These sore ageing feet
Have been pounding the beat
Up and down, picturesque Pakington Street
Worn out soles are feeling the heat
This old soul has stopped for a sandwich to eat
Up beyond West Park, they’ll be a comfy seat
And a refreshing drink of chai latte and sweets
At the Depot Cafe, quaint and neat
A satisfying lunch, now I’m replete
Relaxed, and exercise complete
A few more pictures from my walk up and down, Pakington Street.
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Struggling with a shaky pen stroke
I’ve lost secret words, I wrote
An ill wind, sent them flying out the door
Misread and missing a music score
Scrawled along lines of my crooked path
Curling up, and falling in the draft
Sinking into a world I cannot see
An impossible mission for you and me
Crossing hostile foreign lands
Walking through deserts on my hands
Swimming turbulent oceans
Climbing jagged snowy mountains
Pushing on my bike, higher than high
Soaring over dark cloudy skies
Until finally, I found where dreams die
On her heavenly garden seat, she lies
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
My time’s feeling lost and unrequired
Yesterday, I was worn and tired
Today, I did reach for the sky
Tomorrow, I’ll give life another try
Yesterday, I hit the brick wall
Today, I jumped every puddle
Tomorrow, hurdles will be castles in the sand
Everyday, my unknown future lays in my hands
Every-week, my dream looks like potter’s clay
Today, I uncovered tomorrow is the next day
Tomorrow, is not my vision of times to come
Tomorrow, is the beginning of my shining sun
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
There’s a serene tranquil calmness
Hovering over this panoramic bay
The cloudy sky’s silkily reflected
Upon it’s benign smooth waters
The shoreline’s fresh-air is gently cool
Creating a peaceful atmosphere of awe and wonder
Impressing local onlookers and tourist alike
Beholding a picturesque, enchanting balminess
Soothing to all those enraptured souls
Fortunate to view the waterfronts afternoon artistry
Blue Yonder: By David Francey, Lyrics
Here on the ground
It’s a long way down
To the land down under
And all I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
Id’ beep in the sky
And I’d be higher than high
And it’s no wonder
That all I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
Into the blue yonder
Into the blue yonder
All I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
I’d be up in the clouds
And I’d be laughing out loud
With the world to wander
And all I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
I’ll be into the blue
And I’ll be gone and through
And I’ll be out from under
And all I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
Into the blue yonder
Into the blue yonder
All I want to do
Is ride into the blue yonder
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Every picture tells a story
I will not show the bloody war pictures
No need to add to the gruesome tale
Everybody knows the score
Our leaders know, how many were lost at war
Instead, I’ve a different photo, of a tablecloth
A wedding gift of my parents
Now my family heirloom
Aged over seventy years old
Embroidered Peacocks on fine linen
I wonder how often the tablecloth has been used
Not as many times as nuclear bombs have been fused
How many people have sat around the tablecloth and eaten
Not as many people as the war’s have maimed and beaten
Ask world politicians and know-all dictators
They’ll all know the forgotten bloody score
That’s my enduring tablecloth picture story
Same old hidden facts of hell and rancid glory
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Hello readers, I’m posting a poem I wrote last year, about my lovely Day Lily, which is actually a former plant of my father’s, so really I’ve lovingly inherited the flower, and I’m always pleased to see it bloom. I’m not sure why, but it’s flowering 4 weeks earlier than last year.
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.
In my palm
A fresh carrot
I have found
Covered in dirt
Out of the ground
A tapered cylinder
I wash and peel
Pure orange and long
Chopped into three
Uncooked I eat
Piece by piece
Every bite a kiss
Crisp and tasty
Nature is bliss
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
My locked bubble is about to go boom
Too long I’ve been a stranger in my own tomb
Under a concrete lid, hiding my gloom
Where my world was a Hades of doom
Now these walls are my life-giving womb
Being reborn as a smiling used groom
I’m breaking out of my master bedroom
Escaping on the green witch’s old broom
Flying to the distant land in springtime bloom
Where I won’t have to wear my mask and costume
Discarding my orange Kaftan from Khartoum
I’ll invade the big apple’s newsrooms, to broadcast my poetry heirlooms
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Hi dear readers, I’ve found this old poem in my folder of poetry called “Love And Reflection”. I’ve changed a few words, so the poem is in the present tense, but basically the words are in the same format. I’ve had it hidden away for a while, the poem is quite personal and emotional for me, I hope you enjoy reading my words from 6 years ago.
Don’t Ask Me Why
Unknowingly, I often dream of her serene ashen face
Years ago, I gently held her frailty in my tired arms
Softly I whispered to her, my last words of love and grace
Don’t ask me why, I count the moons since I missed her charms
Because I cannot give you a sensible or plausible answer
Don’t ask me why, I count the stars since I lost my way
Because I’m unable to fathom the depths of my inner cancer
Don’t ask me why, I count my every heart beat, since she died that day
Because now, I’ve nearly recovered
And somehow, life has been steadily rediscovered
Remembering, she’ll never ever go away
Knowing someday, I’ll be allowed to stay
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Yorkie’s staring at me vacantly
Like I’m a strange tattooed bikie
Sitting on him, me anxiously crying away
Why am I crying, he quietly says
Looking at me with those big silver eyes
Pondering whether he’s hurting me
Is the ride too much pain
Is all the walking a physical drain
No !! None of that I exclaim, crying tears again
I’m crying wondering, if I’ll ever get there
Crying, because I cannot wait to be there
Crying with embarrassment, for the tears I’ll shed when I’m there
Suddenly, Yorkie barks out at me
Oh Ivor, keep pedalling, toughen-up and and you’ll arrive
Yes, me and my companion Yorkie, have become friends.
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 