An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart
Author: ivor20
G'day, and welcome to my blog site. My name is Ivor Steven, I live in Geelong, Australia. I'm an ex-industrial chemist, and a retired plumber, and a former Carer of my wife(Carole), for 30 years, who suffered from severe MS. I Write poetry about those personal thoughts, throughout and beyond my life as a Carer.
I've been blogging for over 2 years, and writing poems for 19 years. Of course a lot of my poems are about my favourite subject Carole, but since I've been blogging my writings have become quite varied, humourous, mystical, observational, and even a few monster/horror poems.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Wednesday Challenge is the word: Identity … To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here … My poem below is an appropriate and poignant response to the Prompt
I’ve been having computer problems for over a month and appropriately I have dug up this old poem and revised it … However, some good news today, my brother said that the computer is fixable and he has started the refurbishment process
Sunday: Ballarat’s Botanical Gardens & Lake Wendouree
It was time to visit the spectacular Botanical Gardens
With Frankie of course
The Picturesque Lake Wendouree
Frankie chats to the swan. Lawrie, Frankie, & me, sitting beside the Lake
Monday: Going back home to Geelong
Frankie’s happy in his car seat. The old Lal Lal Railway Station. The Lal Lal Falls Hotel
Frankie’s in his car seat. The historic Elaine Hotel. Elaine’s new Roadhouse Grocery Store.
The wind turbines near Elaine … but ironically, I’m running out of puff. It’s now 11.15pm Monday here in Geelong, and to produce this post has been a task on my little TV Computer … My desktop computer is back in Ballarat being repaired by my brother and the process could take a while …
My brother turned 71`and I turned 72 back in July, so this old Neil Young song seems appropriate for “Frankie’s Weekend”
Hello, dear readers and followers, as you might know I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at # 31, because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. But the booklet formats are a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems that I produce and as the saying goes “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, and they are called “Shangri La” which is the name of my little Villa, and is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. Incredibly, I now have a total of “1547” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! Click on >> HERE for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of “Shangri La, Volume 4. A Timeless Zone“
Hello dear readers and followers, I am now writing for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “Timeworn”, is in this week’s edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … To Read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/timeworn/
“Timeworn” … An interesting song by the French group ‘Wildpath’ to accompany my thought-provoking poem.
Hello dear readers, this weekend, I am going to Ballarat for my brother’s Birthday, and I’ll be taking my ‘Duck Muck’ computer box with me. Hopefully, my whizz brother will be able to repair it. So, that means I’ll be relatively quiet here on my ‘website’ until my errant computer is up and running again. Feature Images: The gorgeous photos of the horse wearing ‘a crown and necklace’ is reproduced here on my poetry site with the kind permission of Derrick Knight >>https://derrickjknight.com/2023/09/27/polishing-the-car/
Today I am presenting the‘Epilogue’ poem that will be appearing in my new book “Until Eyes Hear Sound”. and “My Cloudy Vision” is a poem I wrote in September 2018, and it will be the finale piece in the Book. Please Note: the photo attached below, is the proposed cover design for my new book “Until Eyes Hear Sound”, created by my niece Kerri Costello – Philadelphia.
Epilogue. My Cloudy Vision
I am trying to write myself a Mission Statement Feels like a speech I need to practice in the basement I have never been good at making speeches They are messy, like eating mushy peaches
When I first began writing poetry My main aim was to teach myself to read and write again Several years ago, I suffered a Stroke Times become tough, depression drowned this bloke
Poetry became a form of self-therapy I listened to music and inspirational lyrics Leonard Cohen’s songs were always playing I fervently keep writing
My life became centered inside a small sphere While also caring for my lovely wife, her MS was severe Writing was my retreat, a place of solace My world was narrow, I was skating on thin ice
Ten years ago, my wife did pass My heart turned to water on glass Then I heard Leonard singing again His music and words were not in vain
I resumed drafting my poems Grieving, words were sad and solemn Healing takes time Soulfully I wrote more rhyme
I joined local writers’ groups My words were out there, under readers boots On a prompt, I started a website six years ago My confidence grew, I came in from the snow
Wondering what my goal is, where do I go There are many answers, I do not know In the future, I believe a poetry book or two I have volumes of poems waiting in the queue
This is my story My life’s journey Of cloudy visions My words, my mission
Over at Weekly Prompts the Wednesday Challenge word is: Time . To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here … my poem “Anti-Rust” spans twenty-three years of “Time”…
Anti-Rust
Twenty-three years have gone
Since I suffered my first stroke
I remember being cold and scared
I awoke the next day in hospital
Feeling like my limbs were full of rust
And my confused mind
Was locked inside a sleepwalking man
Disorientated and not to be trusted
Twenty-three years on
And two more strokes later
My body is still full of rust
But with the wonders of modern medicine
And some plucky self determination
I have recovered my cognitive abilities
And with the aid of anti-rust drugs
I am active enough to type up my canny poems
The Rust, Sivert Hoyem . Lyrics
Twenty hours he is gone Another time she’s waiting for him When he comes home He’s in terrible state He’s just sitting there by the window With his hate
A rusty bathtub in the garden Seven cars are in the yard And only one that is running Life is spout??? in the wilderness But in his heart
It’s not a place for new beginnings Everything you make make just falls apart
Sometimes she thinks It’s the rust that eats the soul In the winter time the sky is burning Purple orange and gold
So one night like any other She takes her bags out to the car She passes a minute Then she starts down the road You can get anywhere On the full tank of fuel And on an empty heart
It’s not a place for new beginnings Everything you make just falls apart The house neglected and forbidden ??? ???
Just thinking about it breaks your heart ???? from the ceiling ??? burning stars So decay and the rust that eats the soul The winter sky burns eternally But people come and people go
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 