Burning The Fears

I’m frightened, and I’m too scared to wait.

And knowingly, I’m arriving late.

The ghouls are spying from the hill.

And lower fools are poisoning her will.

Underneath her, a wicker complete.

Above, she’s suspended from a stake.

The bonfires started, against the rules.

And the crowds rejoicing, as the fire drools.

Waiting agog, for her garments to ignite.

The flames are sparking for her, on this night.

And the mob’s listening for her ungodly screams.

But there’s not a whimper, within she beams.

And secretly, I see her black cats drowning tears,

Are extinguishing all her burning fears.

 

Ivor Steven.

Featured Image: Artwork, by Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my amazing niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.

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Trust Going To Dust

My faith in humanity

Is wearing thin

Like the Arctic icecap.

My generousity

Backflipped by tricks,

Like an acrobat’s fall.

My naiveness exposed,

Like a pricked condom.

My smile erased,

Like Trump’s first promise.

My kindness stolen,

By camels, across the desert.

And a trusting spirit broken,

By a few faceless ghouls.

 

By: Ivor Steven

Featured Image:  A copy of the cover of the book “Melpomene”, Edited by Gwendolyn Taunton, Containing works both old and new, Melpomene offers a prime selection of literature on the melancholic side of existence, the transformational beauty of the esoteric, occult secrets hidden in verse, sorrow, doom and the inevitable grasp of death.

What’s So Important

I do wonder,

What’s important in life.

Why’s it so important,

To have someone to talk to,

And a companion too.

Does it matter,

If we remain alone and bare,

And love continues to be unfair.

I do wonder,

What’s important about our pounding hearts.

Why’s it so important,

To have a soulful beat, like a bass drum,

And walk a single path with your loved one.

Who cares,

If we leave a hopeful trail of crumbs,

And the Bowerbirds eat everyone.

And I do wonder,

Why’s love so important.

And I crave for the answer,

Before I’m dormant.

 

Ivor Steven.

Words Of Mine

I’ve given you all, my humble words.

I’ve given you, my hidden soul.

Words trickling, like the cool mountain streams.

Words dripping off the frozen ashen trees.

Words gliding across the icy lakes.

Words flowing through happiness, and sorrow.

 

I’ve given you all, my inner self.

I’ve given you, my outer grief.

Words Tumbling over the embedded rocks

Words twisting like the winding valley rivers.

Words cascading down the forest waterways.

Words sifting through my barren hands.

 

I’ve given you all, my lonely heart.

I’ve given you, my secret loves.

Words of life, like the deep blue oceans

Words of time, traveling to the stars beyond.

Words of love, drowning in the memory rains.

Words of mine, falling down upon dreams of tomorrow.

 

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Ivor Steven.

 

Memory Rain

Featured Photo: Taken by my, Samsung Galaxy S5, 24/08/2017, sunset at the end of my Court, here on the top of Geelong, Bell Post Hill.

 

Every time I opened a photo album,

I saw her personal emblem.

Every time I turned about face,

I felt my pain, all again.

Every time I switched on the screen,

I waited for a different dream.

Every time I tried another channel,

I cried during the battle.

Every time I played another sad tune,

I sang until the next full moon.

Every time I walked out the back door,

My head would be in the clouds.

Every time I looked up to heaven,

My angel would be at the gate.

And I saw the rain on her face,

And I felt the memory rain, all again.

 

Ivor Steven.

 

 

 

If Only Walls Could Talk

It’s true you know,

Walls can talk.

So I’ve been told,

By a beautiful rose.

You’ll have to listen,

Listen very closely.

Put your ears against the wall,

Use a stethoscope if you must.

Listen to the wooden heart,

Standing proud and tall.

A rough soul, rendered smooth,

Layers of paint, every hue.

Covering up dusty memories,

Of hearts lost, through years of cavities.

Like the old Wailing Wall,

You’re walking along a history hall.

Your secrets, one and all,

They’ve heard every gasp.

Your children’s moans,

And your lover’s groans.

 

Ivor Steven.

Special thanks to Poet Rummager, my friend Rose, being my the inspiration to write this poem, after a recent conversation we had, mentioning to me, that walls do talk !!

My Door’s Firmly Shut

Early Sunday morning,

At my desk.

Writing in pencil,

The inks frozen.

No joke Kelvin,

Send the firewood.

Light up my heart,

With soulful words.

Give my fingers a start.

Knuckles are throbbing,

An arthritic chill.

My dog’s coughing,

Poor little Lily.

She feels it too.

Ah, not to worry,

A sombre smile.

A sunray,

Shining through.

Thawing my will,

Freeing my quill.

 

Ivor Steven.

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