Singing A Song For You

My old record turntable’s on

The band’s playing our song

Music’s quietly echoing a soft beat

Ballads of love, humming so sweet

Cannot remember the last time I sang a song for you

Sat down together and talked life through

Sad and lonely words, like hymns in tune

Strumming on an angels harp under a half-moon

So very long since celestial sounds covered you

With lyrics of our eternal love, so true

Years and years ago when our love was new

Laying upon fresh grass, bodies entwined over morning dew.

 

Ivor Steven (c)

 

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Looking At The Mirror

This Week, Calen again invites us to revisit her sandbox. She asks:

“You find yourself in a quiet room looking at your reflection in this beautiful old mirror. What do you see? Is there anything in particular you like about yourself? Is there anything you don’t like? Tell us about it.”

I see an oldish bloke, who likes to write poetry

Attention seeking, or even some notoriety

Why don’t I try to write a bigger story

Flash fiction, and there’s enough for a book

Am I too afraid to really look

All my poems are quite shortish

Like last years birthday cake wish

Maybe I’ll say, “I’m far too lazy”

I can’t tell them, I’m a bit crazy !!

Nor that I’m a cute Lord of wizardry

 

I better start on another view

They want to know about me and you

I see a bald headed man, like my dad

And that’s not at all bad

I always said, if I grew up

To be half as good as my dad

I’d be very happy and proud

And well ahead of the crowd

He was a kind and thoughtful man

I suppose I’m honest and lend a hand

I see I’m now showing my age

My journey has torn many a page

And it’s not that I’m overly sad

It’s my veneer that show’s everyone I’m glad

I’ve lived my promise, for better and for worse

I did my job, a carer during her curse

 

Ivor Steven (c)

Rain In May

The day is one of rain.

Washing streets of thoughts down the drain.

Cleansing the stains.

Flooding the silence again.

 

The day is dismal and grey.

Drowning the sun, it begun in May.

Many years full of dismay.

Pouring rains, here to stay.

 

Ivor Steven (c)

Thank you to Gina of, Singledust, and Linda of, Urban Poetry, for both suggesting that I write words about the rain here in Geelong today. Hope the poem meets your approval Ladies.

A Plumber In The Trenches

I received this interesting post from Janebasilblog today. Starting this week, Calen, at Impromptu Promptlings, invites us to revisit the Sandbox Challenge. She begins with a loosening up exercise, asking us four questions about ourselves. Here are the questions and my answers:

If you were asked to choose seven words to describe yourself, what would they be?

* Happy

* Empathetic

* Trusting

* Loyal

* Romantic

* Determined

* Emotional
`
If you were asked to choose seven objects that have meaning for you, what objects would you choose?

* My photo albums and picture gallery

* My Music collection

* Dad’s orchids that I care for

* Carole’s memorabilia

* A poetry book Melpomene, in which a poem of mine, was my first published works

* The bookcase my grandpop made for me

* Mum’s round brass antique coffee table.
`
If you were asked to choose seven colors that have meaning for you, what colors would you choose ?

* White – like a dove, the sign of peace

* Red – the colour of Carole’s hair

* Blue – like the sky above

* Ocean Blue – the origin of life

* Green – the colour of Mother Nature

* Orange – my colour of happiness

* Neutral Gray – wouldn’t it be nice for the whole world to be neutral
~
If you were asked to choose seven places that have meaning for you, what places would you choose?

* “Tullawalla” our old family home in Ocean Grove

* Port Fairy, south west coast of Victoria, “Our” favourite camping holiday destination, special glorious times, and the friends we camped with are still my besties

* My home, probably my final abode, now proudly called “Tullawalla”

* The Ocean Grove surf beach, the sands of time here, soothes my soul.

* My sporting/football Club “Bell Park”, my lifelong community involvement group, and where “our” wedding reception was held 42 years ago, and where I still socialize.

* 27 Logan St, North Geelong, the family home for the first 20 years of my life, my childhood was blissful and it’s where all my dreams were born and fostered.

* The gorgeous site where Carole’s ashes lay…… It’s the old Geelong West Cemetery, for me the most beautiful place in the universe.

 

For Jane, Thank You for the inspiration to write this article…..

Featured Image:  Ivor and Carole on the beach at Port Fairy, 1978.

 

Ivor Steven (c)

Morning Whispers

Whistling palms

Visions of calm

Looking up and over

My verandah roof

Above, neighbouring wind-break trellis

Through the whisperings

A drooping willow tree

Sheltered aside

By darkened-green cypress pines

Beyond their leaf’s silhouette

The sky’s a clear

Morning blue

No gathering clouds in sight

My future arises bright

 

Ivor Steven (c)

Red White And Blue

Featured Image:  Bing search, Red White And Blue: signalbrands.com — 818designco.com

 

I’m leaving the party

My friends have all gone

Standing alone

Holding an empty wine

Maybe it was red

I’m thinking a white

Stains on my shirt

A lipstick collar too

Cannot remember who

Blurry visions

Red White and Blue

Time to shoot through

Before the morning dew

Pick-up my jacket and shoes

Tip toe out

Quiet as a mouse

Head for my house

If where, I only knew

And it’ll be the Hour soon

To sing a psalm or two

And openly confess

My personal mess

There ! Kneeling in the pews

I’m remembering who

She’s wearing last nights dress

Red White and Blue

 

A special mention to “Mel Gutier” and “Ward Clever”, for keeping me awake until 3.00am last night, and inspiring me to write these words. Also to Leonard Cohen’s song “Leaving The Table”

 

Ivor Steven (c)

Arctic Winds

A big thank you to Vita Brevis Magazine for selecting and publishing my poem “Arctic Winds”. I am truly honoured to be represented in this wonderful Magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,
https://vitabrevisliterature.com.

Vita Brevis

Submitted by Ivor Steven

I’m winter hibernating,

Inside an Eskimo’s hut.

Feeding only on fish oil,

And frozen blue blood.

My heart’s cold and dormant,

Cowering under a dampened vestment.

Pumping only yesteryears rust,

And icicles of my dust.

My eyes are swollen rocks,

Amidst polarized sockets.

Terrorizing all that’s passed,

Like forgotten arctic icebergs.

My veins are hollow crevasses,

Inside a glaciers ice-flow.

Sheering and groaning chasms,

Like my memories deepest fjord.


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Photo Credit: An Arctic Landscape At Dusk – Herman Herzog

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