The Oven Sky

The summer flowers have faded and gone

Wilting leaves, look like the devils blight

My Calendar declares Autumn is here

But it’s still summer in the city

Remaining hot and dusty, here on my plot

All the dogs are panting, searching for a cool block

Singed birds have refused to fly in the oven sky

Today’s furnace, is the night’s unwanted heater

Dry rot is crumbling, under the burning sun

Fat rain drops have forgotten their landing spots

And the drought smiles at us with disdain

As we gasp and wait for the cool change tonight

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Smell The Stench

I’m not going to say the day’s bloody hot

My sweat’s obviously real

As the ice in the fridge looks like molten steel

I’m not going to say the south pole’s defrosted

The public are screaming true

As the polar-cap’s sheer faces, drop like morning dew

I’m not going to say the air we breathe is polluted

The evidence blows right in front of you

As we smell the stench, it’s enough to make you spew

I’m not going to say politicians value money more than you

Their filled pockets are blatantly on view

As they corruptly succumb to greed of the chosen few

I’m going to rant and rave, even if it’s too hot

Losing my block, to stop this embellished rot

The heat is on them to cool off our plot

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Ivor Steven (c) 2019

A Heat Mirage

I’ve shut myself inside

The devil’s heat lays outside

The curtains are closed

Doors are locked

Who am I hiding from

I’m alone in my home

What am I keeping In

Can’t recall, the last time I sinned

I’ve already slept through the day

The day is passing away

Morning’s ghost has gone

Mid-afternoon and nothing’s done

It’s far too hot

To just sit here and rot

In my mind, what else to do

But think, about you

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

Shampoo

My dream-time is imminent

And reality begins to rock my soul

I’m bodily shaking in my shoes

Making my tummy tumble and squirm

Truth has cut me to the bone

Adrenaline’s spurting through my blood

Veins are bursting

Muscles are stiff and bulging

The night is filling with anticipation

Excitement crawls down my skin

Old  hairs are all standing on end

Toes are twitching like never before

Best I slow down my eagerness

And subdue my hullabaloo

Otherwise I’ll forget to pack the shampoo

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Shampoo

Hi dear readers, I’m re-posting this poem, as I post it originally at 3.30 am, and some of my readers may have missed the article. What was I doing, being awake at that time of the morning ???

My dream-time is imminent

And reality begins to rock my soul

I’m bodily shaking in my shoes

Making my tummy tumble and squirm

Truth has cut me to the bone

Adrenaline’s spurting through my blood

Veins are bursting

Muscles are stiff and bulging

The night is filling with anticipation

Excitement crawls down my skin

Old  hairs are all standing on end

Toes are twitching like never before

Best I slow down my eagerness

And subdue my hullabaloo

Otherwise I’ll forget to pack the shampoo

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Tullawalla: Booklet #8

 

Hello dear readers, friends, and followers. I’ve been in and out of hospital again, but hopefully I’ll be able stay out for a while now, and my progress is improving everyday. I’m keeping myself busy, bike pedalling (On Yorkie) exercise sessions and walking 6000 steps a day, In between, I’ve been preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “Beyond The Brick Wall”, metaphorically that’s where I am at now, and all the poems were written since Christmas, after my first stroke in Mid-December.  Like my other 7 Booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 8 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven                                                                                   Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times                                                                                               Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye                                                                                     Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat                                                                        Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe                                                                            Tullawalla, Waiting Time                                                                                                  Tullawalla, The Healing House

And, Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall

 

 

 

 

Booklet #5: Home Is The Air I Breathe                      Booklet #6: Waiting Time

 

 

Booklet #7: Tullawalla, The Healing House          My “Isolation Time”

 

And, Booklet#8: Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall               My front door.

 

 

Cheers

From Ivor xx

 

My Courtyard Fence

The Weekly Prompt, Photo prompt is : Fences..  Across the road from my home, there’s a large housing development, under construction with a high wire fence around the site. It’s in vast contrast to my private little yard here. I’m on my exercise bike, Yorkie, pedalling away and looking around at my courtyard fence. I’m wondering, how I got this far and how I arrived at this place, jumping all of life’s tall fences on my to journey  here. On my courtyard fence hangs so many memories, and it takes me back to when I wrote a poem, of when life was extraordinarily hard and I felt the end was near, it was just after  I had my first Stroke eighteen years ago, and I couldn’t jump “This Fence”<< Click to view the Weekly Prompt’s site

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This Fence

I am quickly nearing this fence.
An obstacle of a lifetime I see.
And from my side of this fence,
The hurdle is too high for me.
And on the other side of this fence,
There seems nowhere to land or flee.

I have arrived at this fence,
Above the pickets, just grey sky.
And on my side of this fence,
The grass is brown and dry.
On the other side of this fence,
The grass is green, but still I cry.
How am I to clear this fence,
There seems nowhere to go, or get by.

This fence, all built of stones,
Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019