Pumpkin Soup Again

Head’s falling like an unpinned grenade.

Soon ready to explode.

Burying shrapnel pieces in corners of shade.

Scattered like broken retina globes.

Razor blades shredding memory lockets.

Slivered icicles inside blurry sockets.

Needles of pain.

Sheets of sleet before the rain.

Bloodied eyeball tracks like meteor trails.

And the pain numbing capsules do fail.

Oh please, blindly needing to set sail.

Upon swirling Oceans, like Homer’s tales.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Image: digitalartrocks 1.blogspot.com

Beyond Sunset

Gradually the dying moonlight awakened my dawn.

And the baptizing sunrise watered my eyes.

Drowning the working hours of my shallow day.

Dampening fiery thoughts of playing in the hay.


Dusk hazily shrouds my cemetery lawn.

And the rituals of sunset beckon my daily plight.

Flailing and falling upon sleepless night.

Finally laying prone under my weighted crown.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

My Lost Sock, A Christmas Story

I’ve written this piece to be included in a charity book, for the “Black Dog Institute” here in Australia. The book is to be called, “My Lost Sock”, and every story in the charity book will be an anecdote about “My Lost Sock”.  The Black Dog Institute, is a not-for-profit facility for diagnosis, treatment and prevention of Depression and Bipolar disorder.

My Lost Sock

A Christmas Story

I’m a hand knitted woollen sock.

Here’s my story from year dot.

In the beginning.

I started as a piece of spinning.

The wool off a sheep’s back.

An odd colour of brownie-black.

Being spun into dark twines.

On a wheel from olden times.

Craftily hand knitted.

Lovingly, soon to be gifted.

There were two of us.

We were like knitted twins.

Righty and Lefty.

And of course I’m Righty.

Our gorgeous red-haired spinner and knitter.

Had dutifully finished.

Cheerfully folded and wrapped.

In colourful paper and flower strap.

A fabulous Christmas present.

For her husband’s aged parent.

Soon it was Christmas day.

Everyone’s jolly, merry and gay.

Drinking red wine, local Cabernet.

Eating fish, caught in a nearby bay.

And presents opening time began.

Families smiled and sang.

We’re sitting on Pop’s lap.

Gently and slowly unwrapped.

Pop proudly exclaims and holds us up.

“Look here, see what I’ve got”.

Suddenly Pop throws Lefty into the corner.

And I’m left dangling like “Little Jack Horner”

There’s much laughter and jokes.

Kids come over and give me a friendly poke.

Poor discarded Lefty, on the floor with no folks.

While I’m up here being kindly stroked.

There’s more giggles, they’re all staring at me.

Pop’s grinning from ear to ear.

Wriggling in his wheelchair to loud cheers.

Oh, my discovery, Pop’s left leg’s missing below his knee.

900 Followers and Counting . . . Time for a GIVEAWAY!

Visit Kaylaann’s site, always a fascinating read.


Thank you to all of my followers who have made this possible!

I started this blog in October 2017 and as of today, I have reached 900+ followers!

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This is such a huge accomplishment for me! I want to give a special shout out to those followers who I engage with every week! So to those who are regularly stopping by, liking, and leaving a comment, (you know who you are):

Thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU!

Now, that I’ve hit the 900s, I want to host my first-ever Giveaway! That’s right, I’m going to reach for the stars and attempt to hit that 1,000 mark! Here’s how it will work!

Giveaway Prize:

  • In keeping with my love of The Hunger Games trilogy, I will be mailing out a brand new box-set, containing all three books to the winner of this Giveaway! This box set includes The Hunger Games, Catching…

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I Do Thee Shine

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 7

From: calensariel, of Impromptu Impromptlings


Welcome back to The Sandbox Writing Challenge! This week’s challenge MAY be an easy one for you, but maybe NOT! We’ve already touched on what makes us unique, but now we’d like to know what it is about you or that you do that makes you stand out from those around you? It’s hard for some of us to give ourselves the kudos we truly deserve, so here’s your chance to do just that. (And we all LOVE you, so go for it with gusto!) Don’t hold back now!

Now tell us, please, what makes you… SHINE…

I Do Thee Shine

When I was little and young.

“Your heart will always shine” Said Mum.

When I grew up, a know-all teenager.

Head strong, and an all-night rager.

“Your love of life will shine through” Said Dad.

Later on I married, so happy and glad.

Suddenly, one spring, MS touched her bad.

The shining dulled and time turned sad.

Dad said, “Your heart shone through”.

And Mum said, “Her Star will always shine on you”.

My Star, my Dad and Mum, you are my spine.

For you, I do thee shine.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

The Invisible Me

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 6

This week’s challenge is What is holding you back? 

From, calensariel, Impromptu, Promptlings.

The Invisible Me

I’m too soft and creamy, like melted chocolate.

Naive to a fault, until it’s too late.

Vulnerable, like a wafer and ice-cream in-between,

During a local hot day of one-hundred degrees.

Afraid of being visible to the vast unseen.

Confidence is scrambled, and of low esteem.

Drowning, like our worlds sick honey bees.

Choking on my words of melancholy and wanna be’s.

Crawling like a man cut-off below the knees.

Falling like a stone, and I’ve yet to set her free.

Far too trusting for these rough open seas.

And no idea of what, I want to do or be.

Scared of my own illiterate tendencies.

Wondering if a publisher would even read me.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

The Other Side Of Red White And Blue

An awesome thankyou to Slasher Monster Magazine for publishing my gurgling words, and thanks to Poet Rummager for her spectacular artwork. There’s always lots of fascinating reading in “SMM”


It was the fourth of July

The party seems to be finished

Wondering how long I dozed off for

Most of my friends have gone

A few bodies left, laying on the floor

Best I have a piss before I go

Now where’s that bathroom

Whoops, there’s a girl in here

Dressed all in blue, and she’s on the floor

Slouched in the corner, not moving

Her skins “a whiter shade of pale” *

Red lip-stick all askew

Then I see myself in the mirror

Agape, my white shirt’s moist and filthy

Splattered, deep dark red

Oh no ! It’s human blood

I turn the crumpled girl over

Her pretty blue dress, covered in blood too

What’s happened, I can’t remember

Only blurry images of red white and blue

My mind goes numb

And my legs start running

Out of here in a hurry

“Thump”, I trip over

I thought that bloke was asleep

I didn’t notice at first

His red shirt’s also oozing out blood

Holy hell, he’s dead too

I’m stumbling through the front door

Grappling, panicking, now where

Where do I flee to.

Think ! Yes, a nearby Church

Has an early dawn service

A sanctuary for my burning fears

And bumbling into the Church I go

Settling upon the nearest pew

I’m white as a ghost and turn to see who’s beside me

An eerily stunning red-haired girl

Wearing a dress of red white and blue

Memory flashes back, it’s Her, from the party

She’s staring at me now, with livid red and white eyes

I see fangs protruding over her blue lips

Dribbling fresh blood, hissing at me

She gurgles, “Did I miss one”

The Filia Sanguine suddenly grabs my arm

And her dark-blue fingernails dig deep

I’m seized, I’m gone, I know

There’s no safe haven here

“Where do you go to my lovely”**

Screaming tears of red white and blue


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

* A Whiter Shade Of Pale, Procol Hurum song Title 1967.

**Where Do You Go To My Lovely, Peter Sarstedt song Title 1969

Chariot Of Fears

To all young hearts, bought and sold.

Broken, shattered, and made of gold.

Have you ever watched your love die.

Have you seen tears of sand in her eyes.

Did you ever feel her grasp let go.

Did you see her blood drain of flow.

To all you who pretend, reading here.

To all you who think, you know how and where.

Have you ever been in the death ambulance.

Have you held her hand without a glance.

Life happens like that, you see.

Happened to me, not a chance to plea.

I traveled often, with her and thee.

So many times, angels entered her grave.

How many times would she be so brave.

More than a dozen, through the heartache years.

Finally a thirteenth chariot, did fill, with tears and fears.

Ivor Steven (c) 2018.