Dear Friends, A Letter To You

Dear friends

Last night I went out

Enjoyed myself

Good company and plenty of fun

There were some children there

I saw the children laughing

At the foolish antics

Of us silly adults

I arrived back home

After midnight

Then I read in bed

Some of my blog comments

Responses to my recent poems

About “We can help the children”

I was deeply touched

I started crying

Emotions tore at my heartstrings

Tears flooded my soul

Your replies were sincere

And compassionately moving

Dear friends

I thank you

One and all

May our solidarity

“Help the children”

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Tit Bits #13

This is my 13th writing of “Tit Bits”, and coincidently today is Friday 13th. I’m not sure whether this means good luck or bad luck for my post today ??

Our pain is like rain

The pain comes and goes

Heavy and light

He’s got us trumped

There’s more poison

In his venom

The facts are there, for all to see

But all the blind eyes are covered in cotton wool

Their ears are buried in the sand

And toes paddling in their own bullshit quagmire

Now is the time to help

Doing the little things that count

Little step after little step

And in time they become one big stride

I hope these tears of mine

Become the glassy mirrors

Of hope

For the frightened children

They need our love

Love is a life-line

Love feeds a soul

Love revives a heart

Love is the meaning of life

Life is love

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018 

 

A Single Atom

Weekly Word Prompt:  Subliminal  click to view all the responses to this weeks word prompts 

For the weekly word prompt “Subliminal” I’m reposting this old poem of mine “A Single Atom”, which I originally created from a very mixed up and vague dream I had when I was experiencing a lot of guilt complexes about a new relationship I was having at the time, only a year after my wifes passing. My subconscious was subtly  injecting doubts into my mind during my sleep !!

A Single Atom

I see a shooting star, traverse the full-moon

Like a jungle bushfire, raging out of sight

I feel the heat of midday, smothering 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. (c)  2018

Grindstone Potion

From before the start

You ripped out my heart

And splintered my bones

With your sharpest stones

You laugh and mock

I’m pieces of crushed rock

 

Waiting at every station

You left me in slow motion

With beach-sand in my pocket

I’m holding an empty locket

Cast adrift in the ocean

I’m free of your grindstone potion

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Featured Image:  Bing.  whyou.deviantart.com

Dimpled Fingers

An insightful and thought provoking poem by my dear friend Jane of janebasilblog . “Together We Can Help”. Please take the time to read her words and add your comments. “Let Us Not Be Silent” https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2018/07/01/let-us-not-be-silent/

janebasilblog's avatarMaking it write

child poverty

.

Dimpled fingers
that reeked of crayon and ink,
riffled the fat book whose images depicted
thin children with unfamiliar skin-tones
from different races.

Blatant deprivation
is not pretty. The charity knew this.
Skin was scrubbed and wrapped in clean clothing.
The touched-up, sunrise smiles of these cute kids
seduced even the school-yard bully.

We each paid
our fisted shilling and took an image home.
Girls chose girls, and all knew which boys
were school-yard romance material
by what gender they selected.

It felt virtuous;
saving the children of the world
at the cost of a shilling.

My own photograph girl
boasted exotic black-sheep curls,
milky cocoa skin, ebony eyes that, even
through the monochrome, looked as if the whites
had been soaked in my my mother’s bag blue.
Her smile suggested a regular pastime
of birthday treats, an ignorance
of hunger and misuse.

My mind reeled; beneath
a…

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Is The Plumber A Poet, Or Is The Poet A Plumber

Weekly Prompts Photo Challenge  

Unusual Shape

Squares And Rounds

Do you see what I see

There’s a kennel on the shed

‘Twas a little dogs favourite bed

20180625_153048 (1)

Do you see what I see

There’s a five foot hole in the ground

Plumbing pipes all around

 

Do you see what I see

There are stormwater pipes under the house

An old plumbers been a dirty mouse

Do you see what I see

There are downpipe boxes and bends

A craftsman joined the ends

Shapes are up

shapes are down

Squares and rounds

 

The plumber’s had a busy week

The poet’s feeling tired and meek

Far too sore to even speak

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018