Bedtime Lullaby
Scream, scream
Who woke me, from my dream
I was riding on a magic jetstream
Made of purple and crimson beams
The infants screams do not cease
Poor child’s not at peace
Too young to comprehend why
There’s no bedtime lullaby
Mother’s glazed eyes look dry
Her love, caressing the baby’s cries
She’s loyally doing her best
For both, a tough journey, over this distant crest
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Of course, I’ll pick a good Australian band, here I’ve chosen, ‘Augie March’, a lot of you might not have heard of them , from my state Victoria, and a country town called Shepparton. I love this song of theirs, ‘One Crowded Hour’, something like how I’m feeling as I’m heading in the one hour bus trip, to Melbourne airport, getting closer to take off… Yeah….
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Dedicated to my dear wife, to celebrate her birthday on Wednesday the 17th April. I think my words say enough…… I’m proud and honoured to present this Haiku on, “Go Dog Go Cafe” Promote Yourself Monday’s, and a sincere thank you to, ‘Midwest Fantasy’, for the invitation. I’m quite emotional this week, and I’ll apologise to fellow writers, and their articles, if I’m not reading and commenting, with my usual zest……
Haiku:
A true love runs deep
Our river flowed over rocks
Stones soften to sand
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
A mind bending and interesting idea from Paul, I’m having a go with an old poem of mine.
We will all travel, life’s journey
There’s reality in the end, a concluding count down
Finality occurs, not a shadow of doubt
Sooner or later, we have to retire, and work no more
Old tools are laid to rest, gathering dust
There’s a time, when we have to say goodbye
To that special one’s, sad crying eyes
Suddenly life propels us, to pass our friends lives
The people we knew, dwindle to a few
And beyond the lies, earth slowly dies
We the custodians, failed to see overcast skies
Our belief’s shriveled, inside religious sleeves
The jealous and greedy, are yet to eat their last supper
I hope tomorrow’s future, is better than today’s veiled ways
And yesterday’s trials, become the healing castle’s final say
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I’ve read this compassionate poem several times already, “I Do Run’s” words have touched me deeply. Please read, if you are so inclined,….. There is no instant solution, but together with trillions of humane hearts there shall always be hope……..
Don’t you dare turn those unicorn eyes toward me
And keep your sparkly sparkles to yourself
That field was truly not meant for running or singing or dancing or jumping for joy.
Just stop with the rainbows and the technicolor sunsets
No need for close ups of baby chubby thighs
Or even your thighs sunning on white sand beaches.
Enough of the Sunday mornings watching your lover breathe
And definitely no more spontaneous water fights with the kids
Even those first moments that bring tears of joy are not the moments for me
No, not for me, wondering, how you can enjoy when
…..Children are kept in cages, sold to the highest bidder
…..Women are forced into dangerous back alleys, not owning their bodies
…..Veterans sleep on cardboard boxes, crazy instead of courageous
…..People still being judged by the back of their hand or the hand they’re holding
Unicorns and…
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Fly free, fly high
My bamboo kite
Bright orange and green
A colourful gliding sight
Your counter-weight tail fluttering
Like a flowing rainbow in the sky
Flying freer, flying higher
Your ground chains are broken
And the strong anchoring rope
Has shrank to a golden thread
Go away, and climb
Above the silver clouds
Eventually your thread will fray
Leaving a slither of mellow twine
Not strong enough
To stop you breaking free
Never long enough
To stop you soaring higher
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
The summer flowers have faded and gone
Wilting leaves, look like the devils blight
My Calendar declares Autumn is here
But it’s still summer in the city
Remaining hot and dusty, here on my plot
All the dogs are panting, searching for a cool block
Singed birds have refused to fly in the oven sky
Today’s furnace, is the night’s unwanted heater
Dry rot is crumbling, under the burning sun
Fat rain drops have forgotten their landing spots
And the drought smiles at us with disdain
As we gasp and wait for the cool change tonight
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
How do you feel, my tired little sparrow
About removing more of your back marrow
They’re waving a pointy knife
What do they know, about your resurrected life
Hovering high above, Devastation Hill
Perched upon Noah’s lonely window sill
Your tiny wing looks broken, It’ll have to be reset
You’ll have to wait, to see who’s going to be your vet
How will you become stronger
Enabling you to, land and fly longer
The wall’s rose thorns, now appear deeper and sharper
Fragile and torn apart, your roaming, will now be harder
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I’m still going with my theme of “Life As A Carer”, with old poems I’ve not posted, on WordPress, or anywhere else before . I hope as readers you don’t mind my indulgence with these pieces.
What’s The Song Called
What’s it called, tending to one for so long
Eternally battling on, right or wrong
The advocate, always trying to be so strong
Giving his very being, through every song
What’s it called, yearning for one to belong
Living beside a finality, from here to beyond
The partner, always trying to sing along
Wrenching at his inner soul, with every sad song
What’s it called, suffering for one so long
Patience wearing away, life seems an eon
The soloist, always crying, not so strong
Fearing his lost heart, until the last song
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 