Ivor.Plumber/Poet

I’m having lunch in town

At the quaint, Cafe Go

A picture of my lunch

And the lovely courtyard (attached)

I’m reading a copy of Paul Sunstone’s poem

Which I printed this morning

The poem makes for interesting reading

For my lunch-time break

Here’s the comment I’m sending to Paul

Please Click >>Here. to view his entire poem

 

“Sounds like you are in

Great need of holes

Either, to let the light in

Or the darkness out

What ever way

Do your holes stay”

 

I adored this stanza, imagining, the sharp blade of wit, lovingly poking holes in you, for some gloomy reason, that seemed to activate my warped sense of humour.

“Would you be so kind, my love,
Would you be so tender,
As to poke some holes in me
With the sharp blade of your wit?”

I’ve recently introduced Paul to the music of Manchester Orchestra, and here’s a song of there’s we may all enjoy.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Her favourite coat, forever hangs in my wardrobe

Unmistakably I feel the coat’s presence

Every-time I open the wardrobe door

I instinctively turn to see her family heirloom

A gift that’s been handed down from her grandmother

However, the gift she wasn’t able to wear when the sickness begun.

Not once, over the next thirty years, of frailty and fears

Time is now a broken clock face

Seven years ago, she did pass

And her favourite coat I keep, my piece of memorabilia

I do know, she’s not going to reappear

For me to gently and warmly cover her tender shoulder

Consciously I’m not sure, why the coat remains

I’ve tried to give the coat away

To a homely charity, and even a local actor’s group

Fortuitously her coat has not been accepted

Here in the wardrobe, the glorious old coat stays

Along with the other trinkets of her forever spirit

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

I’m wasting days, walking hot bitumen streets

Wishing I was there in my balloon, on the old rocking seat

A life’s fragile bubble incomplete

 

I’m ready to fly and eventually burst

Into the distant sky, away from the church

I’m alive and not waiting for the hearse

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

I’m not going to say the day’s bloody hot

My sweat’s obviously real

As the ice in the fridge looks like molten steel

I’m not going to say the south pole’s defrosted

The public are screaming true

As the polar-cap’s sheer faces, drop like morning dew

I’m not going to say the air we breathe is polluted

The evidence blows right in front of you

As we smell the stench, it’s enough to make you spew

I’m not going to say politicians value money more than you

Their filled pockets are blatantly on view

As they corruptly succumb to greed of the chosen few

I’m going to rant and rave, even if it’s too hot

Losing my block, to stop this embellished rot

The heat is on them to cool off our plot

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

I’ve shut myself inside

The devil’s heat lays outside

The curtains are closed

Doors are locked

Who am I hiding from

I’m alone in my home

What am I keeping In

Can’t recall, the last time I sinned

I’ve already slept through the day

The day is passing away

Morning’s ghost has gone

Mid-afternoon and nothing’s done

It’s far too hot

To just sit here and rot

In my mind, what else to do

But think, about you

Ivor Steven (c) 2019