Hello dear readers and followers, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem“Today, Beside the Sea”, is in this weeks edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … please click on the link below to read my poem, at Coffee House Writers >>
https://coffeehousewriters.com/today-beside-the-sea/
Ivor Steven (c) July 2022
Next Sunday at my monthly “Poetry Dome” meeting we are required to write a ‘Villanelle’ , and below is my attempt at the ‘Format’ … which I have adapted from an old favourite poem of mine, “Everlasting Smile”, you’ll find my original poem attached below the Villanelle …
Her Everlasting Smile (a Villanelle)
I wonder, was it all worthwhile
My chest, heavy as never before
Remembering, her everlasting smile
I look back, on her unfortunate life-style
Being unable to walk and talk anymore
I wonder, was it all worthwhile
I relive, her personal exile
My throat, swollen and sore
Remembering, her everlasting smile
I hesitate, retracing every mile
My tears, splash on the floor
I wonder, was it all worthwhile
I cringe, behind my happy profile
My heart, has forgotten how to roar
Remembering, her everlasting smile
I sleep alone, awaiting the next trial
My tongue, tired, needs to say more
I wonder, was it all worthwhile
Remembering, her everlasting smile
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Everlasting Smile
My eyes, narrowly cracked.
My cheeks, slightly etched.
I rest here, retracing every mile.
Remembering, your everlasting smile.
My lips, already dry.
My tongue, trying to say goodbye.
I wonder, was it all worthwhile.
Remembering, your loneliest smile.
My throat, lumpy and sore.
My chest, heavy as never before.
I look back, recalling your life-style.
Remembering, your younger smile.
My lungs, empty and tight.
My legs, weak and light.
I relive, your personal exile.
Remembering, your generous smile.
My head, spinning from fright.
My heart, deep and out of sight.
I sleep alone, crying like a child.
Remembering, your everlasting smile.
Ivor Steven (c) July 2022
I found this old poem in a dusty foolscap folder under a pile of “stuff” I was tidying up … maybe from 15 years …
Today’s poem is one that I have not published on my web/blog site, and I am not sure when I first wrote the original words. Up until now, this a piece that has been filed away in a foolscap folder.
A Voice in the Mist
The moon’s my patriarch
My dream, glowing in the dark
She’s a vision, no feel, no mound
Only a voice, without sound
A distant shining, so forlorn
My heartache until dawn
She’s a pillow, no caress, no kiss
Only a voice, from beyond the mist
Ivor Steven (c) July 2022
G’day, and welcome to my blog site. My name is Ivor Steven, I live in Geelong, Australia. I’m an ex-industrial chemist, and a retired plumber, and a former Carer of my wife(Carole), for 30 years, who suffered from severe MS. I Write poetry about those personal thoughts, throughout and beyond my life as a Carer…
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Hello readers and followers, the poem I am reposting today is an ”Alphabet” poem that I wrote in April 2019, two days before I left to fly to NewYork, on my way to visiting my Philadelphia cousins, who I had never met, and of course I was also to meet my favourite niece and penpal “Kerri” for the “First” time … So, I thought I would try to write my “First” every Alphabet Poem, to celebrate my “First” every trip to New York and Philadelphia …
Hot Cross Buns and Chocolates
America, here I come, ready or not
Beyond my bed-zoned borders
Chasing those forgotten horizons
Dreams are finally blossoming
Easter treats are tucked in my pockets
Fancy editions of my poems, are packed in the case
Giant airports and planes abound
Hot cross buns, and more chocolates are eaten
Inspiring my week’s holiday mood
Jet engines soaring aloft
Kidnapping me by default
Lawyers left floundering
My medical records lost in transit
Naughty nightingales, again covering for me
Opening my doorways, to the promised land
Passing high above the melody, at heaven’s archway
Quarantine played, Leonard’s Tower Of Song
Rumblings, I hear from a distant Bensalem yard
Spiritual chants, from my family circle
Telepathic messages, humming on a magic carpet ride
Unbroken my promise, now to be honoured
Vikings and villains to be avoided
Weapons disguised, under the statues torch of liberty
Xylophones I hear, playing on the streets of New York
Young ladies are dancing to my tune, Hallelujah
Zero-ground, salutes me there, staying upside down
Ivor Steven (c) May 2022
Hello dear readers and followers, as you may know, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem“My River Flows”, is in this weeks edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … please click on the link below to read my poem, at Coffee House Writers >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/my-river-flows/
Ivor Steven (c) May 3rd 2022
Readers who follow my blog site would know that I attended an Ekphrastic Poetry Workshop during the week, and my poem here today is from a previous Ekphrastic workshop that I went to, in September 2018
Readers who follow my blog site would know that I attended an Ekphrastic Poetry Workshop during the week, and my poem here today is from a previous Ekphrastic workshop that I went to, in September 2018
Above is the Chapbook published by Geelong Writers, and the magnificent painting by Graeme Altmann, that inspired my poem ‘Waiting Time’
Waiting Time
I’m a time-traveler on a mission
Waiting for a personal vision
An image of my father’s ghost
To appear above the white-water coast
Millenniums ago, I delivered him to the ocean
Threw his ashes across the horizon
Away from faceless time-clocks
Away from hidden jagged rocks
Now I see him, proudly standing afloat
Wondering, who’s left to row the boat
Waiting for the breeze, without a sail
Seeking his passage through soundless hail
Beyond tumbling waves, a prism of light
Waiting stops, his alien spirit soars tonight
Ivor Steven (c) Sept…
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Within my old mind
I am foolishly unkind
How can I unwind
My selfish ego is blind
While my heart is left behind
Ivor Steven (c) May 6th 2022
A special poem I wrote, after I’d taken my Lady to hospital for the last time, on the day of her 65th birthday. ten years ago. Hello Carole, and I wonder if you still wonder that I wonder, wishing upon your celestial star…….
Under The Snow.
We emanate to a birthday.
We deflate to a final day.
Birthdays, they all come, they all go.
Birthdays, in the sunshine, under the snow.
Birthdays, slow to mature, quickly an aeon.
Birthdays, before we are born, after we are gone.
Birthdays, hanging on by a breath.
Birthdays, nailed to a cross ’til death.
What’s it all mean to be alive and cry.
What’s it all mean to live and to die.
Ivor Steven. (c) May 2022
Below; I have formed one poem out of four Haiku that I wrote this morning, and I have many fractured thoughts within my soul today, a decade after Carole’s passing on May 3rd 2012 at 1.15pm …
Today’s Fragments
(A four Haiku poem)
I am who I am
I can’t use another tram
She’s my hologram
I sit beside her
Next to yesterday’s campfire
Candles in the wind
A red flame flickers
Under her celestial star
My eternal light
On my island home
Winds blow from across the sea
Completion awaits
Ivor Steven (c) May 3rd 2022
Back on the 2nd of May 2012, I thought this poem was going to be the last piece I would ever write … finality for my wife was near, and my mind was adrift on the horizon. … little did I know, that in few months time, her spirit and enthusiasm for life, would become the inspirational source for the revival of my poetry writings, and now a decade later “Carole’s” amazing zest for life, still influences my every thought behind the words I write …
‘Til Death Do Us Part
She’s there, in that tall pale building of brick.
Where the Nightingales care and tend to the sick.
She’s there, away from home and her comforting bed.
Where the Doctors try to fix the endless ills from her head.
She’s there, and her absence reminds me of future plights.
Where my anxieties for her her well being endure her fight.
She’s there, and I need to visit her all day, and every night.
Where the distance to reach her soul is out of sight.
She’s there, and I’m wondering about that far away dome.
Where her lost personal affection would leave her all alone.
She’s there, in those misty clouds, with church bells ringing.
Where she’s near to the sombre sounds of angels singing.
She’s there, and her constant pain remains tight in my heart.
Now I’m convinced, just like I said at the very start.
There’s no place like home for her gathering dark.
And I promise to her again, ‘til death do us part.
Ivor Steven (c) May 2nd 2022
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 