My imagination’s beaming

Alive and dreaming

Even when I’m sleeping

Tired eyes are peeping

Searching for the milky-way

Flying there, on my open sleigh

And sailing the air-waves

High above broadway



Steering my spacecraft, Itmims**

While reading The Brothers Grimm

And playing a tune on my old violin

The theme from ‘Lord of the Rings’



I’m a visionary sky Pilot

With a handful of violets

Travelling beyond a silvery moon

To float upon our blue lagoon

**Itmims; ”Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space”….

Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2020

Boldly imagination’s written on the wall

A loud creative sign for us all



Imagination looks beyond the distant horizon

To where a blue sky unites the oceans

Imagination looks above the gathering dark clouds

To where a golden sun dispels all doubts



Imagination looks inside the essence of nature

To where a nurtured animal instinct matures

Imagination looks outside the boundaries of mankind

To where a human mind can thrive nonaligned

Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2020.

Today is Fathers Day in Australia, so I’m presenting a few poems that I written about my Dad…..

Waiting Time

I’m a time-traveler on a mission

Waiting for a personal vision

An image of my father’s ghost

To appear above the white-water coast

Millenniums ago, I delivered him to the ocean

Threw his ashes across the horizon

Away from faceless time-clocks

Away from hidden jagged rocks

Now I see him proudly standing afloat

Wondering who’s left to row the boat

Waiting for the breeze, without a sail

Seeking his passage through soundless hail

Beyond tumbling waves, a prism of light

Waiting stops, his alien spirit soars  tonight

There’ll Always Be More

His family, siblings of ten

Then a loving father of four

The king of our den

Always the gentle man at our door

You were our best friend

Now our star forever more

Alex

My trusty guardian

Shamefully

I’ve taken him for granted

That happy old chap

Who faithfully

Protects me

A loyal family friend

He’s always been around

Like an inherited heirloom

His age remains a mystery

He’s stoic and quietly stern

And I dare not ask him

The eternal keeper

Of our ancestral tree

Holder of heavens keys

Guarding life’s comings a goings

Waiting there, under shady leaves

Forever our courtyard centurion

Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2020

 

Breakfast Mandarine,  a Haiku

Orange Mandarine

Full of vital vitamins

With a tangy zing

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  Sept 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Splinters under the skin

Little wounds so thin

Do solemnly sting

And the crying children sing

For a tiny piece of loving

“Mom”, please remove this thing

Ivor Steven (c)  Sept 2020

the wizard’s blizzards have melted

dormant cocoons are wriggling

spring has exploded

out of the starter’s gun

with an awakening bang

and the chirpy blackbirds

are chorusing a different tune

their winter blue songs have gone

suddenly, warmth and sunshine

muster in the air

heralding a new season

of hope and prosperity

Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2020

Who really are we?

What does the moon perceive?

Will we ever be free?

What’s our secret quest?

Wading forward through this mess

Alone in silence, I’m clueless



We are all under the same strain

Surrounded by these invisible chains

Are we ready to dance in the rain?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

The outgoing tide will cleanse our veins

And wash our footprints from these muddy planes

Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2020

The misty dawn sky

Awakes to a human cry

And another day again sighs

Asking who’s left on this sty?

Where viruses thrive

Like wasps in a hive

Doing their aggressive jive

Dancing upon who’s left alive

Leaving a deadly sting

On every apron string

No matter who’s left waiting

Who’ll be left to do the colouring-in?

Who’ll be left to do the highland fling?

Who’ll be left to breathe the new oxygen?

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020

This Saturday the Weekend Challenge from “Weekly Prompts”  is Reflections. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here . And here’s my poem in response to their prompt.

Mirror, Mirror, Who’s Next to Fall



The magic mirror is fractured

My reflection’s distorted

Warped and scattered

I’m cracked and unstructured



How can I recapture my image

And remodel my smile on a ruptured grimace

Am I to go on suffering from this virus wreckage

Another seven years of covid’s viral messages

Ivor Steven (c) August 2020

A sleeping beauty in her nightwear

Pure honesty lived in our home atmosphere

Her truth breathed, the air we shared



Hiding behind white silent doors

They tried to take her from our shores

By nailing her bed to a hospital floor

They heard my stoic voice roar



I told them, they wouldn’t win

“And watch out!! Don’t throw her in

you’ll surely regret your foolish sin

be warned, she’s Circe the Siren”




When I held her sweetness

I believe I touched greatness

And achieved weightlessness

Ivor Steven (c)