Tag: Music/singer/songwriters

Tit Bits #15 (a Repost from October 2018)

I’ve not written one these for a while, and I’ve enough of my comments stored in my NoteBook file to fill War And Peace !! Thank you to all of my dear readers who comment on my writings, I am forever grateful, and you all continue to inspire me to write these short poetry pieces about your marvelous posts.


Tit Bit #15 (a Repost from October 2018)

I used to say, mum was the one
Dad was always there, daddy number one
Carole came along, she was my only one
They’re gone, I was left with no-one
Myself has become an intimate one
To you all, I cannot do without everyone

I love sharing my life
I love talking about my wife
Even though I’ve seen so much strife
She wouldn’t have it any other way
She graciously fought on, every day
My story will never explain her everlasting smile
My future is about trying, for her every mile

I know those old photo album feelings
Old memories and dusty dreams
Your heart does miss a beat
They’ll be tears at your feet
You’ll need a comfy seat
Bathe in the images, so sweet

Life’s rotation process is endless
Watermill wheels keep on turning
I’m writing on recycled paper
Word’s of purpose are not useless

Morning birds sing, but do not see
By day, I’ll look like a tree
Like a lonely Tawny Frog-mouth Owl
By night, hear my wisdom howl

Beware, there’s more
You’ll be shown the door
By the bolt of Thor

I’ve been inspired by my tour of yesterdays street art in Geelong, and the magnificent mural of Chrissy Amphlett, so here she is, singing with the Divinyls




Ivor Steven (c) October 2018

A Nomad (Revised)

A poem I originally wrote in July 2019, and today I am posting this revised version.



A Nomad (Revised)


I’m writing a letter to yesterday’s nomad

The drifter of my dreams, alone and sad

My nomad’s world is flowing wider

Broken trees floating on a flooding river


These empty words, today seem drier

The receding waters, now a wet season’s Indian giver


This final message, I falsely send

We shake hands, smile, our eyes pretend

My heart sinks, my nomad boards the next boat

Noah’s ark departs, I walk home, alone, in my raincoat






Ivor Steven (c)Β  September 2022

There’s A Crack In My China Soup Bowl

A poem I wrote in October 7th 2018

G’day to my readers here on WordPress, I’m not feeling well, and I’ve not been my usual self in being able to comment on all of your wonderful posts. I’m off to China on Wednesday morning, doing a compact 10 day sight-seeing tour, including the Great Wall of China. Hopefully I’ll be feeling betterer by then. Here’s my poem for today. I’d like to thank Kate of “Calmkate’, for the use of her words, “rank dank muddy waters”, which were basically the inspiration behind my gloomy poem, “There’s a Crack In My China Soup Bowl”, and also thanks to “Stella”, for giving me the idea for the Title of this poem.



There’s A Crack In My China Soup Bowl


My head’s full of black clouds

Drenched by the sky’s contaminated rain

My chest’s full of green slime

Drowned by the valley’s poisoned rivers


My eyes are full of yellow tears

Etched by the lake’s rank dank muddy waters

My heart’s full of grey blood

Permeated by the ocean’s mercury floor


There’s a stench in the air we breathe

How can we possibly leave

Walk up through those old rusty gates

Are we losing the battle, are we too late



Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Dreamless

A poem from a previous bad back month, in December 2019, seems to be appropriate
as I head into the second month of frustrating inactivity … Sorry, readers and followers for my continuing blogging absense …




Dreamless


Tap, tap, feel the back pain again

The drizzling pulse of dreamless rain

Falling on a hard pillow, wet and stained

The misty clouds of sleepless brain


Rivers of visions, once crystal clear

Now flooded fields of dreamless fears

Cascading mirrors, once reflective and sheer

Now broken pools of dreamless tears





Ivor Steven (c)Β  Dec 2019

Wall of Thorns

Another repost while I am laying down with my sore back … written when I had my third stroke, and I was laying in hospital 31st January 2019 …

Apologies to my readers and followers for not blogging and responding to your articles with my usual zest, my debilitating back pain doesn’t allow me to sit at my computer … hopefully the situation will improve soon.


Wall of Thorns (a Haiku)


My bed of roses

Is scaling a wall of thorns

Perpetually



Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Pain And Tears

A poem about a painful procedure I had a few years ago … sadly my back pain today is feeling very similar πŸ€—πŸŒ



Pain and Tears

I was curled up like a baby

Exposing my arched back

Firstly an aching anesthetic needle

Then a probing harpoon

They were digging deep beneath

I was gritting my teeth

They had missed the spot

Hitting bone, not forgiving or soft

I screamed in pain

My tears poured like rain

Finally the probe was extracted

And with another injection of anesthetic

A second probing spear

The next failure I did fear

I’m biting that imaginary bullet

My tears poured like rain

They pulled out the rod again

One more go, they deemed

Is the procedure a bad dream

More anesthetic went in

Followed by that probing rod

Relief, they find the core’s spot

The spinal fluid is drained

Happily, my tears stopped again

Ivor Steven (c)  Feb 2019

Hotter Than Helios

Here in Geelong we are going through an extended warm/hot spell, of some 20 days in a row of the temperature being over 30’C … and this a poem I wrote 3 years on January 25th, so appropriately the poem gets replay today …

Hotter Than Helios

Today is hotter than hot

This town’s a living melting pot

You could fry an egg without a cook-top

I won’t be taking Yorkie for a trot

My body’s losing the plot

Waiting for my aorta’s mystery clots

 

My writing’s burnt out, on Helios hill

Leaving an arid inkwell, holding a dry quill

Despite the heat, an exercise session I’ll do, It’s my will

To continue with this daily drill

No excuses, to lose sight of spring’s daffodil

Working out, like I’m an old grinding flour-mill

 

Even if I’m over-baked, like Sunday’s hot roast

For her, I’ll take life’s chances to the utmost

 

Featured Image: From Bing Images, numrush.nl

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

Cyberspace, And Melted Digital’s (Revised)

I’ve been having Internet and computer problems for 3 days and have dug up this old poem and revised its

Cyberspace and Melted Digitals


This crazy, distorted cyberspace

Can be a dishonest place

Like talking to aliens from outer-space

False profiles and no trace


I dislike hackers with no face

And avoid their shameful attacks, what a disgrace

As if they’re hiding from the human race

Or thieves of other writers database


I’d like to knot together their shoelaces

See them fall from grace

Straight down their slippery staircase

And melt their digital’s in the fireplace


Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019