there is a darkness
within us all
waiting i confess
for that beckoning call
i am a mere man
her glass jar
folds in my hand
housing her lonely star
like lava bleeding into the sea
her beckoning green eyes
did melt me
Ivor Steven (c) February 2022
Tag: Photos
A Sunset’s East Wind
my darkest past
lives within
my newest cast
of a sunset’s east wind
i am back to reality
a speck in the crowd
writing about my journey
dreaming aloud
dream-times
are my best rhymes
Ivor Steven (c) February 2022
Pure White Gold
On Weekly Prompts, the monthly Colour Challenge is; The Golden Hour. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> HERE. and my poem “Pure White Gold” is my response to today’s prompt ..
Pure White Gold
we all have our worth
here on mother earth
the apple I ate today was pure white
did I do wrong, or was I right?
to have that unadulterated bite
knowing all eyes do not share my golden insight
it is a crying shame
that our dreams are not all the same
who is to blame
for this loveless game
please give us some hope
so we may live to cope
Ivor Steven (c) February 2022
Waiting For The Revolving Door
This week the Wednesday Challenge from Weekly Prompts is; OVERTHINK. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here . And today I have been “Overthinking” to make any sense out of my thoughts during the writing of my poem tonight …
Waiting at the Door
I was waiting last year
waiting last month
waiting last week
waiting yesterday
I am waiting again tonight
do I wait for tomorrow?
I might as well keep waiting
wait for what I have been waiting for
wait for that revolving door
Ivor Steven (c) February 2022
Underneath (a Senryu)
The scars never sleep
love, pain, go beyond skin-deep
underneath they weep
Ivor Steven (c) February 2022
Count To Three
me and my shadow
are searching for tomorrow
despite decades of sorrow
there is no time left to borrow
I hope there is someone to take care of me
set my spirit free
among nature’s ancient trustees
maybe they will let my soul flow into the sea
but please stop, and count to three
before all your axes fell all our trees
Ivor Steven (c) January 2022
Talking to the Moon
in my hazy bedroom
it is unexplainable
what I say to the moon
and there is that secret
unknowable connection
an unmistakable tune
received in an echoing response
from my unattainable moon
Ivor Steven (c) January 2022
Hoot Hoot. (a Haiku)
Hoot, listen and learn
The old wise owl said sternly
Hoot, then he adjourned
Ivor Steven (c) January 2022
Dawn and Twilight
I missed out on the dawn sky
morning did pass me by
daylight grew wings and learnt to fly
my horizon fades out of sight
and twilight will turn into night
before I begin to write
Ivor Steven (c) January 2022
Who Rang the Bell
I am a tiring old writer
like a punch-drunk fighter
who buckled and fell
before the round eleven bell
lying flat on the bloody canvas
wishing I were ambidextrous
like the incredible Emily Dickison
(Oh, she must have been!)
and have I more stories in my subconscious?
ring the bell for round twelve
I am in the corner, blindly courageous
sitting here within my dizziness
waiting for the new world to stop being carnivorous
Ivor Steven (c) January 2022
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 