Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Carrot

In my palm

A fresh carrot

I have found

Covered in dirt

Out of the ground

A tapered cylinder

I wash and peel

Pure orange and long

Chopped into three

Uncooked I eat

Piece by piece

Every bite a kiss

Crisp and tasty

Nature is bliss

Walk The Walk

In response to The Weekly Photo Prompt, this weeks prompt is: Walking

I’m on a walking program to get fit for my trip to New York at the end of April. I’ve joined a walking group, via WordPress, the other members live in America, we call ourselves the “Turbo Snails”, and I’ve installed a “step counter app”, on my phone. The aim of the group is to walk every day, and record how many steps we have done, and gradually increase the steps per day, over a weekly period. My first two weeks(almost) have been steady and my progress seems to be increasing. I shall take my chart to my physiotherapist on Monday. The main priority, is for me to consistently undertake the daily walk, and naturally the step count will increase over time. As wobbly as I am, the first two weeks has been a pleasant success, in the context of my progress made so far !! , a total of 27,530 steps…. and on January 1st, that amount seemed an impossible target… I was then struggling to step out of the house…

The Green Witch’s Old Broom

My locked bubble is about to go boom

Too long I’ve been a stranger in my own tomb

Under a concrete lid, hiding my gloom

Where my world was a Hades of doom

Now these walls are my life-giving womb

Being reborn as a smiling used groom

I’m breaking out of my master bedroom

Escaping on the green witch’s old broom

Flying to the distant land in springtime bloom

Where I won’t have to wear my mask and costume

Discarding my orange Kaftan from Khartoum

I’ll invade the big apple’s newsrooms, to broadcast my poetry heirlooms

Don’t Ask Me Why

Hi dear readers, I’ve found this old poem in my folder of poetry called “Love And Reflection”. I’ve changed a few words, so the poem is in the present tense, but basically the words are in the same format. I’ve had it hidden away for a while, the poem is quite personal and emotional for me, I hope you enjoy reading my words from 6 years ago.

Don’t Ask Me Why

Unknowingly, I often dream of her serene ashen face

Years ago, I gently held her frailty in my tired arms

Softly I whispered to her, my last words of love and grace

Don’t ask me why, I count the moons since I missed her charms

Because I cannot give you a sensible or plausible answer

Don’t ask me why, I count the stars since I lost my way

Because I’m unable to fathom the depths of my inner cancer

Don’t ask me why, I count my every heart beat, since she died that day

Because now, I’ve nearly recovered

And somehow, life has been steadily rediscovered

Remembering, she’ll never ever go away

Knowing someday, I’ll be allowed to stay

January

I would like to thank Christine Bolton of “Poetry for healing” for her prompt and inspiration, for me to write this Haiku. Please Click >> Here. To look at her glorious site and poems

January

Cloudless happy days

Sunlight kisses everything

Feeling warm within

Yorkie And Me

Yorkie’s staring at me vacantly

Like I’m a strange tattooed bikie

Sitting on him, me anxiously crying away

Why am I crying, he quietly says

Looking at me with those big silver eyes

Pondering whether he’s hurting me

Is the ride too much pain

Is all the walking a physical drain

No !! None of that I exclaim, crying tears again

I’m crying wondering, if I’ll ever get there

Crying, because I cannot wait to be there

Crying with embarrassment, for the tears I’ll shed when I’m there

Suddenly, Yorkie barks out at me

Oh Ivor, keep pedalling, toughen-up and and you’ll arrive

Yes, me and my companion Yorkie, have become friends.

Yorkie, Against The Undertow

I’m pedalling my silver bike, called Yorkie

Pedalling slow and steady, out near my bar-bie

I’m not actually moving

But I am dreaming

Thinking of places I could be

Visualising what I might see

If I can keep pushing

I’ll end up with a Qantas cushion

I know the year is new and early

But I’m feeling unfit and unworldly

There’s a long way, for my body to go

There’s no turning back, despite the undertow

A Bike To New York

Come rain hail or shine

I’ll be ready for that Qantas Airline

Now I’ll always have time

To appear like I’m in my prime

I’ve a second-hand new toy

That’ll bring me pain and joy

Donated by a kind friend

Helping me get back on the mend

I’m fortunate and high as a purple kite

Under my verandah, I’ve a new silver bike

Lunch For Jiminy Cricket

I’m no Jiminy Cricket

Nor the flighty Tinkerbell

I’m far older than yesterday’s tadpole

And quieter than last night’s old frog

Time for me to venture out

Take a step into the unknown

Hobbling, I board the bus

Heading off to the local eateries

Slowly limping from stop to shops

Resting on a cafe bench seat

With soft and comfy cushions

I’m definitely not moving quickly

Unlike the “Canteen” master chef

Scrambled eggs I’ll have

My choice is delicious

Cooked to perfection

A come-back-to luncheon

For me, and for them

And I’m favourably surprised

My outing went better than expected

Tullawalla: Booklet #7

Hello dear readers, friends, and followers. I’ve been out of hospital 2 weeks now, and my progress is gradual and I’m quietly improving. However I’ve been keeping myself busy, in between nanna-naps, preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “The Healing House”, and all the poems were written during my 6 week stay in hospital, and of course along with the other 6 booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 7 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe Tullawalla, Waiting Time

And, Tullawalla, The Healing House

The booklet, Tullawalla, The Healing House, is a culmination, of writing poems under mental duress and physically very frustrating times. The poems represent a myriad of emotions and jumbled thoughts, of doom and gloom, uncertainties, comedy, and piece of optimism. Please enjoy the booklet that I am attaching here >> https://documentcloud.adobe.com/link/track?uri=urn%3Aaaid%3Ascds%3AUS%3A4ae7d436-945d-41cb-8303-598cf9cc16fb