Who Is in Command?
Spring sunshine
Dominates the sky
Nature’s warmth
Becalms my unsettled mind
Yesterday’s problems
Have blown over
And diffused toward
Today’s blue horizon
Time! is on my side,
hears no commands,
and takes no passengers.
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Hello dear readers and followers, I am now writing for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “Droplets of Joy”, is in this week’s edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. …
To Read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine.
>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/a-piece-of-deadwood/
Ivor Steven © September 2023
I’ve had one of those yucky weeks, my computer has been moonstruck and running amok and producing guck. My “Taskbar” keeps flying south with the Ducks!! I’m feeling like an ice-puck all out of luck. So, I apologise for my moody unstuck poem of bushbuck …
Duck Muck
Sucking more air
Life sucks
Evading the sloppy duck muck
Dodging the dusty garbage truck
Never having enough bucks
To fill the milk bucket
Left empty by bloodsucking
Schmucks
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Caressing Our Eyes
The world caresses our eyes.
Every day until we die.
Truthfully
Mother Nature extolls no lies.
Her unobstructed beauty
Faithfully
Caresses our eyes
Timelessly
Rivers flow over
Our days of stone
Which reflectively
Caress our eyes.
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Today I attended the monthly meeting of Geelong’s, Dome Poetry Group, our assignment was to present a ‘Monologue’ and I duly recited my poem “The Voice”. After taking note of the constructive discussion and a few helpful hints, this afternoon I have written a “Revised Version” of the poem. Special thanks to Guenter (Geelong Writers Pres) and my fellow “Dome Poets”.
Please note, the original version is attached below
The Voice (a Monologue), Revised
Do not yet shut the doors
But give me leave to speak with you and yours
Do not yet turn away
The time I ask of you is brief for what I have to say
Join me in the shade of this country’s trees
My ancient words are free
But why listen to a language you cannot see
In the past, you have not heard my pleas
And forever! I have been treated harshly
I am a dream-time spirit bird
Flying within your boundaries seems absurd
You! Have clipped my wings
And unashamedly ripped apart my kin
You! Desecrated my sacred ground
For the price of two axes and a Pound
Yes! It’s time to sit without descent
On the sand inside your tribal tent
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
I am ecstatic that my poem “True”, has been accepted and published in Spillwords Magazine today, and I am very grateful to the editor Dagmara for selecting my piece … Please go over and visit my poem at Spillwords and if you wish, leave a “❤️” for my article, by clicking on this link >> https://spillwords.com/true-by-ivor-steven/
IVOR STEVEN·SEPTEMBER 8,
written by: Ivor Steven
@ivors20
If there is something
I could do
I would do anything
To save you
Mother Nature, you are everything
I look up to
My words are nothing
Compared to you
You are the orchestrator of things
With a balcony view
Ivor Steven was formerly an Industrial Chemist, then a Plumber, now retired. He has had numerous poems published in anthologies, and online magazines. He has 2 self-published books, “Tullawalla” and “Perceptions,” and is an active member of the Geelong Writers Inc. (Australia) and an appointed writer for “Coffee House Writers” magazine (USA).
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Today I attended the monthly meeting of Geelong’s, Dome Poetry Group, our assignment was to present a ‘Monologue’ and I duly recited my poem “The Voice”. After some constructive discussion and a few helpful hints, this afternoon I have written a “Revised Version” of the poem. Special thanks to Guenter (Geelong Writers Pres) and my fellow “Dome Poets”. Please note, the original version is attached below
On Saturday, 14 October 2023, Australians will have their say in a referendum about whether to change the Constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing a body called the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice. I’ll be voting “Yes”
The Voice (a Monologue), Revised
Do not yet shut the doors
But give me leave to speak with you and yours
Do not yet turn away
The time I ask of you is brief for what I have to say
Join me in the shade of this country’s trees
My ancient words are free
But why listen to a language you cannot see
In the past, you have not heard my pleas
And forever! I have been treated harshly
I am a dream-time spirit bird
Flying within your boundaries seems absurd
You! Have clipped my wings
And unashamedly ripped apart my kin
You! Desecrated my sacred ground
For the price of two axes and a Pound
Yes! It’s time sit without descent
On the sand inside your tribal tent
The Voice (a Monologue), Original
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Today I am presenting another poem that will be appearing in my new book “Until Eyes Hear Sound”. The ‘Limerick’ is also a relatively new poem format for me, and “Who Has the Foggiest” is a poem I wrote in May 2022, and it will be the opening piece in the ‘Other’ section of Chapter 10. Short Poems: Haiku, Senryu, Tanka, and Others
Who Has the Foggiest? (a Limerick)
I could not see the morning moon
There’s no sunshine in my breakfast spoon
The heaviest of fogs falls
I cannot hear the birds calls
Has our world condemned nature’s tune
Tullawalla is Available From
Jaymah Press:https://www.jaymahpress.com.au/
Ivor Steven: email, ivorrs20@gmail.com
Amazon: search via, ‘Tullawalla by Ivor Steven’
AND
Perceptions is Now Available via:
Amazon: https://amzn.asia/d/4yFHWrT
Jaymah Press: https://www.jaymahpress.com.au/
OR: email me directly for a signed copy – ivorrs20@gmail.com
Ivor Steven (c) September 2023
Lately I have posted a few poems about the futility of war … I’m not very accomplished at writing about the wars of the world, I get far too angry and confused to write something sensible, but this is a rather long poem I wrote about my recollections of the “Gulf War” in 1990.
Return the Bullets
The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed
All the violence of the worlds pounding inside my head
The killing and the maiming of all the innocents who fled
What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered?
When the peoples of all religions and creed are dead
And we cannot return the murdering bullets back into the barrel
I am afraid
The backyard stairway is far too steep to climb
The handrails are way out of reach to find
And the public change-room windows are covered with bars
Now encircling the city hall, the security backdoor is ajar
Entering the marble aisle, the White room appears vacant
And guileful leaders have run, leaving a chasm of gloomy dark
I am wandering
Where to go, the healing house is full of ugly holes
The citizens cowering in shadows behind splintered lighting poles
And the crumbling streets are awash with rivers of leftover blood
Now the warring bosses have to fight amonst themselves
Throwing poison pens and paper darts at each other
Niether bruised nor battered, using ivory towers as cover
I am terrified
The dusty mushroom cloud slowly settles on the barren ground
With sands of distant lands, shifting into every nook and cranny
We need the good Doctor, to help us cure these alien scourges
And foreigners arriving upon waves of our neighbouring seas
The deathly TV images, wrongly implanted for all to see
As the press only gossip and drivel with selfish glee
I am stupefied
The guns of freedom lands haven’t even stopped the cull
Death to friends or foe, no matter, to the rulers from above
Their only rules, the poor and weak to be kept totally downtrodden
One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt
The rich will feast upon their own contaminated bread
But will never return the murdering bullets back into the barrel
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Why is there always a dark side
When the moon shines so bright
Who’s taking us on this blindfold ride
While our reasoning is out of sight
Why is there always a silver lining
When treacherous clouds are hovering so low
Who’s making the lower world enchanting
While our malignant demons grow and grow
Why do we call them magic mushrooms?
When all they bring is gloom and doom
Who’s controlling this aging Mother
While our pleading hands are hustled undercover
Ivor Steven (c) Sept 2023
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 