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.

Cruising

Meet Donna, the gorgeous waitress who seems to know my drinking 🍻 habits already, and she makes sure that my fluid intake is maintained for this warm weather. Ivor meets Diana and her friends, and more poems are recited. Below some words from Leonard Cohen’s poem “All My News” from his book “Book Of Longing” 3. “Do not decode These cries of mine They are the road and not the sign Nor deconstruct my drugless high I’m sober but I like to fly Then quickened with my open talk You need not pick the ancient lock” His words seemed wonderfully appropriate as my holiday continues to blossom. 😊

Monday Cruising The Pacific

My 6.30am walk around the deck. Breathing the purity of the sea air. I’m completely in awe of mother nature’s vast blue carpet and sparkling white caps, and an endless horizon that encircles our voyage. Ivor being Ivor, I’ve met and chatted to lots of happy fellow passengers, and I’ve been reciting my poems to any willing to listen to my words. “there’s Ivor our Poet friend”.

Sunrise And Sailing

Sunday morning 1st April

Tit Bits #2

The apple I ate today was pure white

did I do wrong, or was I right

to have the adulterated bite

knowing all eyes have imperfect insight

It’s a crying shame

that dreams aren’t the same

who’s to blame

for this loveless game

please give us some hope

so we may live to cope

The cracks are dark holes

chasms to the soul

leaking emotions of old

needing warmth from the cold

We all have our worth

here on mother earth.

Yellow And Green

Yellow

There she silently stays

Baking under daily sun-rays

An old warriors chariot

Vehicle of love and riot

Deliverer of play and gain

Carrier of our angel in the rain

A working yellow submarine

Shipping friends and our queen

Transporting them all

Here and there, having a ball

Green

I’m green with envy

Overnight, mother natures been

Healing my poison ivy

A miracle potion unseen

Mosaics of Autumn leaves

A queens robe of gold and brown

Warm quilts from the trees

Nurturing globes in the ground

Tit Bits

Oh, how I do over stretch

then like a faithful dog

I return after the chase and fetch

balancing life on a rolling river log

I was waiting last year

waiting last month

waiting last week

waiting yesterday

I’m waiting again tonight

I might as well keep waiting

Wait for what I’ve been waiting for

To see a crack in the wall

to stop your fall

may you grow tall

as the light calls

Anger is danger

anger is not love

danger is heavy

danger is not love

love is respect

love is not crushing

Morning Starshine

Asleep, out of view

dawn blazes through

blinds me from above

piercing my dreams of love

uncovering lines between sheets

exposed to the morning beat

letters sprinkle upon my pillow

inking words over loose halo’s

Reflective pages and blotches

wooden posts and hollow notches

under cracked leggo blocks

narrow jargon and hidden plots

inside poems of mine

glazed with her starshine.

Mango Smoothie

I’m reading sacred scriptures

searching for her leftover pieces

I drank a mango smoothie instead

to feed my word starved head

I’m following the score

winners cheating on soft hearts

Demons covering the doors

and angels cannot reach the charts

I’m laying her on a massage table

listening to a sad amble

I prod her skin deep

Shoulders, down to her feet

I’m rubbing salve over her soul

cleansing her masking sheet

Revealing wounded sandholes

bruised upon a pebble beach

I’m a healer who’s lost

Gravitated by her sorrow

How do I catch a falling arrow

And mend her broken cross

Tina

I’ve got a friend for twelve days.

Her name is Tina

She’s thirteen doggie years old

No trouble at all

Enjoying her stay

Eating well

Made herself at home

Sleeping on my bed

Just A Call Away

Another poem from my archives, that I’ve tinkered with, and rehashed slightly. The poem was written years before Carole passed, so the wording is quite ambiguous and introverted, and I’ll leave it up to your imaginations.

Just A Call Away

Waiting, when is she to summon me.

Pondering what might have been.

Writing to one and all a finale.

Pen to paper, wanting her to see.

How I survived the Tasman Seas.

Secretly thinking I’m the chosen one.

Wondering if it’s a selfish sin.

To wear my second skin

Like a coat of tarnished tin