March 2018 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Tit Bits #2

The apple I ate today was pure white

did I do wrong, or was I right

to have the adulterated bite

knowing all eyes have imperfect insight

It’s a crying shame

that dreams aren’t the same

who’s to blame

for this loveless game

please give us some hope

so we may live to cope

The cracks are dark holes

chasms to the soul

leaking emotions of old

needing warmth from the cold

We all have our worth

here on mother earth.

How Many Books Do I Take On The Cruise

I’m sailing on my Pacific cruise on Saturday 31st, off to the New Caledonian Islands, and I’ve not had a holiday for three years, and I’m looking forward to my trip. Hehehe, although I’ve still to dispose of that wicked witch !!

Ripe Tomatoes And A Garden Spade

Only another week to go

I’ll be on the cruise

I’m not feeling nervous

More that I’m fearful

Scared my plan might go amiss

Before the high seas deliver bliss

Taking two suitcases is normal

Other passengers may have three

I won’t look suspicious

I’ve bagged her precisely

Chopped her into small pieces

Stored separately in the freezer

The old witch, I caught her trespassing

In my private courtyard

Stealing my precious cherry tomatoes

I whacked her with my garden spade

Across the top of her green head

I didn’t hit her too hard

She lay there bleeding, not dead

How dare she come into my yard

She’s pleading with me, no mercy I said

As I dragged her into the shed

Ivor Steven: Ripe Tomatoes and a Garden Spade

Thank you to Slasher Monster Magazine for publishing my poem on their fantastic Magazine site SMM. https://slashermonster.com For some alternative writing and reading please take look.

SlasherMonster

Ripe Tomatoes and a Garden Spade

Only another week to go

I’ll be on the cruise

I’m not feeling nervous

More that I’m fearful

Scared my plan might go amiss

Before the high seas deliver bliss

Taking two suitcases is normal

Other passengers may have three

I won’t look suspicious

I’ve bagged her precisely

Chopped her into small pieces

Stored separately in the freezer

The old witch, I caught her trespassing

In my private courtyard

Stealing my precious cherry tomatoes

I whacked her with my garden spade

Across the top of her green head

I didn’t hit her too hard

She lay there bleeding, not dead

How dare she come into my yard

She’s pleading with me, no mercy I said

And I dragged her into the shed

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Beyond The Trapdoor

I’ve been there so often

I’ve lost my fear, gone, forgotten

The darkest abyss

Under a cobblestone crest

Opening into a gloomy manhole

Trapdoor to the soul

Below the floor

My elbows do score

Over dried out soil

Beneath sticky cobweb curtains

Fingernails claw my way

Toes pushing against crumbled clay

No space, dusty tears

No air, dirt I chew

Shouldering under bearers

Squeezing, I burst through

I’m here, there’s a job to do

I begin searching for you

Yellow And Green

Yellow

There she silently stays

Baking under daily sun-rays

An old warriors chariot

Vehicle of love and riot

Deliverer of play and gain

Carrier of our angel in the rain

A working yellow submarine

Shipping friends and our queen

Transporting them all

Here and there, having a ball

Green

I’m green with envy

Overnight, mother natures been

Healing my poison ivy

A miracle potion unseen

Mosaics of Autumn leaves

A queens robe of gold and brown

Warm quilts from the trees

Nurturing globes in the ground

Tit Bits

Oh, how I do over stretch

then like a faithful dog

I return after the chase and fetch

balancing life on a rolling river log

I was waiting last year

waiting last month

waiting last week

waiting yesterday

I’m waiting again tonight

I might as well keep waiting

Wait for what I’ve been waiting for

To see a crack in the wall

to stop your fall

may you grow tall

as the light calls

Anger is danger

anger is not love

danger is heavy

danger is not love

love is respect

love is not crushing

World Poetry Day 2018

We’re Celebrating World Poetry Day 2018 here in Geelong today, March 21st, and I’m going to our local Writers event this evening, and to mark the occasion I’ll post an older poem of mine, “Words Of Mine”

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 embedded rocks.

Words twisting like 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 upon dreams of tomorrow.

Morning Starshine

Asleep, out of view

dawn blazes through

blinds me from above

piercing my dreams of love

uncovering lines between sheets

exposed to the morning beat

letters sprinkle upon my pillow

inking words over loose halo’s

Reflective pages and blotches

wooden posts and hollow notches

under cracked leggo blocks

narrow jargon and hidden plots

inside poems of mine

glazed with her starshine.

Mango Smoothie

I’m reading sacred scriptures

searching for her leftover pieces

I drank a mango smoothie instead

to feed my word starved head

I’m following the score

winners cheating on soft hearts

Demons covering the doors

and angels cannot reach the charts

I’m laying her on a massage table

listening to a sad amble

I prod her skin deep

Shoulders, down to her feet

I’m rubbing salve over her soul

cleansing her masking sheet

Revealing wounded sandholes

bruised upon a pebble beach

I’m a healer who’s lost

Gravitated by her sorrow

How do I catch a falling arrow

And mend her broken cross

Rabbit Stew And Broken Plates

Last week I attended my Fortnightly writers group, called the “Belmont Page”, and I recited a recent poem of mine, “Broken Plates And Rabbit Stew”. The poem was openly discussed by the group, and they basically thought I’d written a good piece. Then there were a few suggestions about how I might improve my poem. Here is my rewritten poem, with the older edition attached below. I would appreciate some feedback in relation to my alterations, so I can take them back to the writers group.

Rabbit Stew And Broken Plates

Have you ever had that weird dream

Where you can’t see beyond the screen

Greyness is black and red is green

Straight lines are wavering beams

Stitched inside your brain’s sewn-up seams

Bagged and tagged a pale corpse unseen

Blueness in blood and plasma in streams

Chunky bittersweet rhubarb pie

Injected directly into your open veins

Hallucinating a vortex of fun and games

Spiralling under cool moonlight

A bleak bedroom coldness reigns

Over mountains made of rabbit stew

Slowly eaten with a wooden spike

Digested, your tummy gurgles and ejects buckets of spew

While a hairless dog chases the postie’s bike

Dawn, a kettle whistle screams

Above the ice-covered broken plates

Shattered upon creek-bed rocks

After reading the excellent comments I’ve received from my faithful readers, below is another rewrite of my interesting Nightmare poem.