Midnight Creek

The old plumber is back on the street

My bodies aching and I’m beat

Bloodied fingers and sore feet

Thoughts are drifting up midnight’s creek

I’ve crudely been reminded, how hard this job is to do

Cracked hands were turning black and blue

Bending and twisting, I willed myself through

Working the dusty tools, I was thinking of you

Pondering, I know I’ve given it my best

Here on my quiet riverbed, I rest

My joints will recover, in time for my next test

Tentatively, I’m flying out of this restoration nest

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Liquid joy is glazing my eyes

I’m reading newly received, birthday cards

They arrived today, from America

Messages of love, from distant families

Hand written words, etching visions into my soul

A envelope full of really real, colourful stars

And children’s love letters

For the kindhearted dragon and his faeries

Including my cousins, touching heartfelt poem

Followed by my gift, a writers notebook, for those special dreams

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

The music of Abbey Road is playing

Here I sit in Union Street listening

And there is something in the air

Sounds of words with honest flare

The Open Mic, poetry night

Again, at the Valhalla Bar site

The attendance, was a small downer

A cold winter storm, dampened evening goers

But the enthusiastic gathering

Enjoyed the writers readings

A mixture of poems and vocal songs

The entertainment flowed along

And I had time to read four poems

A range of my many emotions

https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2018/07/19/my-dragon-the-trilogy-3/

https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2019/06/28/black-snow-thaws-in-the-winter-sun/

https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2019/07/20/back-to-her-man/

https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2019/04/16/haiku-our-river/

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Above, the Featured Image, is a photo of our impressive Geelong Library, I was there this morning receiving my monthly nourishment of shared poetry readings, a gathering of fellow Geelong Writers poet members, and a meeting that truly enhances my love of poetry….

Nourishment

I’ve been slowly recovering

And calmly re-discovering

Joyful nourishment for my soul

And now, I do care about myself

Enough, that I’ll have to build more room

To accommodate my regenerating life

The actual skill

Is having the will

From a little seed sown

Big things are grown

All creations are a masterpiece

Rejuvenating our ancient existence

Ivor Steven (c) July 2019

Above: Moorabool Valley Cafe, homestead out front of the cafe, the shed that can be seen from the cafe verandah (main featured image), horse agistment paddocks surrounding the cafe.

A Walk, A Coffee, And Alone

Little Cyndi has gone home

Here I am, again alone

The house is strangely quiet

I feel coffee and cake is on the diet

Late afternoon, and I’ll go for a walk

To my favourite cafe, where the magpies squawk

A stroll in the winter sun

And remember, I am not the only one

Reflect on life’s good times

And rekindle, my memories and rhymes

Above: The walking path close to my house, and the sunset as I was approaching home.

Above: Cyndi, yes it’s going home time……

Ivor Steven (c) July 2019

I twist and roll over

A musical world spins inside my head

My somersault of dreams

Rotates under my bed-spread

Upside down

Rhythmical tiredness falls out of my seams

Words tumble around

Nameless titles and endless tunes abound

The bad moon’s turning

Singing the blues, over my empty town

I twist and roll over, again

I’m back where I started, I hear my angel humming, Hallelujah

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Today’s poem is one I wrote two years ago, and I was fortunate enough to have the piece published by, ‘Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine’, back in January 2018. A magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,
https://vitabrevisliterature.com.

Artwork:  By Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my beautiful niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.

Arctic Winds

I’m winter hibernating

Inside an Eskimo’s hut

Feeding only on fish oil

And frozen blue blood

My heart’s cold and dormant

Cowering under a dampened vestment

Wind-swept by a blizzard’s dust

Covered in icicles of my rust

My eyes are swollen rocks

Amidst polarised sockets

Terrorising all that’s passed

Like forgotten arctic icebergs

My veins are hollow crevasses

Inside a glaciers ice-flow

Sheering and groaning chasms

Like my memories deepest fjord

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Good morning dear readers, It’s a chilly Sunday here in Geelong, but it’s bad, my sister is coming down from Ballarat and we are going out for lunch. Cyndi will be staying inside, curled up next to the heater…..