Tag: Music/singer/songwriters

Here I am, again on the waiting shelf

And strangely, smiling to myself

Laying back, in this comfortable chair

Reminiscing. My nurse, has curly red hair

She attaches the electrodes to my head

And tells me, “Ivor, do not fret”

“Relax and close your eyes”

For the next thirty minutes, I’m mesmerised

I’m in the theatre’s semi-dark

There’s occasional flashing lights and sparks

In the blink of an eye, I feel polarised

And then I waken from my lullaby

The scan time did surprisingly fly

There is no need for me to cry

I’m unplugged, the red haired nurse, asks me why

Reminiscing. I blush, and say goodbye

Ivor Steven (c) September 2019

Hello dear readers, I suppose nobody will ever understand me, or know where I’ve come from, nor comprehend, the difficult journey that I’ve travelled, to be here with you now.  Below is my humble poem of thanks, for your encouragement and support…..

My Feelings, You Are All, More Than Nine

The palms of my hands are wet

From wiping the tears off my cheeks

The soles of my feet are cold

But my soul is feeling like sunlit gold

With your shared warmth, caressing my open arms

My heart is now covered, in the ink of your kind words

And my gracious self, cannot speak

The praise I’ve received, has stolen my voice

So here I write, honestly, to you, my dear readers

I’m overwhelmed, humbled, and also honoured

Sincerely, I thank you

And here, I play this love song, for all of you

A poem I wrote for Michele, who inspired me to think of these words of praise and thanks, to all of those readers who enjoy my writings…….. ‘Always my pleasure’……..   

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

Life is starkly unusual

When darkness is having a duel

Inside our over tired heads

As we toss and turn in bed

The unconscious psyche, cannot help but peep

At the mind’s, old fighting black sheep

Locking horns over their lost flock

Rattling the bones of our over-anxious body clock

Then twisting thoughts against the boxing ropes

Finally, bells ring, and our punch-drunk soul wants to elope

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

The House is full

A friendly gathering of friends, and us poet fools

At this open mic evening for muses

An audience, a sea of smiling faces

Twenty poet’s, recitals unfold

Talented pieces, from young, and old

Appropriately, the topic was gold

The colour of my beer I hold

My turn and I read ‘A Golden Love Story’

Words from my heart’s own territory

After the show, I venture to Pistol Pete’s

Listening to live Blues music, and people to meet

A chat and a beer, with a guy from Hertfordshire

Then we have to vacate, more music and drinks we desire

There’s Beav’s Bar and music down the road

Dancing feet, off I go, talking in Morse code

During his break, I talk with the singer, Andy Forster

I give him a Tullawala booklet, and now departure time is here

Above: A Pom from Hertfordshire      Pistol Pete’s              The full moon last night

Here I’ve attached a video/music of Andy Forster’s song  ‘Weary Eyes’, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy his excellent voice and song…… and yes, I have weary eyes today…. 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

Life’s frustrations

Times of waiting

Patiently, no! … now impatiently!

Life’s constant replays

Times of delays

Put off for another day, no! ….. what!

Life’s continuous challenges

Times of trudging uphill

Sharp inclines, no! … steep cliffs!

Life’s cloudy sky’s

Times of fogginess

Peering through the haze, no! … thick smog!

Life’s deep waters

Times of flooding

Crying raindrops, no! … cascading rivers of tears!

Life’s secret moons

Times of dreams

Searching for an angel, wings broken, no! … crushed!

Life’s days of sunshine

Times of light

Blinding rays, soul’s on fire, no! … ablaze!

Ivor Steven (c) September 2019

This Weeks Word Challenge is: Reading, and here is my poem response….

Sometime Around Midnight

I was reading a book on the screen

The letters were clear, what did they mean

To be seen, without the story’s pages being turned

No leaf after leaf, of paper concerns

Then I went to bed, to read my new paperback

My mind preferred the real white and black

Eventually, tired eyes began to go down

Losing sight of the last blurry noun

I used my personal bookmark, between exact pages

That handwritten card, from my favourite sage

Then I heard a quiet clonk of my book closing

And drifting into sleep, I smell that aroma of new printing

Ivor Steven (c) September 2019