My key is low and unopened
My sea has been a rough ocean
My year could be right or wrong
My dreams are in this year’s theme song
And on those dark foggy days
When I cannot clearly see the way
Unsure but steadily I shall walk on through
To see beyond the fog, where my sky is still blue
I am to be always thankful
That I didn’t lose myself under life’s waterfall
I am to be always honest with myself
And not expect too much from my old bookshelf
Ivor Steven (c) January 2021
This Weekend on Weekly Prompts, it’s their first Colour Challenge of 2021 and appropriately they have chosen the colour: White. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here. My poem is a “Re-Whitewash from 2 years ago..
A White Wall, Whiter Than White
I’m lying here in my white-walled bedroom
My body’s been feeling white-hot
The white ceiling fan is cooling me down
Laying under only white sheets
Covering my white skin
This is not the White House
I don’t lie that much
I’ve not white false hair
So my white halo stays on
Without looking like a silly clown
Outside, my great side wall is white
The back courtyard is safe and secure
No non-whites can’t get in or out
Unless they desperately needed to
The great backyard wall
May be easily scaled
With a sturdy white ladder
I’m trumped, here in Australia
Walls don’t even keep out the flies
I’ve been reading my history books
The white walls built in the past
They have never lasted
Over they climbed
Or under they crawled
The walls were eaten by dust mites
Resilient as a feather duster
And pulled down by liberators, in disdain and shame
Ivor Steve (c) 2019
No need to dine out
I am living on life’s leftovers
And leaning on her vacant shoulder
The silence is deafening
But I hear soft sounds of violins
Gently echoing on my heart strings
They are humming the chords of our song
That momentary tune, from once upon a time
“Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to be like and enjoying it for everything that it is” — Mandy Hale
Let The Past Be Gone (Revised)
The end of December, and January is near
The bell tolls louder and how perennially I jeer
Those same old questions and no answers every year
Annually dismayed as old dawns disappear
Let the past be gone, now that today’s here
Let the future come, as I face tomorrows haunting fears
Last years sins have been but not totally gone
The new year’s about to begin, could be right or wrong
Next year’s eeriely hovering and I anxiously worry far too long
Knowingly waiting for my angels mourning song
“Let the past be gone.” declared todays final word
Let the future come, but tomorrow’s crying, I heard!
Ivor Steven (c) January 1st 2021
I am a seventy year-old writer
Another new day has arisen
A new year’s ahead
A new beginning is born
Life could turn for the worse
Below loose rocks and tired verse
Or life could improve to be better
Accruing love letters and joining the jet-setters
I have weeks to grow wiser and stronger
I have months to ponder about my book of wonder
This new year I have gained a publishing sponsor
For my words I have written in her honour
Ivor Steven (c) December 2020
Two Thousand and Twenty: A Dual Haiku
Last year’s sins are gone
New year eerily hovers
Could be right or wrong
The bells toll louder
Perennially we jeer
Is there an answer
Featured Image: From, City Of Greater Geelong 2020 Calendar, photo by Edward, of Eastern Beach.
Ivor Steven (c) Dec 30th 2020
Dreaming of midnight rainbows
Illuminating the night’s rowdy crows
And I am hearing a tune of fat raindrops
Splashing upon my iron rooftop
Softly landing like pieces of strawberry pavlova
Gently followed by slices of Christmas pudding
Smothered in warm custard and cream
Then I see my sweet tooth faerie
Conducting the Nutcracker Pantomime
Where their symphony and my illusions combine
Ivor Steven (c) December 2020
Afternoon Moonbeams
time beckons
second after second
years fly by
over sea and sky
love gleams
between moonbeams and sunbeams
love thrives
from beehive to beehive
life rebounds
in leaps and bounds
Ivor Steven (c) December 2020
“Fall”
Hide your horses, hold your tongue
Hang the rich and spare the young
Who drain the spirits from the jars
Hop the fences, steal the cars
Run on fumes and from the north
And burn for us right through the fall
All the ladies call your name
Brush your hair like it could be tamed
Hitch their dresses past the knees
Spilling to the floor like ease
They swing the bridges one and more
And burn for us right through the fall
All our running ahead, all our running ahead
All our running ahead, all our running ahead
And we’ll seize the captain’s wheel
A mutiny we’ve come to feel
When will their aiming’s gone from view
With everything we thought to do
Oh, the devil won’t have me
I wonder who will, I wonder who will
All our running is a crawl
And burns for us right through the fall
All our running ahead, all our running ahead
All our running ahead, all our running ahead
All our running, all our running
All our running, all our running
Christmas day around our sphere
A new frontier of hope and cheer
Enough food to outlast the big freeze
Enough drink to buckle a camel at the knees
Miles of smiles returning from exile
After hurdling a season of rusty turnstiles
I’m heavy enough to sink like a stone
Light enough in the head to fly to the moon
Ivor Steven (c) December 2020
One of my favourite writers here on WordPress, Colleen, of ‘Chatter Blog’ wrote this article a few days ago >> https://bikecolleenbrown.wordpress.com/2020/12/19/what-have-i-done/ ..
Her diagram touched me deeply, and I felt compelled to say something, but like Colleen’s words, I was also wondering “What Have I Done”, and I finally came up with this poem, which has left me saying to myself, “What Am I Trying To Say” ??
Our Leftover Burden
To the parents everywhere
Distance holds no barrier
To the warmth you have in your hearts
Do not worry about the mess
We have left our children
They are lovingly in good hands
Eternally surrounded
By heaven’s vast universe
Safely protected
By the sky’s resilient atmosphere
We are all able to share the burden
Of earth’s weighty gravity
Life’s picture is not always what we imagine to see
But a momentary glimpse of what real life is to be
Ivor Steven (c) December 2020
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 