As the crow flies
I’m only a stone’s throw away
From here to beyond the skies
Out to the universe’s Milky-way
Where my dream never dies
I’ll keep dreaming
Until I burst at the seams
Drowning all doubters
In my custard and cream
Don’t misjudge my usefulness
Worn is not torn
With love and tenderness
Worn can be reborn
Your spear is the size of a harpoon
Plunging into my tethered heart
Take my leftover hand
Die with me
Burn our crosses
We’ll apply to the devil for a restart
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I hear the wind whistling in the trees
Rustic sounds of rustling leaves
Swirling down through the branches
Prancing colourful dancers
Faery’s of the forest floor
Mother nature’s spiritual encores
I hear the wind applause for more
Seasonal breezes carrying pollen spores
Germinating ancient lands over the eons
Eden’s garden of blossom and vines
Serving our tables full of apples and wines
I hear the wind whispering memories and rhymes
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
welcome to our home
the house of rustic timber and stone
home is where my heart is now
and now I live here alone
but I’m cosy and comfortable
wearing the same old shoes
talking and walking her every mile
she’s in every covering stone
she’s in the marrow of my bones
we share the air I breathe
inhaling her gracious spirit
capturing her living essence
absorbing her love into my blood
flowing through my pumping veins
cascading upon my open heart
caressing my solitary core
embracing our glorious souls as one
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Three decades I cared for her
My loving wife
Tending to her sorrowful erosions
We sailed many stormy Seas together
Crashing waves upon crushing waves
She was battered
I was torn
Miraculously we survived
Our wounded hearts grew closer
I admired her courage and grace
I worshipped her unabated love
Then her finality occurred
Our souls have never parted
Entwined, the same as when we started
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I eat, I drink, I sleep
I casually dream of yesterday’s
I Shamefully wonder about tomorrow’s
I’m walking along my sunny street
I’m alive and free as a bird
But I’m anxiously emotional about tomorrow
Will the children wake-up without crying
Will the children see sunlight today
Will the children be with their parents tomorrow
Where are the mindless sleeping
Where are their consciences today
Where are their lies going tomorrow
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
In my hand I hold a beam
The smallest of silver screens
Reflecting my hidden dreams
My pocket mirror of silent screams
Shamefully I’m blushing blood red
Deeply scolding myself instead
Selfishly my crash is but a drop in the ocean
Seeing rivers of crushed tears dripping from the children
Children alone, yet to be reunited
Children trashed and yet unsighted
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
WEEKLY PROMPTS, PHOTO CHALLENGE
Our Photo Challenge is , Bucolic
I live on the out-skirts of Geelong, and the city is a reasonable size with a population of 240,000. But here I am, virtually on the town’s northwestern back fence, and only a dead-end dirt road is outside my front door.
The back fences of north-west Geelong The dirt lane outside my home.
At the end of my dirt lane is a walking path that I use frequently. I can walk to my favourite coffee venue, The Moorabool Valley Chocolate Cafe, set in a rustic homestead with a beautiful view over the Moorabool River Valley. Attached link is a poem about the cafe. https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/cheeky-magpie/
The view over the Moorabool Valley Sunset along the walking path
The featured image at the beginning of the post is of our local mountain ranges, called the You-Yangs. Here the picture is taken from Geelong’s Eastern Park/Botanical Gardens, looking across Corio Bay towards the You-Yangs.
A Slide-show of pictures from around our City By The Bay
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
“Knowledge be gets Wisdom
Teach our children more knowledge
Our children will learn to be more wise”
Ivor Steven.
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Weekly Prompts Photo Challenge
Squares And Rounds
Do you see what I see
There’s a kennel on the shed
‘Twas a little dogs favourite bed
Do you see what I see
There’s a five foot hole in the ground
Plumbing pipes all around
Do you see what I see
There are stormwater pipes under the house
An old plumbers been a dirty mouse
Do you see what I see
There are downpipe boxes and bends
A craftsman joined the ends
Shapes are up
shapes are down
Squares and rounds
The plumber’s had a busy week
The poet’s feeling tired and meek
Far too sore to even speak
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Weekly Prompts– Photo Challenge – Timeworn I’ve found this baby book of my dad’s. The book is nearly 70 years old, given to my parents by my grandmother, my mothers mom, to celebrate the birth of my older brother, Danny
Above, bottom right, my parents with Danny. 1949.
Above, my dad’s log of Danny’s first 4 weeks.
Above, in the left frame, my grandmother, Elizabeth, with Danny, and on the right, my mom, Esther, with Danny.
Then came Ivor and my little brother, Lawrence.
And finally mom had a daughter that she always wanted, Myfanwy Glenys, and interestingly dad also logged the birth of Myfanwy’s daughter April.
Oh… This is a later attachment, have been feeling quite nostalgic since I posted this article, and I’m adding this lovely song, I hope you enjoy.
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 