Category: Music

A Picture Story

Every picture tells a story

I will not show the bloody war pictures

No need to add to the gruesome tale

Everybody knows the score

Our leaders know, how many were lost at war

Instead, I’ve a different photo, of a tablecloth

A wedding gift of my parents

Now my family heirloom

Aged over seventy years old

Embroidered Peacocks on fine linen

I wonder how often the tablecloth has been used

Not as many times as nuclear bombs have been fused

How many people have sat around the tablecloth and eaten

Not as many people as the war’s have maimed and beaten

Ask world politicians and know-all dictators

They’ll all know the forgotten bloody score

That’s my enduring tablecloth picture story

Same old hidden facts of hell and rancid glory

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

Day Lily And Love

Hello readers, I’m posting a poem I wrote last year, about my lovely Day Lily, which is actually a former plant of my father’s, so really I’ve lovingly inherited the flower, and I’m always pleased to see it bloom. I’m not sure why, but it’s flowering 4 weeks earlier than last year.

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.

Walk The Walk

In response to The Weekly Photo Prompt, this weeks prompt is: Walking

I’m on a walking program to get fit for my trip to New York at the end of April. I’ve joined a walking group, via WordPress, the other members live in America, we call ourselves the “Turbo Snails”, and I’ve installed a “step counter app”, on my phone. The aim of the group is to walk every day, and record how many steps we have done, and gradually increase the steps per day, over a weekly period. My first two weeks(almost) have been steady and my progress seems to be increasing. I shall take my chart to my physiotherapist on Monday. The main priority, is for me to consistently undertake the daily walk, and naturally the step count will increase over time. As wobbly as I am, the first two weeks has been a pleasant success, in the context of my progress made so far !! , a total of 27,530 steps…. and on January 1st, that amount seemed an impossible target… I was then struggling to step out of the house…

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Ivor Steven (c)  2019

The Green Witch’s Old Broom

My locked bubble is about to go boom

Too long I’ve been a stranger in my own tomb

Under a concrete lid, hiding my gloom

Where my world was a Hades of doom

 

Now these walls are my life-giving womb

Being reborn as a smiling used groom

I’m breaking out of my master bedroom

Escaping on the green witch’s old broom

 

Flying to the distant land in springtime bloom

Where I won’t have to wear my mask and costume

Discarding my orange Kaftan from Khartoum

I’ll invade the big apple’s newsrooms, to broadcast my poetry heirlooms

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Don’t Ask Me Why

Hi dear readers, I’ve found this old poem in my folder of poetry called “Love And Reflection”. I’ve changed a few words, so the poem is in the present tense, but basically the words are in the same format. I’ve had it hidden away for a while, the poem is quite personal and emotional for me, I hope you enjoy reading my words from 6 years ago.

Don’t Ask Me Why

 

Unknowingly, I often dream of her serene ashen face

Years ago, I gently held her frailty in my tired arms

Softly I whispered to her, my last words of love and grace

Don’t ask me why, I count the moons since I missed her charms

Because I cannot give you a sensible or plausible answer

Don’t ask me why, I count the stars since I lost my way

Because I’m unable to fathom the depths of my inner cancer

Don’t ask me why, I count my every heart beat, since she died that day

Because now, I’ve nearly recovered

And somehow, life has been steadily rediscovered

Remembering, she’ll never ever go away

Knowing someday, I’ll be allowed to stay

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Yorkie And Me

Yorkie’s staring at me vacantly

Like I’m a strange tattooed bikie

Sitting on him, me anxiously crying away

Why am I crying, he quietly says

Looking at me with those big silver eyes

Pondering whether he’s hurting me

Is the ride too much pain

Is all the walking a physical drain

No !! None of that I exclaim, crying tears again

I’m crying wondering, if I’ll ever get there

Crying, because I cannot wait to be there

Crying with embarrassment, for the tears I’ll shed when I’m there

Suddenly, Yorkie barks out at me

Oh Ivor, keep pedalling, toughen-up and and you’ll arrive

Yes, me and my companion Yorkie, have become friends.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

A Bike To New York

Come rain hail or shine

I’ll be ready for that Qantas Airline

Now I’ll always have time

To appear like I’m in my prime

I’ve a second-hand new toy

That’ll bring me pain and joy

Donated by a kind friend

Helping me get back on the mend

I’m fortunate and high as a purple kite

Under my verandah, I’ve a new silver bike

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Lunch For Jiminy Cricket

I’m no Jiminy Cricket

Nor the flighty Tinkerbell

I’m far older than yesterday’s tadpole

And quieter than last night’s old frog

Time for me to venture out

Take a step into the unknown

Hobbling, I board the bus

Heading off to the local eateries

Slowly limping from stop to shops

Resting on a cafe bench seat

With soft and comfy cushions

I’m definitely not moving quickly

Unlike the “Canteen” master chef

Scrambled eggs I’ll have

My choice is delicious

Cooked to perfection

A come-back-to luncheon

For me, and for them

And I’m favourably surprised

My outing went better than expected

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019