Walking barren pastures of sand
With only detergent hands
Old arms are empty of nature’s seeds
I only see, future investment greed
And history’s lessons, are hard to understand
When we’re taught, disrespect by corporate bands
Who only extinguish life, and fracture our lands
Instead of regenerating our planet’s, last stand
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
The Last Chicane
I’ve been climbing every rung
Even the broken ones unsung
I’ve played every sad song
Even when the words were wrong
I felt my bird fly away
Even though her nest stays here today
I’ve praised my swan’s eternal flight
Even through the hardest fights
I’m listening to the bells chiming
Even above lyrics that aren’t rhyming
I’m beginning to flutter my wings again
Even after missing the last chicane
I’m preparing for the next equestrian
Even tasting potions of bubbling champagne
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
After months of anxieties and tears
Today was softened, on a smooth lake of old fears
The specialist report was stable
Grey clouds settled under his table
Obvious scars inside the head
Were idle seeds in the garden shed
Life is allowed to continue, cautiously
Back to a normal daily odyssey
Writing about cosmology and ideology
As battology turns a page on neurology
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
Another older poem from last year, and quaintly appropriate for this historical gold-mining town of Ballarat
My Kite And Bike
Here I am in this ancient town
Climbing the local mystical Blue Mountains
Standing in the world’s greenest paddock
Flying my yellow and purple kite
On that old magical golden thread
My kite is soaring higher and higher
Towards our planet’s crimson sky
A sky covered by the clouds rainbow hues
Creamy clouds, opaque, thick and soft
Powerful and solid grey, hovering aloft
Where pristine snowflakes abound
All bright and shiny white
Heavy enough to ride my silver bike on
Peddle my way through today’s slippery black-ice
And wallow in the colourful heights of tomorrow
Ivor Steven (c) 2019
I’m feeling a bit older this morning after last night’s party!! , so here’s an older poem I’m reposting…
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 my dear.
Oh, I forgot, she’s not here.
Well best I retire to bed.
And wrest this weary head.
Under a linen sheet, like a hood.
Laying here, on this piece of wood.
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
Featured Image Above: The Box Office Cafe, kitchen, which is made from an old shipping container.
Spoil Me, (With Apologies To David Redpath)
Sorry David, but here I am again
At West Geelong’s, Box Office Cafe
Spoiling myself, for Saturday lunch
Geelong’s own version, of ‘Go Dog Go Cafe’
Where owners and their furry pals all meet
Chatting and barking, one social togetherness
And yes, I get to give the doggies, pats and hugs
There’s Bronson, the well behaved little Pug
Duke, a very young Dalmatian, he’s going to be a big boy
And another Duke, a striking auburn Labrador
Sorry David, I’m going to describe my feast now
Firstly, a real Aussie cappuccino coffee
Followed by Bao Buns, with slow cooked pork
A sweet and sour glaze, and fresh herbs
With cucumber, pickled carrot, fried shallots
Complimented by a delicate Gochujang mayonnaise
Then of course, I had to have a delicious cake
David, I couldn’t resist, a Berry Velvet teacake
Leaving me no option, but to wash it all down
With one of those politically incorrect, Blackman’s lagers
Cheers everyone, I’ll be on holiday, in Ballarat this week
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
On The Wins Of A Dove
How do I write to you
With these tears blurring my sight
Five months since my heart left your home
Your hot summer has been and gone
Oh, to be beside you
To hold your warm hand
You may hear my chest beating
Echoing, from over there
The rumbling is not a broken ache
More that of a loving heavy throb
A longing, pumping thump
Oh, to be beside you again
To see your adoring smile
I miss our knowing talks
Me, reciting to you
With that sparkle in your eyes
Oh. to be beside you still
So, I send you this letter
On the wings of a dove
I miss our united love
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
Dawn’s morning blue
Drowns me in droplets of dew
I slip into yesterday’s torn shoes
Damp, from last night’s dream of you
I’m late, not yet waking up
Drinking cold tea, from my “United by Blue” cup
Quickly, only time enough to catch the bus
But I stop! What’s all the fuss
They’ll always be the next one
And today, don’t forget to put a cap on
I’ll get there, twenty minutes later
Relaxed, not rushed and feeling betterer
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
I know a Blackman’s beer taste’s great
And I’m also having a delicious cake
Not sure about their togetherness
Like a bride with no wedding dress
On a palm beach without sand
A sweet passion-fruit tart and a dry lager
Do they go together
First I’ll have a slurp of cold beer
Followed by a bite of that velvet pastry
I’m feeling like a blue shark with no teeth
The lager’s a subtle malt
With a hint of lemony hop
The scrumptious tart’s creamy and soft
With a crispy shortbread crust
Yeah, the day’s mixture of flavours is a blast
Ivor Steven (c) October 2019
Life is full of disappointments
Of our physical and mental laments
There’s the disgruntled type
When we are stood down
Years of loyalty all for nought
Leaving you downcast and distraught
There’s the disheartened letdown
When we are stood-up again
Yesterday’s promise, today’s voiceless ghost
Leaving you an empty chair, and sadly aghast
There’s the frustrated fiasco
When we are stood upon
Months of being a washout, and a physical mess
Leaving your body punished, and almost useless
Dismayed and in disarray
When we are misunderstood
Decades of disenchantment, but undefeated we stay
Knowing we all experience disappointments on life’s causeway
Ivor Steven (c) September 2019
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 