Category: Photos

My Isolation Whiteboard

I suppose you could call this post a “black and white comparison piece of writing”. This week’s, weekly photo prompt: Comparison

Dear readers for the last 5 days of my 2 weeks(so far) hospital stay, I’ve been in isolation, and to help me fill in my singular time here I’ve been using a large whiteboard to write my poems on, and I’ve been writing a poem or Haiku everyday, and of course, my whiteboard is now full. Hopefully this is a sign!!, and it’s nearly time for me to go home. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the process, both physically and mentally, and everyone around me has appreciated my writings, my nurses, doctors, attendants, administrative staff, and all my visitor’s, have all come in and had a read of my whiteboard over these day’s. I don’t think this isolation room has seen the likes of a plumber/poet before, and the buzzing atmosphere of expectation, in room 5 on level seven, has made it a pleasant place to be..

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Day Lily And Love

I’m going for a procedure this morning, a bronchoscopy, an examination of my lungs. Hopefully they’ll have some good results for me, and I’m able to go home soon, so I can tend to my Day Lily.

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.

Isolation Time

I’ve been hidden away

Out of sight

Out of harm’s way

Locked in my room

A poet Pharaoh’s tomb

Or a butterfly’s cocoon

There’s a shining light in my bubble

On top of all my rubble

Above the deathly quietness

I’m a lonesome chick in his nest

Or a bear with a sore head

Hibernating in his bed

Tucked away for winter

Living in an Eskimo’s igloo

Day after day, I’m wearing old

Isolation my saviour, from the cold

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Lines To Nowhere

My curtains were opened

I saw a setting eclipse

And I decided to walk

To the south side of the moon

Taking my own spoon

I heard there’s a cheese-cake tasting

A sweet crumbly base

Topped with blueberries and cream

Life’s not about lying in bed

I’ll meet you for a kiss

After school

Down by the old pool

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

An Emergency Department View

Dear friends thank you, for all of your kind well wishes, they are sincerely appreciated, and warm my heart. I’m up in the wards now, and I’m recovering well. Oh, the nurses thought I was crazy, having a good laugh at me taking photos of my Emergency Department room.

Snugly comfortable and relieved

I’m taking photos from bed

Of where I might be

The white ceiling, my clear blue sky

Walls are pastures, giving me life

The floor is my way to oceans beyond

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Blue-stone Cellar

Old wooden steps

Going down, worn and steep

Revealing a cellar, candle-lit

Walls of blue-stone blocks

With a stained cedar ceiling

Creating a friendly aura of closeness

Intimate and cosy

A perfect place for Mr Cohen’s spirit to be

 

Sweet Amie Brulee

Sings and plays his songs

And in between, graciously reads his poetry

Jovially chats to the audience

Relaxed and carefree

Her demure smile is spontaneous

Divulging stories about his works

With enthusiasm and passion

Infusing her own subtle wit and humour

A show of genuine warmth and charm

From his tower of song, Leonard would be pleased

 

The two video’s below, are with my Phone, a Samsung Galaxy S 5. Hopefully the cyberspace mail-man delivers them intact. The first video below, is of Amie recited Leonard Cohen’s poem, “Ballard of the Absent Mare”

The second video below, is of Amie, singing, “Leaving The Table”, sorry but you may have to turn the volume up.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

 

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

A few days ago(29th Nov 2017), I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks Collection”. So apologies to Ray Davies for using his song titles in such a manner. And thank you to Jane for providing me with the inspiration to actually write these jumbled up words.  ** And now today(8th Nov 2018), this poem has been edited, and re-posted, as a response to CalmKate’s Friday Foto Fun – Wheels Or Circles.

img466 (2)

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

 

I remember the olden times

Of pennies and farthings

Pounds and pence

When money made no sense

Mary Hopkins sang

“Those Were The Days”

And the Kinks song “Lola”

Was the best number one ever

Many a lazy Sunny Afternoon

Spent down near Waterloo Sunset

Where we would all dance

All Of The Day And All Of The Night

My Friends would all dress-up

Like Dedicated Followers Of Fashion

Unlike that lonely Plastic Man

Who faked the Death Of A Clown

Way back then, You Really Got Me

You fired me up, here in Victoria

Thousands of Days forgotten in the burn-out

Charred in a cloud of Big Black Smoke

But now, I’m Tired Of Waiting For You

Wondering, Where Have All The Good Times Gone

Ivor Steven

8th November 2018.  10.30pm

Scars Revived

Days were dimly full of mace

I was a seedy old scar-face

With a shredded dark heart

In need of a surgeon’s restart

My innards were slashed and torn

Stuffed with yesterdays corn

My brains were in a rotted pumpkin-head

Emptied, thrown out into the shed

Ankles shattered, with crinkled toes

I looked like a weathered scarecrow

 

Sirens screeched and screamed

My angels golden chariot beamed

Nurses in white, doctors in blue

They all came to my rescue

Sewed my broken heart together

My rubber soul became light as a feather

Inspired dreams were renewed

A familiar smile re-screwed

My body’s bindings restrengthened

Life revived and internally lengthened

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018