January 2019 – Page 3 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Yorkie And Me

Yorkie’s staring at me vacantly

Like I’m a strange tattooed bikie

Sitting on him, me anxiously crying away

Why am I crying, he quietly says

Looking at me with those big silver eyes

Pondering whether he’s hurting me

Is the ride too much pain

Is all the walking a physical drain

No !! None of that I exclaim, crying tears again

I’m crying wondering, if I’ll ever get there

Crying, because I cannot wait to be there

Crying with embarrassment, for the tears I’ll shed when I’m there

Suddenly, Yorkie barks out at me

Oh Ivor, keep pedalling, toughen-up and and you’ll arrive

Yes, me and my companion Yorkie, have become friends.

Yorkie, Against The Undertow

I’m pedalling my silver bike, called Yorkie

Pedalling slow and steady, out near my bar-bie

I’m not actually moving

But I am dreaming

Thinking of places I could be

Visualising what I might see

If I can keep pushing

I’ll end up with a Qantas cushion

I know the year is new and early

But I’m feeling unfit and unworldly

There’s a long way, for my body to go

There’s no turning back, despite the undertow

A Bike To New York

Come rain hail or shine

I’ll be ready for that Qantas Airline

Now I’ll always have time

To appear like I’m in my prime

I’ve a second-hand new toy

That’ll bring me pain and joy

Donated by a kind friend

Helping me get back on the mend

I’m fortunate and high as a purple kite

Under my verandah, I’ve a new silver bike

Lunch For Jiminy Cricket

I’m no Jiminy Cricket

Nor the flighty Tinkerbell

I’m far older than yesterday’s tadpole

And quieter than last night’s old frog

Time for me to venture out

Take a step into the unknown

Hobbling, I board the bus

Heading off to the local eateries

Slowly limping from stop to shops

Resting on a cafe bench seat

With soft and comfy cushions

I’m definitely not moving quickly

Unlike the “Canteen” master chef

Scrambled eggs I’ll have

My choice is delicious

Cooked to perfection

A come-back-to luncheon

For me, and for them

And I’m favourably surprised

My outing went better than expected

Hello dear readers, friends, and followers. I’ve been out of hospital 2 weeks now, and my progress is gradual and I’m quietly improving. However I’ve been keeping myself busy, in between nanna-naps, preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “The Healing House”, and all the poems were written during my 6 week stay in hospital, and of course along with the other 6 booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 7 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe Tullawalla, Waiting Time

And, Tullawalla, The Healing House

The booklet, Tullawalla, The Healing House, is a culmination, of writing poems under mental duress and physically very frustrating times. The poems represent a myriad of emotions and jumbled thoughts, of doom and gloom, uncertainties, comedy, and piece of optimism. Please enjoy the booklet that I am attaching here >> https://documentcloud.adobe.com/link/track?uri=urn%3Aaaid%3Ascds%3AUS%3A4ae7d436-945d-41cb-8303-598cf9cc16fb