Day Lily And Love

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.

Isolation Time

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

“Villanelle For Our Time”

“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.

From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.
This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.
We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.
The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.
Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.
Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.

Lines To Nowhere

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

Afterlife

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

Hysteria

Yesterday’s ancient graves

Sent me a parting wave

Passing the higher fools

Leaving me to drool

My body was shivering

Bones were rattling

My leftovers are for the taking

Mum’s sponge-cake is baking

I need a change of attitude

A party at high altitude

Up here on level seven

Close to heaven

I could invite my unknown bacteria

Sing along to Leonard, sharing hysteria

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

P

Reverse the Smiles

Stop your smiles

I’ve slipped back three miles

No more well wishes

There’s only yesterday’s dirty dishes

Bake me my favourite cake

We’ll have to leave it til late

Nothing’s going straight

How long will I wait

Before I cry again

From my demon’s pain

He’s throwing me an unfair game

There’s no-one to blame

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Oh What A Night, They Sent Me Home Tight

All My News.    By: Leonard Cohen

 

Do not decode

these cries of line

They are the road

and not the sign

 

Nor deconstruct

my drugless high

I’m sober but

I like to fly

 

Then quickened with

my open talk

You need not pick

the ancient lock

 

From Leonard Cohen’s, Poems And Songs, produced by “Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets”. 1993