Tag: Life/lifestyle

Flying Too High

G’day dear readers and followers (2780) … Today, five years ago I started writing on my blog-website, and a sincere thank to you all, for supporting, viewing, visiting, and commenting on my poems … I hope you have enjoyed reading my humble writings …



Flying Too High



What does it all mean?

Millions of numbers on my screen

Two hundred thousand views

Seventy thousand visitors

And fifty thousand comments


Can there be anymore replies?

Left in my cyber-sky

My clouds are over occupied

My eyes are tired and dry

Have I been flying too high?

By energizing my poems to multiply






Ivor Steven (c) June 2022

Walking in Winter Rain



Welcome to wintry Geelong

One day, shimmering sunshine

The next, cold as the South Pole


But there he sits

At the front door

Waiting for his morning walk


Ok Frankie “Let’s brave it”

The wind is frigid

The misty rain is hard

And my eyes are crying

Icy droplets in the snow


But I am not complaining

As I think about the children

Sheltering in their damp cellars

Hiding from Putin’s hard rain

A deluge of bombs and bullets

Callously sent to kill and maim




** Please enjoy the Waterboys song below, “Mad as the Mist and Snow”, the words are directly taken from the W B Yeats poem of the same and musically adapted by Mike Scott

The Waterboys Lyrics ( by,W B Yeats)

“Mad As The Mist And Snow”

Bolt and bar the shutter for the foul winds blow
Our minds are at their best this night and I seem to know
That everything outside us is mad as the mist and snow
That everything outside us is mad as the mist and snow.

Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below
And here is Tully’s open page, how many years ago
Were you and I, lads, mad as the mist and snow?
Were you and I, lads, mad as the mist and snow?

You ask what makes me sigh, what makes me shudder so
I shudder and I sigh to think that even Cicero
And many minded Homer were mad as the mist and snow
That Cicero and Homer were mad as the mist and snow
That Cicero and Homer were mad as the mist and snow
…






Ivor Steven ©  June 2022

False Kings and Foolish Czars



The silence of time 

Will eventually bury mankind 

How many false Kings 

And foolish Czars 

Have destroyed our peaceful yards 


How many crumbling bricks 

Live in your castle walls? 

How foul are the deadly waters 

That fill your castle moats? 

How many old bridges 

Have you foolishly burnt down? 


How many shallow graves 

Do we have to dig? 

Before cemeteries overflow 

How many bloody floods 

Do we have to endure? 

Before the final curtain falls  






Ivor Steven (c) June 2022

That Endless Sound

This little piece is a poetic comment that I wrote in response to V.J. ‘s intriguing poem, ‘On the Edge of Too Late’ >> https://vjknutson.org/2022/06/02/on-the-edge-of-too-late/
Thank you V.J. for touching my nerve ends!!


That Endless Sound




I wonder about the edge

Over time, the dance has eluded me

Between giddily spinning in circles

And my inevitable stumbles

Life has left me spiraling

Without, an ending sound






Ivor Steven (c) June 2022

NOW … REiMAGINE, Ekphrastic Poetry At The Foundry Studio & Gallery

The Geelong Writers Inc produced this excellent Chapbook from the Ekphrastic workshop that I attended only Three weeks ago, and a big thank you goes to our President, Guenter Sahr, and our hard working Editor, Victoria Spicer …

The Chapbook is available at only $5 via Geelong Writers Inc >> https://www.facebook.com/geelongwritersvic/


And below are my two poems that were published in the Chapbook








Ivor Steven (c) June 2022

Who Has The Foggiest? (a Limerick)

This week’s challenge on Weekly Prompts is: MISSING. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> Here .. and my Limerick below is in response to the prompt ‘Missing’


 
 
Who Has The Foggiest? (a Limerick) 




I cannot see the morning moon 

There’s no sunshine in my breakfast spoon 

The heaviest of fogs falls 

I cannot hear the birds’ calls 

Has our world condemned nature’s tune? 






Ivor Steven ©  May 2022

The Rear of Night (Revised)



My fading dawn was impossible to identify

A heavy fog had kidnapped my sky

Sabotaging my morning sunlight

The day disappeared in front of my eyes

The passing of night left a murky blight

There’s no start nor end to my blurred sight

Breathing in moist air, I gasp, “where’s the moon?”

Had my dismal forecast unravelled too soon?

Is this shadowless gloom?

The beginning of doom ?






Ivor Steven ©  May 2022