Category: Poems

Oh, how I do over stretch

then like a faithful dog

I return after the chase and fetch

balancing life on a rolling river log

 

I was waiting last year

waiting last month

waiting last week

waiting yesterday

I’m waiting again tonight

I might as well keep waiting

Wait for what I’ve been waiting for

 

To see a crack in the wall

to stop your fall

may you grow tall

as the light calls

 

Anger is danger

anger is not love

danger is heavy

danger is not love

love is respect

love is not crushing

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

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.