Category: Poems

I’m wasting days, walking hot bitumen streets

Wishing I was there in my balloon, on the old rocking seat

A life’s fragile bubble incomplete

 

I’m ready to fly and eventually burst

Into the distant sky, away from the church

I’m alive and not waiting for the hearse

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

I’m not going to say the day’s bloody hot

My sweat’s obviously real

As the ice in the fridge looks like molten steel

I’m not going to say the south pole’s defrosted

The public are screaming true

As the polar-cap’s sheer faces, drop like morning dew

I’m not going to say the air we breathe is polluted

The evidence blows right in front of you

As we smell the stench, it’s enough to make you spew

I’m not going to say politicians value money more than you

Their filled pockets are blatantly on view

As they corruptly succumb to greed of the chosen few

I’m going to rant and rave, even if it’s too hot

Losing my block, to stop this embellished rot

The heat is on them to cool off our plot

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

I’ve shut myself inside

The devil’s heat lays outside

The curtains are closed

Doors are locked

Who am I hiding from

I’m alone in my home

What am I keeping In

Can’t recall, the last time I sinned

I’ve already slept through the day

The day is passing away

Morning’s ghost has gone

Mid-afternoon and nothing’s done

It’s far too hot

To just sit here and rot

In my mind, what else to do

But think, about you

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

 

Hello dear readers, friends, and followers. I’ve been in and out of hospital again, but hopefully I’ll be able stay out for a while now, and my progress is improving everyday. I’m keeping myself busy, bike pedalling (On Yorkie) exercise sessions and walking 6000 steps a day, In between, I’ve been preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “Beyond The Brick Wall”, metaphorically that’s where I am at now, and all the poems were written since Christmas, after my first stroke in Mid-December.  Like my other 7 Booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 8 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven                                                                                   Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times                                                                                               Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye                                                                                     Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat                                                                        Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe                                                                            Tullawalla, Waiting Time                                                                                                  Tullawalla, The Healing House

And, Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall

 

 

 

 

Booklet #5: Home Is The Air I Breathe                      Booklet #6: Waiting Time

 

 

Booklet #7: Tullawalla, The Healing House          My “Isolation Time”

 

And, Booklet#8: Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall               My front door.

 

 

Cheers

From Ivor xx

 

I was catching a bus home this afternoon, as per normal, after my walk down Pakington St. However, mistakenly I caught the wrong bus !! I looked up, and I did not see the sign. In the long process of hopping on a couple of different buses, I eventually found my way home. During my time of the extra bus trips, I came up with the words of this poem.

Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus

 

Is this the air I breathe

A misty haze out in front of me

Is this the sky I see

A big smoggy Vee

 

High in the mountain plains, flowerless, without bees

Miles of burnt-out wasteland and no trees

Beyond the eroded soils, there’s the earth’s oceans

Mercury settled deep, with a topping of dead fish by the millions

 

Is this black bitumen I walk on

Long oily tar, rolled out by the ton

Is this real water I drink

Manufactured I sip, on my knees I do sink

 

Mother nature, please forgive us

We did not know, sorry, we caught the wrong bus

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

 

A sincere thank you to Efi, of EfiSoul63, << please click, to view her site, for being the inspiration behind my poem, and our mutual love of the sea

To Kiss The Sea

 

I wish to be at the beach and free

Saltwater and sand are out of reach for me

Oh, to be sunbathing and swimming

To be in the surf, playing and frolicking

I’m close enough to breathe the nearness of the sea

Just across the sand dunes and through the tea-tree

 

I wish to be under the sea

Rolling with the waves crashing above me

Swirling and unfurling

Bubbling and frothing

I’m close enough to hear the evening sea-mist

Just outside my window, I feel the bliss of the sea’s kiss

Ivor Steven (c) 2019