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This Week, Calen again invites us to revisit her sandbox. She asks:

“You find yourself in a quiet room looking at your reflection in this beautiful old mirror. What do you see? Is there anything in particular you like about yourself? Is there anything you don’t like? Tell us about it.”

I see an oldish bloke, who likes to write poetry

Attention seeking, or even some notoriety

Why don’t I try to write a bigger story

Flash fiction, and there’s enough for a book

Am I too afraid to really look

All my poems are quite shortish

Like last years birthday cake wish

Maybe I’ll say, “I’m far too lazy”

I can’t tell them, I’m a bit crazy !!

Nor that I’m a cute Lord of wizardry

I better start on another view

They want to know about me and you

I see a bald headed man, like my dad

And that’s not at all bad

I always said, if I grew up

To be half as good as my dad

I’d be very happy and proud

And well ahead of the crowd

He was a kind and thoughtful man

I suppose I’m honest and lend a hand

I see I’m now showing my age

My journey has torn many a page

And it’s not that I’m overly sad

It’s my veneer that show’s everyone I’m glad

I’ve lived my promise, for better and for worse

I did my job, a carer during her curse

Ivor Steven (c)

The day is one of rain.

Washing streets of thoughts down the drain.

Cleansing the stains.

Flooding the silence again.

The day is dismal and grey.

Drowning the sun, it begun in May.

Many years full of dismay.

Pouring rains, here to stay.

Ivor Steven (c)

Thank you to Gina of, Singledust, and Linda of, Urban Poetry, for both suggesting that I write words about the rain here in Geelong today. Hope the poem meets your approval Ladies.

I received this interesting post from Janebasilblog today. Starting this week, Calen, at Impromptu Promptlings, invites us to revisit the Sandbox Challenge. She begins with a loosening up exercise, asking us four questions about ourselves. Here are the questions and my answers:

If you were asked to choose seven words to describe yourself, what would they be?

* Happy

* Empathetic

* Trusting

* Loyal

* Romantic

* Determined

* Emotional
`
If you were asked to choose seven objects that have meaning for you, what objects would you choose?

* My photo albums and picture gallery

* My Music collection

* Dad’s orchids that I care for

* Carole’s memorabilia

* A poetry book Melpomene, in which a poem of mine, was my first published works

* The bookcase my grandpop made for me

* Mum’s round brass antique coffee table.
`
If you were asked to choose seven colors that have meaning for you, what colors would you choose ?

* White – like a dove, the sign of peace

* Red – the colour of Carole’s hair

* Blue – like the sky above

* Ocean Blue – the origin of life

* Green – the colour of Mother Nature

* Orange – my colour of happiness

* Neutral Gray – wouldn’t it be nice for the whole world to be neutral
~
If you were asked to choose seven places that have meaning for you, what places would you choose?

* “Tullawalla” our old family home in Ocean Grove

* Port Fairy, south west coast of Victoria, “Our” favourite camping holiday destination, special glorious times, and the friends we camped with are still my besties

* My home, probably my final abode, now proudly called “Tullawalla”

* The Ocean Grove surf beach, the sands of time here, soothes my soul.

* My sporting/football Club “Bell Park”, my lifelong community involvement group, and where “our” wedding reception was held 42 years ago, and where I still socialize.

* 27 Logan St, North Geelong, the family home for the first 20 years of my life, my childhood was blissful and it’s where all my dreams were born and fostered.

* The gorgeous site where Carole’s ashes lay…… It’s the old Geelong West Cemetery, for me the most beautiful place in the universe.

For Jane, Thank You for the inspiration to write this article…..

Featured Image:  Ivor and Carole on the beach at Port Fairy, 1978.

Ivor Steven (c)

Whistling palms

Visions of calm

Looking up and over

My verandah roof

Above, neighbouring wind-break trellis

Through the whisperings

A drooping willow tree

Sheltered aside

By darkened-green cypress pines

Beyond their leaf’s silhouette

The sky’s a clear

Morning blue

No gathering clouds in sight

My future arises bright

Ivor Steven (c)

Featured Image:  Bing search, Red White And Blue: signalbrands.com — 818designco.com

I’m leaving the party

My friends have all gone

Standing alone

Holding an empty wine

Maybe it was red

I’m thinking a white

Stains on my shirt

A lipstick collar too

Cannot remember who

Blurry visions of

Red White and Blue

Time to shoot through

Before the morning dew

Pick-up my jacket and shoes

Tip toe out

Quiet as a mouse

Head for my house

If where, I only knew

And it’ll be the ‘Hour’ soon

To sing a psalm or two

And openly confess

My personal mess

There! Kneeling on the pew

I’m remembering who

She’s wearing last nights dress

Red White and Blue

A special mention to “Mel Gutier” and “Ward Clever”, for keeping me awake until 3.00am last night, and inspiring me to write these words. Also to Leonard Cohen’s song “Leaving The Table”

Ivor Steven (c)

The end of December, and January is near.

The bell tolls louder, and how perennially I jeer.

Those same old questions, and no answers, every year.

Annually dismayed, as new dawns disappear.

Let the past be gone, now that today’s here.

Let the future come, as I face tomorrows haunting fears.

Last years sins have been, and totally bygone.

The new year’s about to begin, could be right or wrong.

Next year’s eeriely hovering, and I anxiously worry far too long.

Knowingly waiting, for my angels mourning song.

Let the past be gone, vowed todays final word.

Let the future come, but tomorrow’s dying, I heard.

Ivor Steven  (c)

Why am I so adamant that I need to fight.

Feeling this chasm of pain every night.

Why am I so adolescent about my plight.

Longing for the love, the affection, of no-one in sight.

Why am I so uncertain within myself.

Desiring relief and a remedy for my health.

Why am I so sorry for my lost time on the shelf.

Pining after my souls drowned wealth.

Why am I still shaken, afraid of life.

Thinking there’s only loneliness without my wife.

Why am I still heartsick, pierced like a knife.

Wondering if there’ll ever be anymore afterlife.

Ivor Steven  (c)

“Afterlife” is an older poem of mine, and today I’ve revised and re-edited the words slightly.  The original poem was written in July 2012, and feeling in a reflective mood as the New Year approaches, I decided to post this version of the poem, from my past.

Zap, a gigantic lightening bolt precedes a mystical power surge.

Traversing the cobalt skies, like horizontally sleek outriggers.

Vividly scoring chords to hang our every word on.

Like musical lines, writing out our lost dreams and regrets.

Sound-waves echoing, poles apart, going north, south, east and west.

Conducting iridescent lights over our purple and orange sunset.

Vibrating quasars, pulsating from deeply inside, outer-space.

Focusing towards the huge magnetic Receiving Dish, signalling “An Arrival”.

Recording a celestial traveler, singing with an angel’s voice.

Resonating sweetly, like Handel’s, Messiah Hallelujah Chorus.

Translated into our universal language of symphonic sound.

Digitally televised for the world’s population to simultaneously view.

The Super-Sonic Cosmic message to be heard loud and clear.

“We’ve returned to your degraded planet earth”.

“To again, bestow upon you, Peace And Goodwill”

“Like we’ve done before, Eons of Millenniums ago”

Ivor Steven  (c).