Crashed

Do you see my mess

I do confess

I’m computerless

Do you know my address

I’m writing on slate

You’ll have to wait

My pigeon will be late

I’m using my old phone

Working fingers to the bone

Words are like stones

Without a home

Do you know the score

No music any more

I slam my studio door

Leaving pools of notes on the floor

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Burnt Toast And A Cold Shower

Weekly PromptsWord Prompt. Advantage

 

When it’s so hard to get out of my warm bed

I force myself to throw the sheets off

And I face another day again

 

When the light doesn’t go on above my head

I replace the globe and flick the switch

And I see Again

 

When my shower hot water turns cold

I patiently wait for the boiler to reheat

And I shall be ready again

 

When the toaster burns my bread

I turn the grey dial down to three

And I restart again

 

When the kettle runs bone dry

I dutifully refill the jug

And enjoy a cuppa’ again

 

When breakfast is done and it’s time to run

I feel the advantage of being alive

And I smile at my world again

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

A Moving Song

It’s my birthday today(67) and I’m giving my gifts to the children, and posting this song for “The Lost Children” suffering in our world

“”The Stolen Child” was released in 1988 on The Waterboy’s album, Fisherman’s Blues. The song includes lyrics by Yeates and a beautiful lilting melody….making for one of my favorites on an album chocked full of classic Waterboys tunes! The lyrics are mystical and strange…it’s lovely the way they string together….how amazing are the images and flow of this poem? Remastered audio! The poem was written in 1886 and is considered to be one of Yeats’s more notable early poems. The poem is based on Irish legend and concerns faeries beguiling a child to come away with them. Yeats had a great interest in Irish mythology about faeries resulting in his publication of Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry in 1888 and Fairy Folk Tales of Ireland in 1892. The places mentioned in the poem are in Leitrim and Sligo where Yeats spent much of his childhood.”               Taken from the information attached to the below video

 

The Waterboys – The Stolen Child, Lyrics

Come away human child to the water
Come away human child to the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake
There lies the leafy island
Where flapping herons wake the drowsy water rats
There we’ve hid our faery vats full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries

Come away, human child to the water
Come away, human child to the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light
Far off by furthest roses, we foot it all the night
Weaving olden dances, mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight
To and fro we leap, chase the frothy bubbles
While the world is full of troubles and is anxious in it’s sleep

Come away, human child to the water
Come away, human child to the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand

Where the wandering water gushes from the hills above Glen-Car
And pools among the rushes that scarce could bathe a star
We seek for slumbering trout and whispering in their ears
We give them unquiet dreams
Leaning softly out from ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams

Away with us he’s going, the solemn eyed
He’ll hear no more the lowing of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob, sing peace into his breast
Or see the brown mice bob around and around the oatmeal chest

For he comes, the human child to the water
He comes, the human child to the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than you can understand

Human child, human child
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than you can understand
Than you can understand, you can understand

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

My Dragon, The Trilogy

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 26

What makes life magical?  For me it’s magical when I read my “My Dragon” poems to my friend’s children, as they sit down around me, and listen intently to my every word, yes, that is What makes life magical.

 

My Dragon

 

A monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear lampooned, a grizzly mess.

Nostrils ablaze, bloodied red.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragons crying, and nearly dead.

 

My Dragon, The Revival

 

My lampooned Dragon’s, fallen and out of breath.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The Slayer’s spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left-wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

Green horns twitching, like a mythical serpentine.

Yellow eyes glowing, like magical sunshine.

My Dragon’s revived.

And ready to skydive.

 

My Dragon, Can He Fly

 

My wounded Dragon, stands so proud.

Neck arching up, looking to the clouds.

Seeing graceful birds flying apart.

He feels a huge scar close to his heart.

My Dragon bows, and shakes his beastly head.

But his enormous tail feels like lead.

Flapping one wing, then the other.

Dejected he looks, not even a hover.

Nostrils snorting, no sign of fire.

To fly again, his deepest desire.

From within I hear, gut-rumblings soar.

My Dragon angrily spews an almighty roar.

And his gigantic jaws open wide.

A bloodied tongue swishes his fangs side to side.

He swallows and belches another gruesome howl.

A flame burst forth from his boughs.

My Dragon frantically begins to respire.

Again and again his exhales are afire.

And gyrating his heavy green tail.

He spreads his wings like full sails.

Frightened at first, fluttering end to end.

My jumbo sized reptile gradually ascends.

Twenty, then fifty, a hundred leagues above.

Suddenly flying, like a flock of beautiful doves.

Magically rolling and frolicking he flies

Happily he shrieks and swoosh, rapidly down he dives.

Majestically gliding, he arrives.

My Dragon, again King of the skies.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

 

 

Tower To Heaven

There was a raging storm last night, I struggled to sleep, I was in and out of my dreams, and during my semi-conscious times, I jotted down these lines.

I remember the day

Like it was yesterday

A cold morning, ten o’clock

I, a shadow in the paddock

Standing beside a giant pylon

I looked up to heaven

Straight up the tower

The tower of power

Crosses of galvanized iron

Shiny under the winter sun

Wind whistling through its huge steel web

Howling like hades walking dead

And demons screaming in my head

My spirit begun climbing the spire

Clambering higher and higher

Up the pyramid of life’s wires

Desperate, I grasp at my ultimate desire

A visionary mission before I die

To embrace a piece of my angels sky

 

To the amazing Leonard Cohen, I thank you for being the inspiration behind my writings, over and over your words and songs have soothed the depths of my soul, and again you’ve caressed my heart during my times of sorrow, bless you, up there in your tower of song.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018