Am I silly or bold
To be out walking in the cold
Am I silly or bold
To not listen to what I am told
Am I silly or bold
To keep writing about Putin’s foolish goal
Am I silly or bold
To believe humanity will remove its blindfold
Ivor Steven (c) June 2022
This little piece is a poetic comment that I wrote in response to V.J. ‘s intriguing poem, ‘On the Edge of Too Late’ >> https://vjknutson.org/2022/06/02/on-the-edge-of-too-late/
Thank you V.J. for touching my nerve ends!!
That Endless Sound
I wonder about the edge
Over time, the dance has eluded me
Between giddily spinning in circles
And my inevitable stumbles
Life has left me spiraling
Without, an ending sound
Ivor Steven (c) June 2022
Here I am in this ancient town
Climbing the local Snowy Mountains
Standing in the world’s greenest paddock
Flying my yellow and blue kite
On the thinnest of worn threads
My kite is soaring higher and higher
Toward the bold clouds, thick and soft
Where pristine snowflakes abound
All bright and shiny white
Smooth enough to ride my silver bike on
Peddle my way over today’s slippery black-ice
And splash through the heights of tomorrow
Ivor Steven (c) May 2022
End Of Day
I was told by a crafty old toad
That my journey was a “No through road”
But he did not say, “The wrong way”
Nor did he infer, “No way”
So, I kept traveling that way
Along my lonely causeway
Towards the end of day
To be farther away
From a world in decay
Ivor Steven © May 2022
I look
upwards
there
on spiraling
warm air
a white petal
fluttering
like a dove
between
here and heaven
hovering
on a cloud of love
there
waving
from above
my angel
forever
faithful
I wave
“oh, my love,
aren’t you tired yet?”
Ivor Steven (c) May 2022
A special poem I wrote, after I’d taken my Lady to hospital for the last time, on the day of her 65th birthday. ten years ago. Hello Carole, and I wonder if you still wonder that I wonder, wishing upon your celestial star…….
Under The Snow.
We emanate to a birthday.
We deflate to a final day.
Birthdays, they all come, they all go.
Birthdays, in the sunshine, under the snow.
Birthdays, slow to mature, quickly an aeon.
Birthdays, before we are born, after we are gone.
Birthdays, hanging on by a breath.
Birthdays, nailed to a cross ’til death.
What’s it all mean to be alive and cry.
What’s it all mean to live and to die.
Ivor Steven. (c) May 2022
Horses, Lizards, and Hummingbird Cake
Dreaming
With eyes wide open
I rejoice
Beyond, earth, sky,
Moon, sun, and stars
Here today
With eyes open wider
I rejoice
In my surroundings
Dogs, horses,
Lizards, and birds
With eyes smiling
I rejoice
In life’s foolish moments
Chocolates, coffee,
And a hummingbird cake
Ivor Steven (c) May 4th 2022
Hello dear readers and followers, as you may know, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “Life is a Bowl of Fudge”, is in this weeks edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … please click on the link below to read my poem, at Coffee House Writers >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/life-is-a-bowl-of-fudge/
Ivor Steven (c) May 3rd 2022
Walking in the rain
Wearing water-logged boots
I am dodging millipedes
And hopping over puddles
With the footpath crickets
I see a universe above the sky
As the liquid clouds
Drop their weight
Upon my empty hands
Filling them with verses
Of memories and rhymes
Ivor Steven (c) April 2022
I wrote this poem while I was on a Pacific cruise to the New Calendonian Islands, in April 2018. We only had one rough day, but that managed to influence me enough, to pen this dreamy piece that night …
Rolling On By
I am swishing and swirling
splashing and crashing
up and down
I am thrown aground
stumbling around
swaying under her calming horizon
she soothes my rough landing
caresses my awakening eyes
dazed, I knowingly smile
and watch her wings wave goodbye
Ivor Steven (c) April 2018
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 