Category: Poems

Over on Weekly Prompts, their Weekend Challenge is the word, ART  “The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.” – Auguste Rodin. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >>HERE. My poem today was written before I saw the “Prompt”, but if you use your imagination you will understand the artwork of my poem… “A true artist is not one who is inspired, but one who inspires others.” ― Salvador Dali


Life’s Handcuffs

Wherever aging shadows fall

time watches cracks grow on fading walls

Imagination cultivates souls to evolve

and emancipates the hearts emotions

Imagination motivates the brain to think

and instigates the eyes to open wider

Imagination activates the sculptures hiding in my museum

and stimulates the feathers of my old quill

Are these visions ever to be enough

enough for my dreams to escape life’s handcuffs

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020

Hello dear readers, here I am feeling nostalgic, yes it’s Christmas time, and I have too write a rhyme about how I feel inside… I am not sad, just a guy reminiscing… enjoy my words, and savour Damien Rice’s wonderful song….


Memory Kisses



A cool breeze caresses my open heart

An aura of warmth touches my lonely soul

Memory dust settles upon my empty lips

I cannot see her celestial star shine

But I sense her feathery kisses

As her spirit hovers above me for Christmas

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020.

life is a arduous marathon

a conundrum until the finishing line

we live in the moment

yesterday has gone

and we are not in charge of tomorrow

today is a new gift to be opened

time knowingly evolves in ripples and wrinkles

openly displaying our shuffles and muffles



life is a bittersweet marathon

moving forward without bitterness

savouring the sweetness of completing the race

I’m leaving my today

a little bit wiser and a day older

gratefully my heart beats healthily



Featured Image: A photo of a painting hanging in the waiting room at the heart specialist rooms

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020

café courtyard

my chromatic citadel

a comfy circle

of calm citizens

closely coexisting

the clock casually chimes



crunchy cereal comes

crazy cranberries

and cool cherries

cultured coffee

cinnamon cake

with celestial chords

by Cohen and Cave

and Cyndi’s choral classic

caressing city central

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020.

A big thank you to Beth for inspiring my self indulgent poem here, from her thought provoking article >> https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/2020/12/14/can-you-write/


A Spacey Eighty, Ten Years On

the quill is shaky 

ink’s leaky and streaky 

my dry skin is itchy 

and old bones are achy 

I am a flower child of the sixties

and after a crunchy brekkie 

followed by a coffee and cakey 

despite a shady plaguy

maybe I will ably write daily 

when I’m a spacey eighty 

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020

Two thousand and twenty

Dramatic events a plenty

Firstly the worst bush-fires for a century

When Mother-nature became the enemy

Then a foreign virus exploded

And Earth’s atmosphere corroded

Our lives turned cloudy and uncrowded

Covid even bloated and reloaded

No country was immune

And the World spun all out of tune



Here in Aussie-land normality returns for Christmas

And here’s cheers to next years unfinished business

Cheers

Ivor ((Hugs & Kisses))

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020

The featured image above, is my photo of a painting by Graeme Altman, titled ‘Hopeful-return’, while on display at the Boom Gallery in Geelong, during September 2018.


A Fish Out Of Water



I am not immortal

nor am I immune

I am a speck of rust

slowly fading into dust



I cannot walk on water

nor do I swim like an otter

I am a stoic starfish

motionless and sun blemished



I cannot soar beyond the sky

nor can I float like a butterfly

I am a flightless lyrebird

raucous and eternally seeking the word

Ivor Steven (c) December

I’m Radioactive


Life is a waiting game

Between scans and closing door frames

I am waiting for a nuclear cardio stress test

And X-rays of my radioactive chest



The numbing sensation is surreal

Inside a buzzing tunnel I am sealed

Where magnetic photos are taken

And I am waiting, feeling forsaken



“Damn.” The negatives were not clear enough

I wait another hour for the next shot of dyestuff

Back behind those closing door frames

Life’s finality is a waiting game

Ivor Steven (c) December 2020