Tit Bits #6

After self-destruction

There’s a resurrection

After the Fall

There’s winter and spring

After the blossom

There’s fruit to eat

After last years rotting cores

They’re the trees nourishment


Understanding our time

Is no easy rhyme


True love is hard to find

When found be very kind

Love can break your spine

And blow away your mind


Ah, and this one is for my dear friend Walt.

Horse manure and ashes of Walt

Magic mushrooms could result

Mischief and joy amongst the peat

A reincarnation you’ll be, barking on four feet.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

May Day

Thursday morning, a chilly May day,

Six years since our gracious lady passed away.

tumbling in, memories hit me

but fears not beat me

Clouds of the past cover me

but tears not flood me


At my old writing desk, all in disarray

wondering would she approve of me this way

regretful feelings within me

but fears not consume me

shadows of the future haunt me

but tears not drown me.

“How many rivers of tears must we cry

before all the deepest wells run dry”


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

What is one of the worst emotional storms you’ve weathered in your life?

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 17. Posted by in Blogging .


Stroke, And Who’s Left To Row The Boat


The storms are too many to count.

Emotional lows had weathered me out.

And there’s another poem I’d written.

“Olive Eyes”, when she was found to be broken.

Below I’ve attached the poem link.

How much lower could our life sink.


After fourteen years of our struggles, I suffered a Stroke.

An ambulance came, my brain was in a boat.

Floating out to sea, overboard and panic-stricken.

I wasn’t swimming, barely awake, and drifting.

I had fallen, nothing was working, and not talking.

She’s crying, I’m sobbing, my heart is dying.

And who’s left to row the boat, I’m thinking.

I was jabbed with a needle and silently sleeping.


I awoke a day later, in hospital, feeling wasted.

My face was limp, mouth parched, was that death I tasted.

My mind was active, I thought where is she.

I knew I was bad, the room was all blurry to me.

Strong anxieties had set in, I needed to know.

Nurses came to me, I pleaded, I wanted to go.

“Help me to see her, just give my bed a tow.

Please let me go, before I’m covered in snow”.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

“Olive Eyes” link,    https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2018/01/19/olive-eyes/




Ivor Steven: Pumpkin Soup Again

A big Slurpy Thank You to Slasher Monster Magazine for publishing “Pumpkin Soup Again”, in their fabulous magazine, please go over and visit the site.


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.

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