On my way to Geelong Hospital yesterday, to have my MRI scan, which wasn’t a good result for me, I took these curious and interesting street art photos in the CBD of Geelong. I’m posting this as part of CalmKate’s , Friday Foto Fun. Curiosity <<Click
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
How do you feel, my tired little sparrow
About removing more of your back marrow
They’re waving a pointy knife
What do they know, about your resurrected life
Hovering high above, Devastation Hill
Perched upon Noah’s lonely window sill
Your tiny wing looks broken, It’ll have to be reset
You’ll have to wait, to see who’s going to be your vet
How will you become stronger
Enabling you to, land and fly longer
The wall’s rose thorns, now appear deeper and sharper
Fragile and torn apart, your roaming, will now be harder
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Today has been one of those days
I’ve been out walking my relay
Listening to the sound of my shuffling feet
Scraping on cobblestones, of the hot city street
A tiredness overcame my body
Searching for the famous Doctor Peabody
I think I collapsed under a wall
The Great Wall Of China
The Berlin Wall
Israel’s Palestinian barricade
The Iron Curtain
Trump’s Mexican wave
Australia’s Rabbit Proof Fence
And my next door neighbour’s big brick wall
I was bulldozed by them all
In a barrel, jumping off Niagara Falls
I’m an arctic sperm whale, beached at Bondi
And the angler at a dry Buckley’s Falls pond
I’m a spawning salmon with no rapids to swim
Today’s battle I lost, on a whim
I’ve been nailed to yesterday’s, burnt out cross
I need a day of rest, to shake off the moss
There’s always a new tomorrow waiting
Yorkie will be there, patient and obeying
Walking shoes ready, at the end of my bed
A good night’s sleep, nothing more need be said
I thoroughly recommend, that you watch this haunting and moving movie, ” Rabbit Proof Fence”
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I’m still going with my theme of “Life As A Carer”, with old poems I’ve not posted, on WordPress, or anywhere else before . I hope as readers you don’t mind my indulgence with these pieces.
What’s The Song Called
What’s it called, tending to one for so long
Eternally battling on, right or wrong
The advocate, always trying to be so strong
Giving his very being, through every song
What’s it called, yearning for one to belong
Living beside a finality, from here to beyond
The partner, always trying to sing along
Wrenching at his inner soul, with every sad song
What’s it called, suffering for one so long
Patience wearing away, life seems an eon
The soloist, always crying, not so strong
Fearing his lost heart, until the last song
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I didn’t realise I had written so many of these sort of “life as a carer” poems, these were written years ago, when I was struggling with the process of coping…… Please do not over react, many years have gone by, I’m Ok these days. Hopefully my words may help other carers that maybe in a similar situation, and realise that they are not alone out there, with their thought and doubts
Intrusion
The process of being alive
Such an intrusion on going awry
The engagement of caring in life
Such an intrusion on living to get bye
The labour of toiling for pay
Such an intrusion on flying away
The dishonour of begging for more
Such an intrusion on failing to score
The exhaustion of continuing to care
Such an intrusion on needing to dare
The silence of the evening moon
Such an intrusion on hearing too soon
The explosion of morning sunlight
Such an intrusion on pleading for quiet
The disharmony of singing this song
Such an intrusion in sighing, so long
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Good morning readers( it’s morning somewhere), this is a piece I’ve not posted before, I wrote it 15 years ago, I’m leaving the poem in the original tense of when the words were written. the poem’s about Carole’s incredible nurses and carers who attended our house every day. I hope you enjoy the rawness of this early poem of mine.
Her Nightingales
The nightingales enter, our house feels raided
Unnerving every-time, our personal privacy invaded
Nightingales come and go, to and fro
A shuffling flock, some we don’t know
Drifting throughout our house, her nursing home
Tending to her endless needs, she’s never to be alone
Nightingales come and go, to and fro
They’ve showered her and they’ve been, today and tomorrow
Occupying our precious space, angels fluttering around
From the front door, to the back door, from silence to sound
Nightingales come and go, to an fro
They’ve fed her and they’ve seen, today and tomorrow
Permeating the air with chatter, brushing her red plume
Bedding her down, and leaving her lonely room
Nightingales come and go, to and fro
Comforting her and they’re between, today and tomorrow
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
The day here is very hot again, hot enough to fry an egg on my front window sill, 107’F, at midday !! I found this poem that I posted last year on February 25th, it must’ve been hot back then too. I hope you enjoy the re-run.
Gradually the dying moonlight awakened my dawn
And the baptizing sunrise watered my eyes
Drowning the working hours of my shallow day
Dampening fiery thoughts of playing in the hay
Dusk hazily shrouds my cemetery lawn
And the rituals of sunset beckon my evening plight
Flailing and falling upon sleepless night
Finally laying prone under my weighted crown
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
My tired voice is crying out, “there’s no time to wait !!”
Pleading, along with the world’s impatient majority
We need to hear the thunder, of peace bells ringing
Ringing to the crescendo of peace doves singing
The chimes are loud and clear
Loud enough for the universe to hear
Even through white marble walls
You’ll hear the thunder of the peace bell’s … call
We the people, from the planet’s four corners
Are united by our textiles woven together
We’ve attached our hands firmly to the bell pull
And tugging the pull cords, the thunder of the bells shall ring
We are gathering in every backyard
Every church hall
Every city street
Every farmers paddock
Every heavenly peace dove is escaping
You will see the doves flying high above
Even through the towers of tinted glass
You’ll see the peace doves … soar
Even through their white marble walls
They’ll hear the thunder of the peace bells … call
Even through their towers of tinted glass
They’ll hear the crescendo of the peace doves … call
Hear the thunder of peace bells ringing
Hear the crescendo of peace doves singing
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
How blue can our blue sky beam
Before the sun’s fireball burst at the seams
The day is hotter than a smith’s melting pot
During the heat did mother earth lose the plot
All her rainbows have vapourised and waved us goodbye
The hidden gold has been stolen by the lord of the flies
There’s a cloudless horizon, as far as eyes can see
Even too hot for the industrious garden bees
Yorkie stands square, with a blazing black seat
Not to be sat on, like a boiling iron roofing sheet
Time to give the roasting body a rest
Lie down with a cooling fan, blowing over the chest
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
We have had weeks of blue skies and summer sunshine down here in Geelong, and there’s lots more to come they say. I thought I’d repost this poem of mine from January last year, and for you northern hemisphere readers, maybe it’ll warm you up a bit
A Midday Sun
Have you ever looked up at a Midday Sun
Shining through the weeping forest canopies
A golden glowing furnace, that’s larger than life
Glaring down, from there above
Have you ever flown up to touch the Midday Sun
Travelling through that deep blue sky and beyond
A vortex of colour, reflections of rainbows
Cascading down, from there above
Have you ever been blinded by the Midday Sun
By that purity of brilliant white
Forcing your singed eyelids to shut tight
The Corona’s fiery circles intensely bright
An Angels alluring halo of silvery light
Enchanting to your mesmerized sight
Encapsulating a lovers first flight
And burning your heart’s delights
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 