Inside Out

Weekly Word Prompt : This week’s word prompt is : Perspective.

This is an old poem of mine, The poem “Inside Out”, is more just a rhyme and a play on a few featured words. Over the road from were I once lived, there was a furniture shop, and the advertising hoarding was, “Inside Out, Exotic Furniture”, well I was sitting there waiting for the bus, and in my minds imagination, I changed the the words to “Inside-out, Upside-down, Erotic Furniture”, and hence my little anecdote was laid…. with a totally different perspective..

Inside Out

The view of my love seems upside down.

When I’m at the bottom of her flowing gown.

And my erotic picture appears inside out.

What’s this scenic love all about.

The ways of my love seem upside down.

When she’s on top, covering me ’til I drown.

And I’m underneath, neither in, nor out.

What’s this crazy love all about.

The river of my love seems upside down.

When I’m sitting inside her smiling frown.

And her foreign body hits me in and out.

What’s this exotic love all about.

The world of my love seems upside down.

When I’m laying below her pounding mound.

And her endless thrusts, feel inside out.

What’s this frenzied love all about.

Ivor Steven (c 2018

Scars Revived

Days were dimly full of mace

I was a seedy old scar-face

With a shredded dark heart

In need of a surgeon’s restart

My innards were slashed and torn

Stuffed with yesterdays corn

My brains were in a rotted pumpkin-head

Emptied, thrown out into the shed

Ankles shattered, with crinkled toes

I looked like a weathered scarecrow

Sirens screeched and screamed

My angels golden chariot beamed

Nurses in white, doctors in blue

They all came to my rescue

Sewed my broken heart together

My rubber soul became light as a feather

Inspired dreams were renewed

A familiar smile re-screwed

My body’s bindings restrengthened

Life revived and internally lengthened

There’s More

It’s eleven seventeen

I’m not nineteen

Anymore

Old warriors are bold

I’ll not be told

Anymore

Enjoyed an evening out

I’m not losing face

Anymore

Tired eyes are closing

I’m not going fishing

Anymore

Hands of time have been

I’ll not be unseen

Anymore

My feet are willing to travel

I’m not covered in gravel

There’s more

Announcement: Poet Spotlight Feature

Wonderful news for me this morning, my poem “A Single Weeping Tree”, has been selected by Linda, at Wolff Poetry Literary Journal, as poem of the month, and a sincere thank you to Linda for honouring my poem in this way. Please click on the link below, >>

Here at Wolff Poetry Literary Journal, I am excited to announce a new feature “Poet Spotlight” to our literary journal. I’m very excited about this choice.

Source:>> Announcement: Poet Spotlight Feature

Cheesecake And A Hungry Magpie

I’m out walking with Monty

We’re at the Moorabool Valley Cafe

A rural atmosphere, a relaxing place for me

Lunchtime, coffee and cake

Yes, a tasty sweet berry cheesecake

We’re sitting at an outdoor table

A shady tree-lined patio area

Then suddenly, a magpie lands

He’s a cheeky and hungry bird

And a food thief, if you’re not watching

Monty the guard-dog, just sits there

Watching, not a warning bark to be heard.

Time for us to walk back home

The Cafe is part of a horse agistment farm

We’re strolling past horse paddocks

Monty is fascinated by a nearby horse

He tugs me over , to have a closer look

At close quarters, both stand and stare at each other

I suppose Monty thinks the horse is a big dog

And the horse thinks Monty is a small pony

Wouldn’t the world be a beautiful place

Beholding others at face value, without prejudice

Above Photos: The Cafe, outdoor patio area, and the magpie in centre photo.

Above Photos: Monty and the horse.

Above Photos: The berry cheesecake, a piece of strawberry chocolate I bought at the Cafe, and the hungry magpie

Monty, The White Knight

I’m Doggie minding again. This time I’m looking after the gorgeous Monty, for friends Martin and Jacqui. He’s a bundle of joy, no trouble and a pleasure to have here.

He’s a White Knight

Sleeps like a log all-night

Silently guarding the house

Quiet as a mouse

Yes ! he’s taken over my bed

Beside me at the bed-head

Listening to Leonard Cohen

As if he’s always known

He has a long waggy tail

With a curly coat, his warm veil

A round friendly face

Eye’s that plead for your embrace

A Letter To Hydra

I dreamed of sending a letter to Greece

To Hydra, an island paradise

Where sunshine basks on clearness in the air

Shimmering upon old white villa’s at the water’s edge

Memories flood me, of a poet extraordinaire

A handsome man, leaning on his writing ledge

Composing timeless words

Legends now, we’ve all heard

The sound of his golden voice

The strumming of his distinctive guitar music

My heart would pump out tears of joy

My soul would bathe in rhythmic jubilee’s

His lyrics would deeply resonate around me

His messages were poignant, clear to see

Massaging my tortured thoughts, to be true and free

Guiding my arduous life through turbulent seas

My mentor

My saviour

A Tower Of Song, in heaven

Since 2016 November Seven

Bedroom Fireplace

Thank you to Gina of, Singledust, for introducing me to a Pantun, style of poetry this morning.

Pantun :

In its most basic form the pantun consists of a quatrain which employs an abab rhyme scheme. A pantun is traditionally recited according to a fixed rhythm and as a rule of thumb, in order not to deviate from the rhythm, every line should contain between eight and 12 syllables. “The pantun is a four-lined verse consisting of alternating, roughly rhyming lines. The first and second lines sometimes appear completely disconnected in meaning from the third and fourth, but there is almost invariably a link of some sort. Whether it be a mere association of ideas, or of feeling, expressed through assonance or through the faintest nuance of a thought, it is nearly always traceable” (Sim)

I’m not quite sure whether I’ve written the format correctly, but here is my first Pantun. I think I’m a bit light on in the syllable count.

Featured Image: Above, Jing’an Sculpture Park.

Bedroom Fireplace

Oh wondrous lounge-room fire-place

Your winter-time sparkling crackle

Glows upon our old desire’s embrace

Reciting words of lust, beyond our burnt shackles

Oh wondrous bed-room fire-place

Your winter-time warming flame

Narrates tales of our revere and grace

Flickering words of love, beyond our given time

Spark Of The Heart lyrics, Redgum

Album: Frontline

It’s a harsh dry land, breaks your back and scars and gnarls your hands
Now carcasses rot in the sun and dusk silts up the dams
Sacked two men when the postie poked those bluies through the fly screen door
The welfare state dried up ten years before

Its Hobson’s choice, they run this plane flocks melt into bone
You can drove the stock routes for a year and cripple life at home
Still look forward to every day but every days the same
You Wake in a sweat dream of the smell of rain

But a river runs solid runs deep
I work this land it grips me by my feet
Staying until my blood runs cold
Spark of the heart
I’m in soul

My great grandfather pushed his luck beyond the Goutre Line
Now all that’s left are new cloud shears and a gravestone walked with lime
In tribute I still use his Swiss barometer in vain
Lake be damned, the weather hasn’t changed

Fifty miles by river land this pasture fenced and sprayed
Profit margins [chime] and graphed at boardrooms in LA
Absenting landlords meet to match their smiles and fake suntans
In three years they’ll have bleached the soil to sand

But a river runs solid runs deep
I work this land it grips me by my feet
Staying until my blood runs cold
Spark of the heart
I’m in soul

Jocie searches salt bush where rain once ran its course
It’s a shock to see a child of twelve grow old upon a horse
The glory box lies locked with memories silent as the phone
Even in the shadows it’s our home
Government relief just might keep breeding stock alive
The agents jump the cost of feed and the export markets dive
And if it rains I’m still in debt until I’m ninety-eight
Will the last one out please shut the bloody gate

On the news it seems unreal
Floods in Cairns the cities just can’t feel
Survivals a story untold
Spark of the heart
I’m in soul

But a river runs solid runs deep I love this land it grips me by my feet
Staying until my blood runs cold
Spark of the heart
I’m in soul

Sage Bush At Guard Tower Twelve

I’ve been on the run for weeks

Heading towards the Great Wall

From atop this steep hill

My nose tells me, I’m close

And I smell that distinctive sage aroma

Knowing, the sage bush is nearby

At the gateway to guard tower twelve

My old bones shake and shiver

The Mongolians are closing quickly

Spears and arrows aquiver

Fear grips me, and I crawl low

Fingers grasping the granite, block after block

Frightened, I’m too scared to fall

Onto the cold sharp rocks below

I clamber higher, step after step

Finally, there above me

The flowering sage bush

Mauve blooms bowing in the breeze

My chest sighs and heaves

I clear my lungs, and scream

Soon I’ll be free, as I see

Beyond the sage bush at guard tower twelve

The Emperor’s warriors, my reprieve

Saved, I fill the Royal message bag with sage leaves

A Single Weeping Tree (A Villanelle) – A Poem by Ivor Steven

Great news this morning, my poem “A Single Weeping Tree”(A Villanelle), has been published by Wolff Poetry/A Go-To Literary Journal. A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two rhymes throughout, consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with the first and third lines of the opening tercet, repeated throughout the poem. Please CLICK on this link below for the complete article.

Source: A Single Weeping Tree (A Villanelle) – A Poem by Ivor Steven

A sincere thank you to Linda Wolff, of Wolff Poetry/A Go-To Literary Journal for accepting and publishing my poem, in her wonderful On-line Magazine.