Category: Photos

Who’s Rowing My Boat in the Dark?

Am I in hibernation?

Or am I lacking inclination?

 

Am I awake and living?

Or just lying here dreaming?

 

Why do I dream so much?

Visions feel alive to touch

 

Half awake I scribble these notes

Half asleep, am I falsely afloat?

 

On my mystical Noah’s Ark

Have I the right to ask?

 

Who’s rowing my boat in the dark?

Is it her, my brave Joan of Ark?

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  August 2020

Reflections

Hello readers, this morning I’m attending an on-line seminar, via a ‘Zoom’ group link-up, of 10 people. The theme of the session is, “Explore writing as a tool for self reflection”. for many years now, I’ve been collecting my written thoughts and comments in my notebook files, and posting them on my site as “Tit Bits”, so in conjunction with my seminar (soon), I’m re-presenting “Tit Bit #15”, from Sept 2018….

“I’ve not written one these for a while, and I’ve enough of my comments stored in my Note-Book file to fill ‘War And Peace’ !! Thank you to all of my dear readers who comment on my writings, I am forever grateful, and may you all continue to inspire me to write these short poetry pieces about your marvellous posts.”

 

Tit Bits #15

 

I used to say, mum was the one

Dad was always there, daddy number one

Carole came along, she was my only one

They’re all gone, I was left with no-one

Myself has become an ultimate one

To you all, I cannot do without everyone

I love sharing my life

I love talking about my wife

Even though I’ve seen so much strife

She wouldn’t have it any other way

She graciously fought on, every day

My story will never explain her everlasting smile

My future is about trying for her, every mile

I know those old photo album feelings

Old memories and dusty dreams

Your heart might miss a beat

They’ll be tears at your feet

You’ll need a comfy seat

Bathe in the images, so sweet

Life’s rotation process is endless

Watermill wheels keep on turning

I’m writing on recycled paper

Word’s from my heart are countless

Morning birds sing, but do not see

By day, I’ll look like a flowering tree

By night, hear my wisdom howl

Like a lonely Tawny Frog-mouth Owl

Beware, there’s more

You’ll be shown the door

By the bolt of Thor

 

I’ve been inspired by my tour of yesterdays street art in Geelong, and the magnificent mural of Chrissy Amphlett, so here she is, singing with the Divinyls

 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2018

Serenity’s Integrity

On the wings of a graceful albatross

My serenity sign’s nurturing calmness

Like a floating cork on the world’s oceans

Gently bobbling eternally and not sinking

 

Early today, Phillip the friendly penguin and I

Happily kissed our newly created piece of serenity goodbye

And after lunch, when enjoying a cuppa in my courtyard

Phillip excitedly chirped, “Look Richard!”

He’s leaping and smiling, “There on the verandah wall”

Surprisingly we hear a baby ‘serenity-sign’ call

“I’m your new picture of peace and tranquillity”

“A sample from your celestial star’s integrity”

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  August 2020

Serenity, a Sign of the Times

Our 2nd Lockdown/Isolation of 6 weeks started a few days ago, and I’m afraid my anxiety levels did soar…. but I had a little project to do for a friend’s new abode. To make a house name sign, called “Serenity”…. Anyhow when I started, I was feeling quite ordinary, physically weak and shaky, but as I progressed with the project, as the name suggests, ‘serenity’, with each passing day, I was gradually becoming more settled and calmer. this morning after applying the 5th coat of ‘sun yellow’ lettering onto the ‘deep ocean’ colour background, I was happily pleased with my finished piece of craftsmanship. The task was both, enjoyable and relaxing. Then I wrote this little serene poem…. Now I must say the “Serenity” name plaque does look handsome on my verandah wall !!

 

Serenity, a Sign of the Times

 

Serenity lives high in the trees

Swims freely in warm seas

Serenity glides on a soft breeze

Hovers among our gentle bees

 

Serenity’s now a forgotten rhyme

A fading sign of the times

Serenity now adorns my verandah wall

A gathering light, my evening shawl

 

 

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020.

We All Have a Tambourine

locked down and locked up

shut in and shut up

 

In this garbage virus bin

what is my holy sin

has Judas already been?

 

where am I going

with my green tambourine

and this broken violin

anyhow, who’s listening?

 

am I still dreaming

about being a human being?

 

about falling backwards

where the stars are flying outwards

with thoughts looking upwards

 

questions I bring

songs I sing

answers live within

 

every day there’s a new sunrise

every day there’s a new surprise

as I look at every day through fresh eyes

I don’t always see blue skies

I don’t always feel happy and wise

Today I’m a bronze statue in Levis’

And I’ll be satisfied with third prize

 

 

 

 

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020

A Blackbird Sings

My dream was falling backwards

The stars were flying outwards

My thoughts are looking upwards

 

As I hear the mourning blackbird

He’s singing about a deadly virus attack

And how we’re to overcome this unearthly hazard

“You’re to seek guidance from our masters

The solar rulers have witnessed your disasters”

 

The sun frowns, and sighs to the moon

We must save the earth from gloom

There’s no need for us to whisper

It’s time to dissolve the covid’s dirty blister

 

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020.

Standing Upright

Hello dear readers, I’ve been writing this poem over the last three days, and I was struggling to obtained any rhythm between thoughts and words, and then I saw a wondrous photo on Derrick Knight’s blog/website this morning, (which is my ‘Featured Image’ above), and his photo of the glorious old oak tree, immediately channelled my thoughts, into that of strength and resilience, and from there, my Title was formed, and my words started to become a more cohesive piece of poetry…. Thank you Derrick, for allowing me to use this beautiful and impressive photo, with my humble little poem.

Standing Upright

My heart’s bruised from bygone blood-stones

Threaded together by the spirits of old bones

And they’re resting within my ageing body’s soft clay

But I’m leaking, soulful droplets on sunny days

The world’s foul winds are blowing me off my feet

When I’m wobbling down cold and dusty streets

Then a modern medicine-man came with his young tribe

Re-tuning my rusty pieces, with rhythmical vibes

And they declared my cello strings, to be plucky enough

To handle tomorrow’s mystery masks and travellers handcuffs

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020