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
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
Her last words were, “how can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause? Such a fine sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?”
Visit Kaylaann’s site, always a fascinating read.
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):
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Sagging like a half-broken branch
On a newly planted olive tree
In need of gentle husbandry
A new growth, a strong bud
To eventually replace thee
A younger twig for all to see
Alas, lack of nurturing stifled glee
And no fresh flowers for a honey-bee
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
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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
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.
Upon my pillow I sleep.
Good morning, I do peek.
From the cushion of my dreams.
A pads radiating beams.
Blushing red hues, oh so bright.
You bloom during the night.
After cuddling the dew.
You open up your scenic view.
Flowering, standing proud and steep.
Perfection at my feet.
A glorious Lily, like wings of a dove.
And by Day you air your love.
Ivor Steven (c) 2018.
The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 5
What it is about you that you feel makes you
different from everybody else? From Calensariel, Impromptu Promptlings
I am not so different.
I am not an animal.
Crying in a cage.
I live in a bubble of air.
Like everyone else.
I breathe the same.
Stand alone during the game.
I limp and shuffle.
At this age, we’re all lame.
The brain is forgetful.
But the memory bank is full.
I tire more quickly.
And plug-in early.
Beauty sleep and a recharge.
Dream of a pretty face.
Tomorrow she’s a new showcase.
Life is no longer a race.
Hiking at her comfortable pace.
I am not so different.
I am not unlike you.
Like everyone else.
I seek love and grace.
Ivor Steven. (c) Feb 13th 2018.
To all my friends experiencing your coldest of winters, a beautifully sensitive poem from Frederic in Paris of F.G.M.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 