Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Anniversaries, they come and they go.

Some time now, since that final May snow.

Anniversaries, they have floated past,

Some time now, I reminisce the last.

Anniversaries, none ever forgotten.

Some time now, since your everlasting smile was taken,

Anniversaries, through to coral, every hue.

Some time now, since a wave passed through.

Anniversaries, when love grew stronger,

Some time now, since the years became longer,

Anniversaries, through, love, suffering and pain.

Some time now, since our river filled with rain.

Your troubles fell with an Autumn leaf.

Forever enshrined in your honourable belief.

Ivor Steven. 

There’s a lady on the horizon,

Standing against the dusk.

Viewing her sinking sun.

She’s not quite in tune,

Hiding between the dawn,

And her fading moon.

A quietly gracious lady,

On her old verandah bench.

Sitting between her shallow pond,

And her broken fence.

Waiting patiently to be set free,

To beyond her flowering wattle tree.

Glowing against her brightest star-light,

Avoiding her darkest night

Thank you Jan, of “Book ’em, Jan O”, for prompting me to retrieve this one out of the broom closet, and publish it, just for the “hell” of it !!

I’m trapped in this limbo cave,

Between here now, and being there.

Like being between the crack of dawn,

And making your morning debut.

Like starting your breakfast fair,

And the larder’s completely bare.

Like being showered and cleansed,

And doing your spruce for no-one at all.

Like being ready for today,

And there’s no tomorrow ’til fall.

My time’s standing still here in limbo,

And my patience is wearing away.

Like the sunset and its extended dusk.

And there’s only that vacant twilight zone.

Like going to that luncheon date,

And there’s no girl on her chair.

Like travelling to town at night,

And the streets are dark and empty.

Like they’re all hiding from you,

And waiting for your midnight showdown.

Like being in this limbo cave,

And no-where to go, no-where at all.

By: Ivor Steven.

I’m neither here nor there,

Half asleep or half awake.

Not quite conscious,

Like a drifting snowflake.

Sinking through a prism,

Where I fantasize and over-achieve.

Seeing a blond haired vixen,

Thinking I’ve seen her tatt’s before.

I’m retreating, hiding,

From her beckoning embraces.

My drunken mates at the bar,

Giggling and smirking, as if I can’t see.

Between there’s a tattered curtain,

A pale veil, shadows lurking.

A vision frighteningly surreal,

Like a fiery chasm.

The blonds tattoos spasm,

Chasing my body into the surf.

A bubbling sensation, wildly scary,

I sprawl atop the tattoos in the sand.

And I wonder what to do,

With her bloodied tattooed hand,

Wishing I could escape from here or there.

I suddenly awaken, and burst into tears,

Recognising my weakly fears.

Ivor Steven.

My faith in humanity

Is wearing thin

Like the Arctic icecap.

My generousity

Backflipped by tricks,

Like an acrobat’s fall.

My naiveness exposed,

Like a pricked condom.

My smile erased,

Like Trump’s first promise.

My kindness stolen,

By camels, across the desert.

And a trusting spirit broken,

By a few faceless ghouls.

By: Ivor Steven

Featured Image:  A copy of the cover of the book “Melpomene”, Edited by Gwendolyn Taunton, Containing works both old and new, Melpomene offers a prime selection of literature on the melancholic side of existence, the transformational beauty of the esoteric, occult secrets hidden in verse, sorrow, doom and the inevitable grasp of death.

I do wonder,

What’s important in life.

Why’s it so important,

To have someone to talk to,

And a companion too.

Does it matter,

If we remain alone and bare,

And love continues to be unfair.

I do wonder,

What’s important about our pounding hearts.

Why’s it so important,

To have a soulful beat, like a bass drum,

And walk a single path with your loved one.

Who cares,

If we leave a hopeful trail of crumbs,

And the Bowerbirds eat everyone.

And I do wonder,

Why’s love so important.

And I crave for the answer,

Before I’m dormant.

Ivor Steven.

Featured Photo: Taken by my, Samsung Galaxy S5, 24/08/2017, sunset at the end of my Court, here on the top of Geelong, Bell Post Hill.

Every time I opened a photo album,

I saw her personal emblem.

Every time I turned about face,

I felt my pain, all again.

Every time I switched on the screen,

I waited for a different dream.

Every time I tried another channel,

I cried during the battle.

Every time I played another sad tune,

I sang until the next full moon.

Every time I walked out the back door,

My head would be in the clouds.

Every time I looked up to heaven,

My angel would be at the gate.

And I saw the rain on her face,

And I felt the memory rain, all again.

Ivor Steven.

Early Sunday morning

At my desk

Writing in pencil

The inks frozen

No joke Kelvin

Send the firewood

Light up my heart

With soulful words

Give my fingers a start

Knuckles are throbbing

An arthritic chill

My dog’s coughing

Poor little Lily

She feels it too

Ah, not to worry

A sombre smile

A sun-ray

Shining through

Thawing my will

Freeing my quill

Ivor Steven.