Like No Other

I wanted so much to talk to her last night

To softly touch her under the moonlight.

I needed so much to hear her voice of old

To miraculously resonate from the cold.

 

I wanted so much to actually love her and to hold

To be with her, so daring and bold.

I needed so much for her to utter the words

To tell me, I won all her loyalty awards.

 

I wanted so much for yesteryear to last forever

To restore me, as her one true lover.

I needed so much for my life to recover

I needed her then, I need her now, like no other.

 

Ivor Steven.

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Well Preserved

Our backyard was like paradise, in my childhood.

Kids would meet here, from all around the neighbourhood.

Room enough to kick a footy, and play cricket.

There was a great peppercorn tree to climb, and a huge berry thicket.

Also large fruit trees, peaches, apricots and pears.

I remember the loganberry vine, thorns like spears.

And plucking the purple berries, our arms protected by hessian bags.

The fruit picking season would be so much fun.

Best of all, was scaling the loaded fruit trees.

Clambering up through the middle trunks.

Higher and higher, going from branch to branch.

Stretching full-out to pick the ripened sweets.

Filling the carry baskets, and our pockets too.

Like fruit lollies, succulent and juicy, always eating three or two !

Mum would diligently de-stone and half them all.

Carefully stacking them in glass jars, standing so tall.

Cooking for hours, in the giant Vacola Boiler pot.

The lids were sealed and clamped while still hot.

Preserved as our dinner sweets for many months to come.

During those years of joy, under the backyard sun.

 

Ivor Steven.

Featured Photo:  -simplebites.net

Sincere thanks to, Michelle, of “Her Writing Haven”, for being the inspiration and encouragement behind these words, while I was having a few days of rest away from my writing desk. Please read her poem, “Writers Unite !” Continue reading Well Preserved

Ivor Steven: My Dragon (The Trilogy)

My Dragon trilogy has just been published in “Slasher Monster Magazine” and with some impressive artwork, I’m so pleased, and thank you, “SMM”.

SlasherMonster

My Dragon.

A Monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.

My Dragon, The Revival

My harpooned Dragon’s fallen and out of breathe.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes Bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

Green horns twitching, like…

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‘Til Death Do Us Part

 

 

TO ALL MY DEAR READERS, A GREAT PIECE OF NEWS FOR ME TODAY, THIS POEM HAS BEEN SELECTED TO APPEAR IN THE GEELONG WRITERS ANTHOLOGY 2017. And I’m feeling blessed and honoured, on this, Leonard Cohen’s Anniversary week of his death last year, 7th November. And thank you, Leonard Cohen, for being there as a guiding light through-out all of my life. 

 

‘Til Death Do Us Part.

She’s there, in that tall pale building of brick.

Where the Nightingales care and tend to the sick.

She’s there, away from home and her comforting bed.

Where the Doctors try to fix the endless ills, from her head.

She’s there, her absence, reminds me of future plights.

Where my anxieties for her well being, endure her fight.

She’s there, I need to visit her, all day, and every night.

Where the distance to reach her soul, is out of sight.

She’s there, I’m wondering about that far away dome.

Where my lost personal affection, leaves her all alone.

She’s there, in those misty clouds, church bells ringing.

Where she’s nearing sombre sounds, of angels singing.

She’s there, her constant pain, remains tight in my heart.

Now I’m convinced, like I said, at the very start.

There’s no place like home, for her gathering dark.

And I promise to her, again, ’til death do us part.

 

Ivor Steven.

This Lost Shadow 

I wrote this poem early in the year of 2012, and I was lucky enough to have the work published by Numen Books. “Melpomene”, a collection of poems, both old and new, Edited by Gwendolyn Taunton. Available through “Amazon Books”. A review of the book via this link  https://gwendolyn-taunton.com/reviews-2/melpomene-editions-laurence-teper/

This Lost Shadow

 

I’m writing this song for my body and for my soul.

I’m singing this song, about my return from the cold.

Why am I so tired, is sixty that old.

Why am I so sore, have I been far too bold.

I’m so physically worn, and so mentally torn.

I’m so worried about my every waking dawn.

I’m thinking of this oppressive life, for you and for me.

I’m wondering if this vigilant life’s, too hard for me.

I’m deliberating if this tragic life, shall continue to be.

And feeling this bonded life’s, drifting out to sea.

 

I’m penning these words for everyone to see.

I’m writing this book about a single weeping tree.

Why am I so sleepy, am I aging too quickly.

Why am I so sad, who’s looking after me.

I’m this furnace log, burning up with glee.

I’m this sinking boat, all about to flee.

I’m this over-burden camel, or a donkey maybe.

I’m this empty desert, a void, far as the eye can see.

I’m this broken branch, withering and dying, oh so slowly.

I’m this lost shadow, wandering this barren land furtively.

 

Ivor Steven.

 

 

This Lost Shadow 

I wrote this poem early in the year of 2012, and I was lucky enough to have the work published by Numen Books. “Melpomene”, a collection of poems, both old and new, Edited by Gwendolyn Taunton. Available through “Amazon Books”. A review of the book via this link  https://gwendolyn-taunton.com/reviews-2/melpomene-editions-laurence-teper/

This Lost Shadow

 

I’m writing this song for my body and for my soul.

I’m singing this song, about my return from the cold.

Why am I so tired, is sixty that old.

Why am I so sore, have I been far too bold.

I’m so physically worn, and so mentally torn.

I’m so worried about my every waking dawn.

I’m thinking of this oppressive life, for you and for me.

I’m wondering if this vigilant life’s, too hard for me.

I’m deliberating if this tragic life, shall continue to be.

And feeling this bonded life’s, drifting out to sea.

 

I’m penning these words for everyone to see.

I’m writing this book about a single weeping tree.

Why am I so sleepy, am I aging too quickly.

Why am I so sad, who’s looking after me.

I’m this furnace log, burning up with glee.

I’m this sinking boat, all about to flee.

I’m this over-burden camel, or a donkey maybe.

I’m this empty desert, a void, far as the eye can see.

I’m this broken branch, withering and dying, oh so slowly.

I’m this lost shadow, wandering this barren land furtively.

 

Ivor Steven.