In response to CalmKate’s Friday Fun Photo Prompt, “Odd One”. https://aroused.blog/2020/10/24/friday-fun-odd-one/
Did You Forget Something
Ahh!! There he is again
On the other footpath
Trying to look
Inconspicuous
But he stands out like
Dogs balls
Awkwardly fumbling
In his pockets
Desperately searching
Red-faced from embarrassment
He’s flustered
Then he drops it
Now, everyone can see
The item he found
There on the dirty ground
His face Mask unbound
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
A big thank you to Dwight Roth, for providing me with the inspiration to write this post today… here’s his fabulous haiku from earlier today ..
“When life overwhelms
Focus on what’s important
Nature’s beauty calls”
A Planter Box
I’ve been busy gardening
Soulfully so relaxing
And I’ve built a planter box
Out of leftover roof stocks
Large enough for cucumber seedlings
Their dream home for the warm season
Fertile soil and nurturing watering
To Produce a harvest worth devouring
Ten weeks away my first feast
Enough to feed the kids from the east
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Are we a modern reflection of the moon?
Just a spoilt man with a silver spoon
Torn, tarnished, and running out of room
Where even the green witches have lost their brooms
A lonely planet of rocky dunes with a sun-burnt crust
Dark craters for oceans and rivers of dust
No vegetation to feed on, nor furry animals to kill
Only smelly whale bones and rotting pelican bills
Madly we think there is another new world
Just jet away to, and breed more crazy boys and girls
Our mad scientists know, humans have shamed mother earth
And we are entirely to blame for defiling her worth
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Trying to Leave Something Behind
My old pen is a blunt knife
Scraping along the edges of life
Hanging on by my fingernails
To the ancient spirits that fill my empty sails
My days are Leis of greys
Yesterday’s clouds a sky ballet
Today, here comes the suns soothing rays
Turning my grey horizon into a rosy bouquet
My pages of endless blue lines
Are becoming tomorrows book of wisdom and rhymes
My volumes of dreams are now to be a reality
Retrieving hidden debris from under my courtyard fernery
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Hello dear readers and followers. During these days of continuing restrictions, I’ve been preparing and typing madly, to produce my Twentieth Tullawalla Poetry Booklet….. For new readers that don’t know about these booklets, they are basically the reason why I write poetry. I produce these ‘home-printed’ booklets for the sole purpose of raising funds for my favourite charity organisation, the MS Society, in Australia via the MS Charity Shop here in Geelong. And actually all money’s I receive for any of my poetry .via, submissions, I donate to the MS Society…. I’m proud to announce, that the sale of my “Tullawalla Booklets”, have now gone pass $1300.00, … to all the lovely readers, who have donated, to help achieve such a wonderful amount, a big heartfelt thank you, from “us” and the MS Society … …..Amazingly, there is now a total of “822 poems”, in my collection/series of 20 Tullawalla Booklets. This booklet is finally completed, and ready for sale now !! As always, they are available for purchase, either as a hard copy or a PDF format….. All proceeds go to the MS Charity Shop, here in Geelong West….. Please contact me here through my website page and I can chat about arrangements from there…. Oh, the booklet is called “Tullawalla”: “Trying to Leave Something Behind”… …. And here is the link to my website >> https://ivors20.wordpress.com
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Mid morning and here comes the sun
The Wala* goddess smiles on everyone
Enriching the bloody goodness in our veins
And saturating our skin when the sky rains
Is your blood the same colour as mine?
Does your skin drip-dry under the same sunshine?
Are your dreams moonbeam snippets of time?
Do you imagine the world to be a faerie’s pantomime?
And we the audience, laughing at their mystical rhymes
Together dancing and ringing the city’s peace chimes
*Wala: Aboriginal mythical sun goddess.
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
This week’s Wednesday Challenge on Weekly Prompts is, Badly Cropped. Please go and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here . Below is my abstract response to the prompt… Where I ‘Imagine’ the world has been “Badly Cropped” in recent times..
Faerie Pantomime
Mid morning and here comes the sun
The Wala* goddess smiles on everyone
Enriching the bloody goodness in our veins
And saturating our skin when the sky rains
Is your blood the same colour as mine?
Does your skin drip-dry under the same sunshine?
Are your dreams moonbeam snippets of time?
Do you imagine the world to be a faerie’s pantomime?
And we the audience, laughing at their mystical rhymes
Together dancing and ringing the city’s peace chimes
*Wala: Aboriginal mythical solar goddess.
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Did you see my fiery faerie in the sky
Hitching a ride upon her giant dragonfly
Half a mile above cloud nine
She was there! Clutching todays sunshine
And burning towards never-neverland
Shying away from the captains crooked hand
Desperately looking for Peter Pan’s lost boys
And their purple suitcase full of magical toys
Below on the water she hears muffled cries and a loud “tick-tock”
“Beware!” Tinkerbell declares “That’s the Crocodile’s clock”
Fearlessly my faerie swoops and snatches the boys off the pirate-ship deck
And the boys yell “We’re saved from the jaws of those roughnecks”
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
Fifty years have flown bye
And I’ll never forget ‘American Pie’
It’s True, old rockers never die
Their music shall always fly
There above in Leonard’s Tower of Song
Where they are all singing along
Imagining John’s words were not wrong
Will our new lyrics be as strong?
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020
From here in Australia, I’ve been reading the stories about Mr Trump and his having contracted the ‘Covid’ virus this week, and his subsequent “miraculous/cure” recovery…. which seemed to remind me of this poem I wrote back in October 2017
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 dear.
Oh, I forgot, she’s not here.
Well best I retire to bed.
Wrest this weary head.
Under a linen sheet, like a white hood.
And lie here, on this piece of driftwood.
Ivor Steven (c) October 2017
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 