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Behind my shield

A secret hides

The mask in the mirror

Isn’t my image

Just a shadow

A veneer, brittle and thin

The smogs seeping in

Upon my mask’s

Deepest sockets

Oozy false lashes

Dark as pepper, they burn my skin

Scaly wrappings

Grotesquely etched

But the camouflage remains

A ceremonial face

Oversees my disguise

Then abruptly soaring aloft

Over oceans and skies

I am a star traveller

Old and wise

So Who am I?

Beyond my alien eyes

Ivor Steven.

Artwork:  By, TheFlyTrapMan, artist for the Slasher Monster Magazine, and drawn specifically for my poem, Inside Out, for which I’m truly grateful.

The poem “Inside Out”, is more just a rhyme and a play on a few featured words. Over the road from were I once lived, there was a furniture shop, and the advertising hoarding was, “Inside Out, Exotic Furniture”, well I was sitting there waiting for the bus, and in my minds imagination, I changed the the words to “Inside-out, Upside-down, Erotic Furniture”, and hence my little anecdote was laid….

Inside Out

The view of my love seems upside down.

When I’m at the bottom of her flowing gown.

And my erotic picture appears inside out.

What’s this scenic love all about.

The ways of my love seem upside down.

When she’s on top, covering me ’til I drown.

And I’m underneath, neither in, nor out.

What’s this crazy love all about.

The river of my love seems upside down.

When I’m sitting inside her smiling frown.

And her foreign body hits me in and out.

What’s this exotic love all about.

The world of my love seems upside down.

When I’m laying below her pounding mound.

And her endless thrusts, feel inside out.

What’s this frenzied love all about.

Ivor Steven

Photo below, I’m sitting at my bedroom computer desk, on this very cold morning, and starting to type out this humourous piece, about nobody and meaning nothing.

Photo: Courtesy of Peter Styring, Australian Parrots And Birds, you can find his beautiful photos on Peter’s Facebook site.

Tis early, very early, presumably a foggy weekend morn.

So early, all the front bedroom lights are out ’til dawn.

And the groaning of lustful lovers, have all been timed out.

Even the yapping old canines, are unusually burnt-out.

I’ve been wandering these darkly streets, groping on trust.

Looking for her, a little piece of wonderous stardust.

All I found was a discarded mug of leftover moonshine.

Oh yeah, just like the decadent old days, still I pine.

Intoxication setting in again, I’m dreaming unsound.

A girl so mysterious, out here, where to be found.

I stumble, forgetting how to walk, and I hit the ground.

And it’s the end, another fallen night, out on the town.

Ivor Steven.

I see a shooting star, traverse the full-moon.

Like a jungle bushfire, raging out of sight.

I feel the heat of midday, smoothering the night.

Like a warm body, inside her tomb.

I see the dawn, without the golden sun.

Like a Lyrebird, singing all out of tune.

I hear the morning rain, without a cloud in the sky.

Like yesterdays floods, leaving her high and dry.

I see a sandy beach, awash by a tidal wave.

Like a burning desert, water is her grave.

I fill lonely sheets, with empty dreams.

Like a dark chasms’ irrelevant beams.

I see a summer leaf, wilted by a frosty Autumn.

Like an unwatered orchid, opening to an old anthem.

I feel like a splintered heart, inside a single atom.

Like a snakes dead skin, her rejected emblem.

Ivor Steven.

Another poem by request for “Poet Rummager”, I suppose a poem of new found love, but oh so gushy, for a man who was 62 years old at the time, when a cupids arrow sent me into a whirl, like a child’s  spinning top. I now find the words a little embarrassing, displaying how vulnerable I was then, and probably, I am still now.

You gave me your mountain of love.

You showed me the valley of passion.

You gave me your river of happiness.

You showed me your ocean of kindness.

Who am I to deny you.

How can I resist you.

Now, yearning all of you.

Now, time is you.

You gave me your sunshine for living.

You showed me the moonshines warmth.

You gave me your world of devotion.

You showed me your universe within.

Now, has come again.

Now, I love again.

Now, I’ve arisen.

Now, bestowed.

Ivor Steven.

We’ll miss you,

Mother Earth,

Your splendour

And imposing style.

From forest canopy’s

To the desert Nile.

New creations,

Beauty, gone.

We’ll lose you,

Father Time,

Your rhythm

And stoic guile.

From ancient history,

To the future files.

New millennia,

Awaiting, gone.

Special thanks to,  diaryofasoulwriter,  inspiring me with her wonderful writings about love and nature, view her poem, ”Unexpected Sight”. Photo, taken at Hollybank Nature Park, Tasmania.

Ivor Steven

A poem by request, for the “Poet Rummager”. From a more recent era of my life. The photos, taken by I.Steven, part of the Shipwreck Coast, South-West Victoria, along the renowned, Great Ocean Road

Wreckage

We’re a shipwreck of the night.

The lighthouse was out of sight.

After the storm of wild passion.

Feeling wearied, a wreckage of fusion.

We’re a sperm whale on the beach.

The giant of the sea, without a speech.

After the turmoil of an endless wish.

Feeling totally lost, a wreckage amiss.

We’re a burnt-out forest of the dawn.

The ashen mountain smoulder ’til morn.

After the raging nights fire.

Feeling humbled, a wreckage of desire.

We’re a paradox of the unfolding day.

The bedsheets awry, here to stay.

After the fatigue of a forever promise.

Feeling complete, a wreckage of braveness.

Ivor Steven.