Author: ivor20

My courtyards bathed in morning sunshine.

I’m caringly watering various pot-plants.

Leisurely spraying droplets upon natures greenery.

Cacti and Succulents adorn rough timber shelves.

Previously Mum’s desert treasures.

She adored their smooth pastel hues.

Nurturing them like they were babies.

And now, I do too.

Living reflections of her love.

Reigning over us from above.

Below a sage bush, the tiny flower’s a mauve colour.

Rescued from the old homestead, Tullawalla.

Also saved were Dad’s gorgeous orchids,

And his stunning Day-lily, a vivid ruby-red.

Wind-bells chiming, I’m visualizing Dad walking by.

Wearing that Aussie Akubra shading his head.

The tomatoe Rapunzel climbs up high.

Bearing cherry-like fruit a plenty.

Entwining a Bougainvillea vine’s winding tall.

Purple flowers colourfully named Jazzi.

My favourite Geranium’s in full bloom.

The deepest dark red you’ll ever see.

Groomed from a small cutting, a glorious find.

Osteospermum, a yellow like daisy, looks divine.

Standing beside a hardy savivor, Limonium Blue.

Pots of natural herbs of onion and garlic chives.

And the strongly aromatic Lip Balm Monarda.

Overlooking the scenic array, Dad’s hanging basket.

A Drooping Violet soaking in moistening dew.

Our wedding flower, a memento of you.

Dad’s Hanging Basket Plant, a Drooping Violet, ah yes, he knew..

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Everyone is Welcome., Join in via Danica.   https://danicapiche.com/2018/03/02/welcome-to-your-song-a-community-collaboration/

For the readers that know me, they’ll be saying, “Of course Ivor will be writing about Leonard Cohen as his favourite singer/songwriter”. And that’s so true. I’ve actually never written an article about Leonard Cohen, and I’m feeling quite apprehensive about doing so. I’m thinking that what ever I try to say, will be totally inadequate to do justice to my  inspiration, my saviour, my source of solace through troubled times, and my soothsayer in everything that I try to achieve in my writings. The featured photo above is of my first two Vinyl LP’s by Leonard. On the right, “Songs Of Leonard Cohen” 1967, and on the left, the famous photo of Marianne on the cover of his second Album, “Songs From A Room” 1969. Marianne died 3 months before Leonard Cohen, and here is a piece of what he wrote to her just before she passed.   “our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.” * And below the return letter, that was published on The Leonard Cohen Facebook site, after he had passed, November 7th 2019.

*Wikipedia, Leonard Cohen.

And now I’m feeling quite emotional, and all my friends on WordPress will be saying, “Ivor will be crying now”, and yes, they’re right too. Best I move on to a few of my favourite songs(all his songs are my favourites), from his first LP, “One Of Us Cannot Be Wrong”

And I think it’s appropriate that I choose a song from his last Album, which was released only a month before Leonard passed at the age of 83, “You Want It Darker”, and the stand-out track for me is, “If I Didn’t Have Your Love”, the lyrics are superbly sublime.

There’s so much more I would like to write, but I’ll leave that up to the Biographers. I shall mention a favourite poem of mine, also written by Leonard late in his life, a reasonably long poem, but well worth the read, “Happens To The Heart” . https://www.leonardcohenfiles.com/happens.html    . In closing below is an article, also posted on The Leonard Cohen Facebook site, by his son Adam.   And a big thank you to Danica for giving me the opportunity/prompt to present a post about Leonard Cohen.

Head’s falling like an unpinned grenade.

Soon ready to explode.

Burying shrapnel pieces in corners of shade.

Scattered like broken retina globes.

Razor blades shredding memory lockets.

Slivered icicles inside blurry sockets.

Needles of pain.

Sheets of sleet before the rain.

Bloodied eyeball tracks like meteor trails.

And the pain numbing capsules do fail.

Oh please, blindly needing to set sail.

Upon swirling Oceans, like Homer’s tales.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Image: digitalartrocks 1.blogspot.com

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 daily plight.

Flailing and falling upon sleepless night.

Finally laying prone under my weighted crown.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Her last words were, “how can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause? Such a fine sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?”

Sagging like a half-broken branch

On a newly planted olive tree

In need of gentle husbandry

A new growth, a strong bud

To eventually replace thee

A younger twig for all to see

Alas, lack of nurturing stifled glee

And no fresh flowers for a honey-bee

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 6

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This week’s challenge is What is holding you back? 

From, calensariel, Impromptu, Promptlings.

The Invisible Me

I’m too soft and creamy, like melted chocolate.

Naive to a fault, until it’s too late.

Vulnerable, like a wafer and ice-cream in-between,

During a local hot day of one-hundred degrees.

Afraid of being visible to the vast unseen.

Confidence is scrambled, and of low esteem.

Drowning, like our worlds sick honey bees.

Choking on my words of melancholy and wanna be’s.

Crawling like a man cut-off below the knees.

Falling like a stone, and I’ve yet to set her free.

Far too trusting for these rough open seas.

And no idea of what, I want to do or be.

Scared of my own illiterate tendencies.

Wondering if a publisher would even read me.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

To all young hearts, bought and sold.

Broken, shattered, and made of gold.

Have you ever watched your love die.

Have you seen tears of sand in her eyes.

Did you ever feel her grasp let go.

Did you see her blood drain of flow.

To all you who pretend, reading here.

To all you who think, you know how and where.

Have you ever been in the death ambulance.

Have you held her hand without a glance.

Life happens like that, you see.

Happened to me, not a chance to plea.

I traveled often, with her and thee.

So many times, angels entered her grave.

How many times would she be so brave.

More than a dozen, through the heartache years.

Finally a thirteenth chariot, did fill, with tears and fears.

Ivor Steven (c) 2018.

Upon my pillow I sleep.

Good morning, I do peek.

From the cushion of my dreams.

A pads radiating beams.

Blushing red hues, oh so bright.

You bloom during the night.

After cuddling the dew.

You open up your scenic view.

Flowering, standing proud and steep.

Perfection at my feet.

A glorious Lily, like wings of a dove.

And by Day you air your love.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018.