This haiku was a very sad piece for me to write. Personally, the words are an ode/tribute to our grandniece, Georgia, who was only 20…… Please, I’m ok, I’m wishing my words are appropriately good enough for the poor child lost….
A Flower Gone
In a sea of lights
She, an unpicked bloom, wilted
Young and fresh, now gone
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I suppose you could call this post a “black and white comparison piece of writing”. This week’s, weekly photo prompt: Comparison
Dear readers for the last 5 days of my 2 weeks(so far) hospital stay, I’ve been in isolation, and to help me fill in my singular time here I’ve been using a large whiteboard to write my poems on, and I’ve been writing a poem or Haiku everyday, and of course, my whiteboard is now full. Hopefully this is a sign!!, and it’s nearly time for me to go home. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the process, both physically and mentally, and everyone around me has appreciated my writings, my nurses, doctors, attendants, administrative staff, and all my visitor’s, have all come in and had a read of my whiteboard over these day’s. I don’t think this isolation room has seen the likes of a plumber/poet before, and the buzzing atmosphere of expectation, in room 5 on level seven, has made it a pleasant place to be..
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
The featured image above, is taken from Leonard Cohen’s, Book of Longing, page 154.
Haiku
A Window Voice
I cannot hear the bird
Singing in the window tree
Birds are the free voice
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I’m going for a procedure this morning, a bronchoscopy, an examination of my lungs. Hopefully they’ll have some good results for me, and I’m able to go home soon, so I can tend to my Day Lily.
Upon my pillow I sleep
Good morning, I do peek
From the cushion of my dreams
A pads radiating beams
Blushing red hues, oh so bright
You bloom during the night
After cuddling the dew
You open up your scenic view.
Flowering, standing proud and steep
Perfection at my feet
A glorious Lily, like wings of a dove
And by Day you air your love
Ivor Steven (c) 2018.
I’ve been hidden away
Out of sight
Out of harm’s way
Locked in my room
A poet Pharaoh’s tomb
Or a butterfly’s cocoon
There’s a shining light in my bubble
On top of all my rubble
Above the deathly quietness
I’m a lonesome chick in his nest
Or a bear with a sore head
Hibernating in his bed
Tucked away for winter
Living in an Eskimo’s igloo
Day after day, I’m wearing old
Isolation my saviour, from the cold
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I’ve been given a pusher
The bullet train’s due
Woosh, and I’ll be away
Beyond what the eye can see
Below the seven levels
Where the big round catz hang out
I’ll be laying low
Ready for the scan
The job was a buzz
I’m back to reality
Now waiting for the game results
Today’s another new day
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
“Villanelle For Our Time”
Dear readers, if you are inclined, please read this magnificent piece, written by Leonard Cohen, a truly inspiring poem, displaying all of his brilliant craftsmanship.
My curtains were opened
I saw a setting eclipse
And I decided to walk
To the south side of the moon
Taking my own spoon
I heard there’s a cheese-cake tasting
A sweet crumbly base
Topped with blueberries and cream
Life’s not about lying in bed
I’ll meet you for a kiss
After school
Down by the old pool
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Dear readers, as most of you might know , I’m in hospital, and now my energy levels are low, so there’ll be no new poems for a while. I’ll post a few of my older poems, today’s is “Afterlife” originally written July 2012.
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) 2018
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 