My dying dusk is falling out of bounds
Evening clouds are not making a sound
I cannot hear moon shadows hit the ground
And I see the silent night being slowly drowned
Then my midnight queen, arises to be crowned
The Goddess of Light, and I’m spellbound
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
Sheltering
Under my bed-covers
Engulfed by a shadowy moon
Awake too soon
Mind’s out of tune
Sheltering
Under my verandah roof
Hiding from the morning sky
Where you won’t see me cringe and cry
Wings have been clipped, I cannot fly
Sheltering
Under my courtyard tree
Avoiding the winter sun
No ! not another rerun
White gowns, again undone
Sheltering
Beyond my distant horizon
Bypassing the grey clouds above
Nurturing my foxgloves
Surviving the touch of her love
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
I’m patiently waiting
In my Neurosurgeon’s rooms
The visit should’ve been a scheduled check-up
But here I am, explaining yesterday’s jolt
I had an episode whilst driving
I nearly caused an accident
I blacked out for a second
I lost power in my stroke affected arm and leg
I started to panic
I had to stop and rest
Fortunately I experienced
An immediate awakening
My senses came back
My quickened heart-rate slowed down
My specialist has banned me from driving
I’m to undergo scans next week
I’m confused and upset
I’m blessed and unhurt
There’ll be a week of having tests
Then I’ll be waiting for the results
Hopefully the outcome will be positive
And the awakening lightening bolt, was heaven sent
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
I’m flying above the clouds silver lining
Layers of soft grey velvet
Travelling beyond the sky’s golden horizon
Searching for my heavenly star
Bright as the golden sun
To warm my soul with that blanket of love
Sewn together by golden threads
Crafted by her sacred hands
Resilient as violin strings
Playing a tune, on an angel’s golden harp
Praising the sound of faeries wings singing hallelujah
Resonating a melancholy song upon the gold dust in my blood
Restoring my sleeping heart of pure gold, to restart
Remembering the last chapter, of my golden love story
Yesterday I was introduced to an interesting form of poetry, by Irma of ‘I Do Run’….. from her friend Jason, “Jason also introduced me to the Hay(Na)Ku poetry from. It is similar in brevity to the Haiku with three lines but the word (not syllable) count is 1-2-3. The Hay(Na)Ku was created by a Filipina poet named Eileen Tabios in 2003 ” . So here is my first go at ‘Hay(Na)Ku’… below…..
Pure:
Love
True gold
Life’s cycle
And the same song by Amanda Palmer, this time with the lyrics, however I still become teary with both of these versions, the video above is a glorious visual experience, and below, reading along with the lyrics is also a moving experience……I enjoy both…..
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
Here I am at “Grill’d” On Pakington Street
Enjoying a few relaxing beers
I introduce myself to Ryan, chef and barman, in charge
We chat about our travel adventures
Then I happened to mention that I’m a writer
And he’s genuinely interested in my poetry booklets
After talking about the purpose of my writings
Ryan enthusiastically agrees to display a couple of my books
On the restaurant’s customer magazine rack
I’m humbled, and smiling, beyond pleased
I explain to Ryan, there’s an advert inside the covers
Informing the readers, that they may purchase the books
A few blocks down, on Pakington Street
At the counter of the M.S. Charity shop
With all proceeds going to the M.S. Society
I gratefully shake Ryan’s hand
And I say I’ll be back regularly, to change-over the booklets
Cheers To Ryan, and a sincere thank you to “Grill’d” On Pakington Street.
Please take the time to Click on this link to find out more about, “Grill’d” On Pakington Street. https://www.grilld.com.au/restaurants/victoria/geelong/pakington-st#GoogleLocal
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
In response to, Weekly Photo Prompts…Faux Flowers. However I don’t have any false flowers, but here I’ve some photos of my “real” winter flowers in my courtyard garden.. Featured Image above: Drooping Violet.
Above Left: Begonia, dragon wing red Above Right: Geranium, deep red
Above Left: Osteospermum, yellow Above Right: Bougainvillea, jazzi
The Flower Show
A yard full of blooms
The scene, a sea of colour
Flowering perfume
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
How many Waterloo’s do we have to see
Before all the battles are lost at sea
How many children, have to cry and flee
Before humanity is able to grow Adam’s next tree
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
Sunday morning and the cold rain is still falling from the sky. Looks like our wet winter began way back in May, however despite the freezing weather, I’m dressing-up in my winter woollies and venturing out again today…… and I graciously accept this is our fate for the next few days, as I continue participate in life, in every-way, of everyday…. Below I’ve re-posted some of my wintry poems and Haiku’s that I’ve recently written……
Rain In May
The day is one of rain.
Washing streets of thoughts down the drain.
Cleansing the stains.
Flooding the silence again.
The day is dismal and grey.
Drowning the sun, it begun in May.
Many years full of dismay.
Pouring rain’s, here to stay
Cold Rain
Time’s, I played in rain
Today I worked in the cold
Wet and shivering
Autumn’s fat rain drops
Have lost their warmth and softness
Winter’s hard as ice
Haiku: Winter Rain
Chilling winter rains
Heavy big drops of coldness
Spread by icy winds
Haiku: Hail And Sun
Hail slaps the pavement
Bitumen puddles shimmer
Winter sun bursts through
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
For the prompt site by CalmKate, please click >> Here
Unusually Cold
Dawn sounds like a howling wolf
Thudding noises hit the roof
Icy fat rain drops
Heavy sleet doesn’t stop
Pouring, overflowing buckets and frozen cups
Shovelling hail from my front steps
The coldest winter is here to stay
Polar blizzards everyday
Freezing puddles abound
Feet splash on the cold, cold ground
A week of remaining inside
This time, the weatherman hadn’t lied
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
I’ve blue glue hands
My palms lack oiling glands
Finger-tips cracked and dry
Too many days, under cold sky
Working too hard
Forgetting my courtyard
I’ve writer’s cramp
At my desk under neon lamp
Finger-tips cracked and dry
Too many hours, pass after shut-eye
Writing ’til midnight
Editing never goes right
I’m not over straining
Recovery plans, are still in training
Finger-tips cracked and dry
Too many dreams, learning how to fly
Reading poetry all night
Regaining my old mind and insight
Ivor Steven (c) August 2019
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 