ageing photograph
Were the ghosts of my family
Long since gone.

bobby stevenson 2017

Friday, 4 August 2017

Has Anyone Seen My Heart?




Has anyone seen my heart?
All I did was turn to pick up that drink,
And it was gone.
I left it on the table, only for a second.
I swear.
When I was young, I used to wear it on my sleeve,
That way I knew where it was,
But some of the children at school stole it and used it as a football,
It was kicked and bruised when I got it back.
It always was.
When I was older, I kept it in dark places,
In desks and drawers,
For safe keeping, you understand.
But nothing really grows unless it gets rain and sunshine.
My family would sometimes find it, and ashamed
I would dust it off and take it back.
And for the longest of days, I even forgot it was there,
It was easier that way.  
It was stolen a few times, and, once or twice, given away by me
To the wrong people.
So, I keep it close, these days,
Close to my chest.
If you happen to see my heart,
Tell it, I’m sorry I lost it,
And that I’m standing right here,
Waiting.  

bobby stevenson 2017
Photo: http://ceejay8887.deviantart.com/art/The-Hidden-Heart-88786994

Thursday, 3 August 2017

Have a Great, Great Day




It's Thursday and no matter how hard you fought it, you woke up,
Some people won't and wanted to, just to put things right,
You can read, just as you're doing now,
Some people can't and would love to with all their hearts,
You can work a computer, a pad, a phone,
Some people have never seen one,
You're on your way to somewhere,
Many people have no where to go,
It might be thursday and even 'though you may not think so,
You are already blessed in many ways.
Have a great, great day.


bobby stevenson 2017

Dreamworld



There was a time, perhaps it would be more correct to say once upon a time, back in your day, when science was only starting out – when life hadn’t even begun to be understood. That was in the days when the human race thought that sleep was to nurture, and to cleanse the human mind. We knew little then of what the universe was – even calling it a universe showed how little we knew – but like all things, truth and clarity took their time (if you’ll pardon the pun).

Back then folks thought that when you fell asleep, your brain went into a temporary hibernation, when dreams and fears were polished and shined in readiness for the morning.

Now we know the truth.

When we sleep we leave this ‘universe’ and head to one of the many others where we have different lives, other truths, other loves. Some of those destinations are foreign to what we know, just as some are only minutely different. Still, in your dreams, you notice the difference, notice what is not quite right.

When you fall asleep at night – as you must – there is no one to help you, no one can follow you, you are alone. We are all alone. There is no one to pull you from that hole which will take you into another reality. When you go there – you must survive as best you can.

It was Doctor Edith Stewart, who was the first ‘sleep astronaut’ – it was she who found a method to catapult herself outside of dreaming into these other layers of reality, and to return. It was Dr Stewart who found that when we die (as it was once known) it was only the door closing on this reality and in turn, we were forbidden to travel back. That is why many people ‘died’ in their sleep – the door was closed to them while they were elsewhere.

But there are more than just benign creatures out there, more than just friendly ghosts inhabiting the other worlds. The nightmares that we have as children, are truly there. Waiting. Hoping we will return. And still we fight and claw our way back to this reality for a few more hours.

In the old days, in your time, folks would wish one another a ‘good night’ – how little they knew. It is much wiser to wish your loved one ‘all the very best of luck’, for as soon as they are asleep, they will be on their own in worlds where nothing is real and on journeys from which they may never return.Sleep well, travel well. Come home.

There is no one to call on for help, out there – remember that.


bobby stevenson 2017

Wednesday, 2 August 2017

The Birdman



It never started out as a plan, or even as a dream. It was simply an idea. Perhaps that’s where all dreams start.

He had kept birds since he was knee-high to a pelican’s leg; and all his life he had understood them and they, him.  It was probably a love affair, if that isn’t being too weird. Like most of humanity, he wasn’t the greatest of souls, or even the worst. He just did what was required.

We all land on this life with handicaps of one sort or another, some of us throw the dice right away, and others wait a lifetime to throw a six. Some never even get to start the game. It is always in someone else’s hands – or so it seems.

The one thing he couldn’t understand was bullying. Not that he was comfortable with wars either. But there was nothing to be gained by bullying a child, or an adult, or a teacher, or doctor or whomever; it probably just made the bully feel better – but at what a cost? It was all too expensive and tragic.

His brother had taken his own life when he was only 9 years of age – he had been a boy who had never been able to speak properly since he had been hit by a car. This had caused the great and the good in his brother’s class at school, to make their miserable little lives seem better by picking on a kid with a speech impediment. Bullies were, and are, cowards.  That has been true since the start of time.

When he got his first bird, he named it Jethro, after his little brother who had flown off to be in a better place. The boy always watched out for the weak, who were picked on by the big brave bullies. He would intervene when he could, and sometimes folks would ask him to help on their behalf.  It isn’t hard to punish a bully, for they are without doubt the lowest form of life. That was what he thought anyway.

It soon became known that the boy who stopped bullying liked to keep birds, and each of the children (and adults) who he had helped started to bring him birds as a thank you.

A small cage became a larger one, and then it was soon the size of a room. Within a year he had built an aviary to keep the hundreds of birds that reflected all those people he had helped. Hundreds of souls thankful for a heart that stood up to bullies.

The trouble was, there was an endless supply of bullies and an even bigger number of victims. He spent so long on other peoples’ problems, that he forgot the golden rule, and that was to make sure he was okay himself.  He never once thought about himself.

The day his heart stopped, was the day he got his first and final rest. That was when it happened – all the birds, representing all the souls he had healed along the way, picked the man up (for he was no longer a boy) and flew him off to where he could have the big sleep.

Okay, there were still bullies around after he had gone, but more and more people began to find strength in what he had done, and they stood up for themselves, and each other against the cowards.

And as for our friend? Well he was flown to be with Jethro once more.

bobby stevenson 2017

Thursday, 20 July 2017

The Last Person on Earth


He ate his tin of beans and gently thought about things. Was life an exciting adventure, or was it, in all truth, just a lot of crap? He certainly wouldn’t be doing it again, that was for sure – assuming that you could do it again.

He had been on his own for the longest of times. He had been pot-holing in a very deep hole in the ground when it had happened. The war, followed by the floods due to all the dams and waterworks that had no one to look after them. 

He believed at first, that there could have been more pot-holers who had survived that fateful day and that he would eventually run into them.

The nearest thing he’d seen to a living person was a shark which had swum past the building he was now in – but that had been a long time ago. Since then, nothing and no one.

He would go down to the ground when he needed more cans – he would try to drink out of bottles found in stores, rather than use the rain water. Yet what was he being precious about? The water could only kill him, and he was going to go eventually.

He’d organised a soccer world cup in the last few weeks – where he, naturally, played in every team. So far, the first semi-final was between Kazakhstan and Barbados – that’s just the way it had worked out. He originally had three footballs and two of them had been kicked over the edge in his excitement. The footballs had disappeared by the time he had gotten to the jungle floor below. 

He imagined they had been stolen by a group of pygmies who had survived the war. He always imagined others to talk to, or even just to see now and again.
The loneliness was killing him – probably, literally.

He had long since realised that as he was possibly the only living thing in the world, then what he liked, and what he disliked, would represent the rest of humanity. All those millennia of genius – Shakespeare, Einstein, Plato, Newton…. well you get the picture - and yet it was only the tastes and knowledge of one, Johnny Cribs that would be remembered if any aliens arrived.

He had decided that the Monty Python theme tune – The Liberty Bell – would be the World’s Anthem. He decreed, that no one was to ever read a Dan Brown book as long as Johnny Cribs was President of the entire planet.

On Wednesday mornings, Black Sabbath was to be played in every home and at the stroke of midday, Rammstein, the band, was the order of the day, afterwards.

Just like in the book, 1984, James Blunt (not that he was in the book, just the principle of the thing) was to be struck from all records – James Blunt never had, nor ever would exist.

In the early days, he had walked as far as the national stadium – much of it had fallen down or had been washed away – but as far as Cribs was concerned his team had won the League and the Cup for the last five years – and dared anyone to argue with him.

He had saved some books from a large bookstore which had once stood on a corner nearby. He hadn’t got around to reading anything – in fact, he was using some of the books to sit on. He had (and he didn’t want to appear like a Nazi) but had burned some of them to keep warm. The rest he’d keep for the later years.

There was no electricity – not since the war. He had stayed alive by eaten from tin cans – or aluminium – or whatever the hell it was. Mostly beans. Always gave him indigestion.  

He had plans that once the soccer world cup was finished, he would start a ‘This Roof Has Talent’ competition – where he would play all the talent and the judges. He decided he would play Simon Cowell as a decent and reasonable human being – because Johnny thought that would have annoyed him.

Before the world cup, he had the whole roof (him) involved in Big Brother – he had voted himself out on every occasion.

And that is when it struck, Johnny – in the good old days, he hadn’t actually noticed the world  – he had been too busy on his phone, his pad, his computer and his television to see it.

Now it was too late.

Still he had the other soccer semi-final to look forward to:  Ireland versus Hawaii (he was sure he had heard that Hawaii was a country on a tv quiz programme).  

One day, someone would come. Until then.....

bobby stevenson 2017.
Painting by Ivo VanDeGrift

Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Life in a Small Place


There was a story told once, about a man who only had one wish, and that was to stand in the middle of a small village. The man wore a suit as he felt it reflected respect and it would keep him warm or cool depending on the weather.

The man chose the very centre of the village, and there he marked a cross. He had one last drink and one last sandwich and then he stood very still in the middle of it all.

An old lady passed him first and wondered if perhaps he could help her carry her goods home. When the man did not react, the woman ‘tutted’ and then walked away.

A man from the parish council passed by and asked the still man if he had permission to stand in such a way. Had he asked the parish council? When the man didn’t answer, the parish councillor made a note to bring the man up at the next meeting.

One young artistic lady, felt that the man was making a political point by showing the futility of life by standing in such a manner. She kissed him on the cheek, then hurried to catch her train.

A small boy and his mother wondered if perhaps the gentleman was only a model and that although life-like, was available to be kicked and hit. This is what they did.

A group of teenagers wondered if the man was crazy and decided to pour some cola over him – and who, by the way didn’t react – so the kids grew bored and moved on.

That night several of the villagers sat outside the pub and discussed the merits of what the man was doing. Some wondered if he was a serial-killer, who would slit all their throats in their sleep. One thought it might be for a bet – but it would have to be a large bet, at that.

One woman felt that maybe the man just wanted to stand in the middle of a village and that was okay by her.

The moral of the story is this, whether you do something you believe to be positive, or negative, or even do nothing at all – in a small village everyone has an opinion on what you do.
Be happy. 

bobby stevenson 2017