Am I afraid, or am I being slowly discouraged.
Dismayed by the emptiness of my beating heart.
Am I consumed, or am I being bodily starved.
Eaten by the cells of my inner sentiments.
Am I infatuated, or have I been possessed.
Devoured by the recess of my lonely soul.
Am I swimming after the impossible loveboat.
Drowning in the wake of a passing icebreaker.
Ivor Steven
Music Video: Provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group North America.
I know I’m far from perfect.
I make awful mistakes.
I know I’m overly loud.
I dominate and crowd.
I do have a big heart.
A soul so soft.
I do love to hold and to kiss.
To cuddle and caress.
I feel your reluctance.
Your barrier fence.
I feel like a fog over you.
Like the morning dew.
Will you ever need another.
Or love another.
Will you ever let me remain.
Or look for me again.
Ivor Steven.
My wounded Dragon, stands so proud.
Neck arching up, looking to the clouds.
Seeing graceful birds flying apart.
He feels a huge scar close to his heart.
My Dragon bows, and shakes his beastly head
But his enormous tail feels like lead.
Flapping one wing, then the other.
Dejected he looks, not even a hover.
Nostrils snorting, no sign of fire.
To fly again, his deepest desire.
From within I hear, gut-rumblings soar.
My Dragon angrily spews an almighty roar.
And his gigantic jaws open wide.
A bloodied tongue swishes his fangs side to side.
He swallows and belches another gruesome howl.
A flame bursts forth from his boughs.
My Dragon frantically begins to respire.
Again and again his exhales are afire.
And gyrating his heavy green tail.
He spreads his wings like full sails.
Frightened at first, fluttering end to end.
My jumbo sized reptile gradually ascends.
Twenty, then fifty, a hundred leagues above.
Suddenly flying, like a flock of beautiful doves.
Magically rolling and frolicking he flies.
Happily he shrieks and swoosh, rapidly down he dives.
Majestically gliding he arrives.
My Dragon, again King of the skies.
Ivor Steven.
My harpooned Dragon’s, fallen and out of breath.
Gazing around, pleading, near death.
The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.
And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.
Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.
Removing the spears horrid barb.
My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.
Eyes bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.
In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.
Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.
Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.
Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.
Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.
And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.
Green horns twitching, like a mythical serpentine.
Yellow eyes glowing, like magical sunshine.
My Dragon’s revived.
And ready to skydive.
Ivor Steven.
A monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.
Did arise from the gurgling mire.
Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.
Claws blackened, sharp as nails.
Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.
A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.
Nostrils ablaze, bloodied red.
Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.
My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.
Ivor Steven.
My Monster Story entry for this month’s Slasher Monster Magazine, please check the Magazine out, by blogging our wordpress site.
Those years have been and gone.
Since you’ve lived here, my lonely swan.
Sadly, I’ve existed through love again.
However, nothing like your passing’s pain.
And I’ve found I’ll never be the same.
Unveiled by life’s everyday falling rain.
Sometimes the heavy rains flood my very core.
Other-times the soft showers soothe my pores.
And as I once said.
Out of my wounded head.
“How many rivers of tears must we cry,
Before all the deepest wells run dry”.
Ivor Steven.
A special thanks to, ~M, Her Writing Haven, she’d just posted her first poem written many years ago, a writing full of feeling and emotion. So she’s managed to prompt me to post my first ever poem, from many many years ago, also full of feeling and emotion. Thanks again to, ~M….
I wake up,
Dreaming words of you.
Falling like the morning dew.
You’ve been resting tonight,
Under white sheets, out of sight.
Once, you were mine to hold,
But no more of being bold.
And no-one’s at fault,
Fate sent you a horrid jolt.
I lie here,
Dreaming words of you,
I hear the flick of your bedside light.
And you softly call my name
You smile at me, a sigh, a wave, Hi.
Hi, I smile at you and sigh.
Tears rolling down from your eyes.
I grimace, shielding my eyes,
Crying again tonight,
The same as last night.
Always, I’m here for you.
Always dreaming words of you.
Ivor Steven.
A dear friend of mine, and a wonderful singer/songwriter. These are the lyrics of his newest song.
Pakington street was the place we’d meet
when I was a younger man,
there used to be a rope factory, but now they call it The Strand.
not very far from Corio bay on the western side of town
the sky was blue and the wind was soft and the leaves were turning brown.
She was the girl with the honey blonde hair
with eyes so crystal bright,
I met her there on Pakington street on an April autumn night,
not very far from the place I lived on the western side of town,
when the sky was blue and the wind was soft
and the leaves were turning brown.
We used to share a drink or two and dance to the local bands,
She was my love, she was my life, she was my friend in hand
In my heart, I still feel the beat, I still see her dancing feet,
View original post 85 more words
Why is there always a dark side?
When the moon shines so bright
Who’s taking us on this blindfold ride?
While our reasoning is out of sight
Why is there always a silver lining
When the hazardous clouds are hovering so low
Who’s making the lower world enchanting?
While our malignant demons grow and grow
Why do we call them magic mushrooms?
When all they bring is gloom and doom
Who’s controlling this ageing Mother
While our pleading hands are hustled undercover
Ivor Steven.
Featured Image: Taken at Hollybank Nature Park, Tasmania, 17th April 2014.
I’m not very accomplished at writing about the problems of the world, I get far too angry and confused to write something sensible, but this poem is totally inspired by two of Tom Waits songs/words, “Make It Rain” and “Satisfied”.
The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed.
All the violence of the worlds inside my head.
The killing and maiming of all the innocents who fled.
What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered.
When the peoples of all religions and creed are dead.
And we can’t return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.
I’m afraid.
The backyard stairway is far too steep to climb.
The hand rails are way out of reach to find.
And the public change-room windows are covered with bars.
Now encircling the city hall, the security backdoor is ajar.
Entering the marble aisle, the White-room appears vacant.
And guileful leaders have run, leaving a chasm of gloomy dark.
I’m wandering.
Where to go, the healing house is full of ugly holes.
The citizens cowering in shadows behind splintered lighting poles.
And the crumbling streets are awash with rivers of leftover blood.
Now the warring bosses have to fight amongst themselves.
Throwing poison pens and paper darts at each other.
Never bruised nor battered, using ivory towers as cover.
I’m terrified.
The dusty mushroom cloud, slowly settles on the barren ground.
With the sands of distant lands, shifting into every nook and cranny.
We need the good Doctor, to help us cure these alien scourges.
And foreigners arriving upon waves of our neighbouring seas.
The deathly TV images, wrongly implanted for all to see.
As the Press only gossip and drivel with selfish glee.
I’m stupified.
The guns of freedom lands, haven’t even stopped the cull.
Death to friends or foe, no matter, to rulers from above.
Their only rules, the poor and weak to be kept totally down trodden.
One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt.
And the rich will feast upon their own contaminated bread.
And we’ll never return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.
Ivor Steven.
Featured Image: Source, Wikipedia, mushroom cloud over Nagasaki, August 9th 1945…
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 