Tag: Music/singer/songwriters

Yes, I am small in this overburdened world

But I flutter freely when unfurled

I could be a family picture collage

Or a tiny squirrel amongst the foliage

On his journey, of ups and downs

Collecting and storing his acorn crowns

The trick is to enjoy the ups

While the floodgates are shut

Sometimes, I did nearly drown

Other times, I floated upside down

During the many seasonal rains

I wondered, if I’d every swim again

So then, I pretended to write a biblical book

Ignorantly thinking no-one would ever look

Afterwards, I thought I could walk on water

Then my boots became water-logged

And if you need to walk a mile in my shoes

You’ll have to learn how to swim, and sing the blues

Ivor Steven (c)  October 2019

Walking barren pastures of sand

With only detergent hands

Old arms are empty of nature’s seeds

I only see, future investment greed

And history’s lessons, are hard to understand

When we’re taught, disrespect by corporate bands

Who only extinguish life, and fracture our lands

Instead of regenerating our planet’s, last stand

Ivor Steven (c)  October 2019

Another older poem from last year, and quaintly appropriate for this historical gold-mining town of Ballarat

My Kite And Bike 

Here I am in this ancient town

Climbing the local mystical Blue Mountains

Standing in the world’s greenest paddock

Flying my yellow and purple kite

On that old magical golden thread

My kite is soaring higher and higher

Towards our planet’s crimson sky

A sky covered by the clouds rainbow hues

Creamy clouds, opaque, thick and soft

Powerful and solid grey, hovering aloft

Where pristine snowflakes abound

All bright and shiny white

Heavy enough to ride my silver bike on

Peddle my way through today’s slippery black-ice

And wallow in the colourful heights of tomorrow

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

I’m feeling a bit older this morning after last night’s party!! , so here’s an older poem I’m reposting…

Not Here Nor There

My time is slowly passing.

Age is creeping, not lasting.

I’m frail and growing older.

My body shivers when it’s colder.

And sweats like hell, in the heat.

My mind is feeble and weak.

I don’t seem to remember.

Whether it’s March, April, or September.

Here I sit, what am I doing.

There I look, where am I going.

There I ask, what’s for tea my dear.

Oh, I forgot, she’s not here.

Well best I retire to bed.

And wrest this weary head.

Under a linen sheet, like a hood.

Laying here, on this piece of wood.

Ivor Steven (c) October 2019

Dawn’s morning blue

Drowns me in droplets of dew

I slip into yesterday’s torn shoes

Damp, from last night’s dream of you

I’m late, not yet waking up

Drinking cold tea, from my “United by Blue” cup

Quickly, only time enough to catch the bus

But I stop! What’s all the fuss

They’ll always be the next one

And today, don’t forget to put a cap on

I’ll get there, twenty minutes later

Relaxed, not rushed and feeling betterer

Ivor Steven (c)  October 2019