Above: Moorabool Valley Cafe, homestead out front of the cafe, the shed that can be seen from the cafe verandah (main featured image), horse agistment paddocks surrounding the cafe.

A Walk, A Coffee, And Alone

Little Cyndi has gone home

Here I am, again alone

The house is strangely quiet

I feel coffee and cake is on the diet

Late afternoon, and I’ll go for a walk

To my favourite cafe, where the magpies squawk

A stroll in the winter sun

And remember, I am not the only one

Reflect on life’s good times

And rekindle, my memories and rhymes

Above: The walking path close to my house, and the sunset as I was approaching home.

Above: Cyndi, yes it’s going home time……

Ivor Steven (c) July 2019

I twist and roll over

A musical world spins inside my head

My somersault of dreams

Rotates under my bed-spread

Upside down

Rhythmical tiredness falls out of my seams

Words tumble around

Nameless titles and endless tunes abound

The bad moon’s turning

Singing the blues, over my empty town

I twist and roll over, again

I’m back where I started, I hear my angel humming, Hallelujah

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Today’s poem is one I wrote two years ago, and I was fortunate enough to have the piece published by, ‘Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine’, back in January 2018. A magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,
https://vitabrevisliterature.com.

Artwork:  By Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my beautiful niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.

Arctic Winds

I’m winter hibernating

Inside an Eskimo’s hut

Feeding only on fish oil

And frozen blue blood

My heart’s cold and dormant

Cowering under a dampened vestment

Wind-swept by a blizzard’s dust

Covered in icicles of my rust

My eyes are swollen rocks

Amidst polarised sockets

Terrorising all that’s passed

Like forgotten arctic icebergs

My veins are hollow crevasses

Inside a glaciers ice-flow

Sheering and groaning chasms

Like my memories deepest fjord

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Good morning dear readers, It’s a chilly Sunday here in Geelong, but it’s bad, my sister is coming down from Ballarat and we are going out for lunch. Cyndi will be staying inside, curled up next to the heater…..

Yesterday, I was dead tired

Today, I sternly asked

Why does life have to be such a task ?

Then I quietly answered myself

Life is like a bean-stalk

Isn’t it ?  My son

Whilst we are climbing high

Reaching for the sun

I cannot wait, for tomorrow’s snow

I’m not ready to go

I’m yet to repaint the sky

Again, I’ll have to learn how to fly

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

I’m a broken stick

Hit by a tonne of bricks

I’ve stroke fatigue

Tiredness out of my league

The psyche says go

My body says no

Yesterday everything was fine

Today nothing is mine

Only rest and sleep

Not even a sneaky peep

They say, what’s wrong

I say, who’s playing my song

They say, you look ok

I say, I cannot stay

Read us your poem

No ! I want to go home

Don’t spoil the show

I’m an empty shell, they do not know

** Please note: Feature Image above, copied with the permission by Niki Flow, this is her blog site.  https://under1000skies.org/

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Again I’m posting this poem on “Go Dog Go Cafe’s”, Promote Yourself Monday’s, and thank you to Linda, of “Charmed Chaos”, for the kind invitation… Please Click  >>>> Here    to visit their fabulous site.

White Clouds Over Forest Floor Snail Trails

I remember the days well

When I could hear the ringing of bluebells

And the horizon, was an aqua clear skyline

Splashed with drifting, pristine shrines

The fertile ranges, enriched by His grapevines

Growing on posts and wires, green living enzymes

Now everywhere, there’s poles, cables and yellow floodlights

Feeding hungry digital mealtimes, instead of stargazers under the moonlight

Oh, to again see clouds glide with full white sails

Moving slow enough to observe, a forest floor’s snail trails

Ivor Steven (c) July 2019

I’ve a lady visiting, on my bed

Relaxed and snoring, all spread

Friendly, and in her own way beautiful

Cuddly and always an armful

I’m grateful to have her here

Beside me, I adore her soft ears

Lovingly listening to my heartbeat

As she lays there on my feet

Undemanding, a gracious sleeping beauty

Attending to her daily needs, is my happy duty

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019