Walking Home

Photo: Courtesy of Peter Styring, Australian Parrots And Birds, you can find his beautiful photos on Peter’s Facebook site.

 

Tis early, very early, presumably a foggy weekend morn.

So early, all the front bedroom lights are out ’til dawn.

And the groaning of lustful lovers, have all been timed out.

Even the yapping old canines, are unusually burnt-out.

 

I’ve been wandering these darkly streets, groping on trust.

Looking for her, a little piece of wonderous stardust.

All I found was a discarded mug of leftover moonshine.

Oh yeah, just like the decadent old days, still I pine.

 

Intoxication setting in again, I’m dreaming unsound.

A girl so mysterious, out here, where to be found.

I stumble, forgetting how to walk, and I hit the ground.

And it’s the end, another fallen night, out on the town.

 

Ivor Steven.

A Single Atom

I see a shooting star, traverse the full-moon.

Like a jungle bushfire, raging out of sight.

I feel the heat of midday, smoothering the night.

Like a warm body, inside her tomb.

I see the dawn, without the golden sun.

Like a Lyrebird, singing all out of tune.

I hear the morning rain, without a cloud in the sky.

Like yesterdays floods, leaving her high and dry.

I see a sandy beach, awash by a tidal wave.

Like a burning desert, water is her grave.

I fill lonely sheets, with empty dreams.

Like a dark chasms’ irrelevant beams.

I see a summer leaf, wilted by a frosty Autumn.

Like an unwatered orchid, opening to an old anthem.

I feel like a splintered heart, inside a single atom.

Like a snakes dead skin, her rejected emblem.

 

Ivor Steven.