Asleep, out of view
dawn blazes through
blinds me from above
piercing my dreams of love
uncovering lines between sheets
exposed to the morning beat
letters sprinkle upon my pillow
inking words over loose halo’s
Reflective pages and blotches
wooden posts and hollow notches
under cracked leggo blocks
narrow jargon and hidden plots
inside poems of mine
glazed with her starshine.
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I’m reading sacred scriptures
searching for her leftover pieces
I drank a mango smoothie instead
to feed my word starved head
I’m following the score
winners cheating on soft hearts
Demons covering the doors
and angels cannot reach the charts
I’m laying her on a massage table
listening to a sad amble
I prod her skin deep
Shoulders, down to her feet
I’m rubbing salve over her soul
cleansing her masking sheet
Revealing wounded sandholes
bruised upon a pebble beach
I’m a healer who’s lost
Gravitated by her sorrow
How do I catch a falling arrow
And mend her broken cross
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I’ve got a friend for twelve days.
Her name is Tina
She’s thirteen doggie years old
No trouble at all
Enjoying her stay
Eating well
Made herself at home
Sleeping on my bed
Another poem from my archives, that I’ve tinkered with, and rehashed slightly. The poem was written years before Carole passed, so the wording is quite ambiguous and introverted, and I’ll leave it up to your imaginations.
Just A Call Away
Waiting, when is she to summon me.
Pondering what might have been.
Writing to one and all a finale.
Pen to paper, wanting her to see.
How I survived the Tasman Seas.
Secretly thinking I’m the chosen one.
Wondering if it’s a selfish sin.
To wear my second skin
Like a coat of tarnished tin
Ivor Steven (c) 2018.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 