Ivor Steven: Pumpkin Brains

My Smashed Pumpkin Brains, has just been published in the extraordinary, “Slasher Monster Magazine”, Thanks to all at SMM….

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What’s it like to be an orange Pumpkin-head

Only black sockets for eyes instead.

And a cut-out smile full of seeds.

Queer ears made of rings and beads.

Inside, your brain is scooped out for pigs feed

Leaving a dark void that doesn’t bleed.

On top you’re like a crinkled dome.

And your sore neck’s being speared home.

What’s it like to have a retina thread

As a throbbing nerve-end tread.

With your cell fibres smashed to a pulp

Knifing across your tender scalp.

Ebbing towards your aching neck

And crushing you like a busted shipwreck.

Then a wooden spike pierces your fragile brain

Where the horrid harpoon spreads your pain.

Written

by

Click HERE to read more poetry by Ivor Steven!

Image Credit: Jack-o-Lanterncarved by Ray Villafane

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Cheeky Magpie

A glorious sunny Sunday.

Plenty of time for a walk today.

Lily prances and plays.

“Let’s go now” she says.

And of course she talks !!

That’s what we do on our walks.

Off to the local countryside cafe`.

For me, a Brandy & Almond cake and coffee.

And you Lily, can quietly sniff around.

Wander the shopowner’s grounds.

So serene here, sitting on the bower patio.

Trees, flowers and birds on show.

Then a cheeky Magpie stops by.

Lily barks, but cleverly he stays high.

Atop the coffee-table, crumbs to try.

A delicious feast, and off he fly’s.

Lily gives him a parting yelp, and we leave.

Our pleasant afternoon’s reprieve.

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Lily sniffing around…

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Patio Flower Box
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Scenic view from the patio area.
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The Moorabool Valley Chocolate Cafe Entrance.
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The Cafe Verandah seating area.
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The Cheeky Magpie.

Wonder.

Thank you to all of my reader friends, for your wonderful support and well wishes, and today, “Friday The 13th”, I’m finally feeling betterer, and back to my sort of normal !! And so I’m posting this beautiful song, by another one of my of my favourite singer/songwriters, David Francey, click here.  Wonder  …..

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Write to Me

Write to me, please

All I can do is quietly listen,

Listen, to your sweet voice,

Soothing my throbbing soul.

 

Write to my swollen eyes.

My life is becoming blurry,

And my reading’s in over-freeze.

Like the Bibles first Eve.

 

Write to my fallen voice.

Your’s always sounds like an angel.

Gently baptizing my ears,

And caressing my absent mind.

 

Write to my broken heart.

Mine’s still here to share,

Always so true and soft.

Like a morning’s virgin kiss.

 

Please write to me.

And set me free.

 

Ivor Steven.

 

 

 

Smashed Pumpkin Brains

What’s it like to be an orange Pumpkin-head.

Only black sockets for eyes instead.

And a cut-out smile full of seeds.

Queer ears made of rings and beads.

Inside, your brain is scooped out for pigs feed.

Leaving a dark void that doesn’t bleed.

On top you’re like a crinkled dome.

And your sore neck’s being speared home.

 

What’s it like to have a retina thread,

As a throbbing nerve-end tread.

With your cell fibres smashed to a pulp.

Knifing across your tender scalp.

Ebbing towards your aching neck.

And crushing you like a busted shipwreck.

Then a wooden spike pierces your fragile brain.

Where the horrid harpoon spreads your pain.

 

Photo Source: Amazing Halloween Jack O’Lantern pumpkins, carved by Ray Villafane -pinterest.com

Ivor Steven.

Back Soon

Hi, to all my dear friends, sorry, but I’ve been unwell and not quite able to comment on all your wonderful posts that have appeared in my reader. Sadly l shall not be able to catch up with them all, but I will be starting afresh today and will be writing some comments.  Thanks to you all for your kind thoughts and words . Cheers. Ivor Steven. ♡♡

Mind Games

There’s a sharp pain

Inside my brain.

Harpooning my eye,

More than Ouch, I cry.

So hard to write,

Blurry is my sight.

All I do is peep,

And I must rest and sleep.

I’ve not lost the knack,

And I shall be back……….

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Ivor Steven.

Basement Bar

I’m at this basement bar, and the so-called music’s as loud as thunder.

So loud, I can’t even hear, speak, or begin to wonder.

My inner and outer ear-drums are echoing with the continual pounding.

All around the incessant rapp music’s booming and thumping.

The annoying repetitive sounds, drumming away inside my head.

However, somehow my beating heart is remembering my girl instead.

And my attempted idle chats, are overwhelmed by the piercing howling.

But who’s listening anyhow, to my drunken words and lecturing.

It’s probably the extra ales tonight, and I’m slowly drowning away.

Leaning against the bar, elbows entrenched, as if I’m here to stay.

Suddenly my bar-stools vibrating, is it the noise, or am I bodily shaking.

From my old and new nerve-ends being frightfully awakened.

My soulful tears, with all their leftover fears, again quietly trickling.

But there’s no-one to actually notice, within this buzzing cocoon, so resounding.

 

Ivor Steven.