Out of Solitary

I’m out of isolation

Home tomorrow afternoon

I’m as weak as a kitten

That’s been chased and bitten

I’m as tired as Leonard after his last song

My recovery shall be slow and long

I’m sure to need lots more rest

And there’s more examinations and tests

Over the next six weeks

But I’ll keep writing and giving cheek

Ivor Steven (c) 2018


Relaxing here in solitary

Looking out towards my left

I see the old Geelong Cement silo’s

At the top end of Autumn street

Three kilometres away

As the crow flies

The crow, flies outside my window

Below he hovers, above Autumn street

Ironically the street where we lived

For our entire thirty-eight years together

I’m nostalgic about every year

Reminiscing, and yes, I’m full of tears

Tears of liquid joy

Joy of togetherness, for so many years

And our old crow was always there

Perched in our lemon tree

Every morning the crow would sing tō us

Sing his ancient tunes

His tunes of memories and rhymes

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Pillow And Willow

“Hello dear pillow”

“You’re so kind and soft to my head”

I said to my fluffy white pillow

I recall, similar words being said

Years ago, when I was young

Talking to my backyard willow-tree

Hugging the grand old trunk

And saying to the tree

“Hello dear willow”

“You’re so kind, to let me climb you”

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Mystic Man

I’m digging a tunnel

With my ball and chain

Underneath the great wall

Towards the east side of the moon

Away from these wasted days

Beyond the drain of pain

My eyes search for a light

Through my grotto’s ceiling crack

Resolutely my heart yells at me

“There’s no turning back”

Fingers are bloodied

Toes are blistered

My throat is parched

Lips are sweat covered with dirt

I’m desperate for the evening rain

And a cooling breeze

Fresh upon my old crusty skin

I’m to meet a mystic Arab

Cloaked in cloth of indigo blue

He’s been sent by Muhammad to save me

Burst me free, and find my lost kin

Haiku. A Flower Gone

This haiku was a very sad piece for me to write. Personally, the words are an ode/tribute to our grandniece, Georgia, who was only 20…… Please, I’m ok, I’m wishing my words are appropriately good enough for the poor child lost….

A Flower Gone

In a sea of lights

She, an unpicked bloom, wilted

Young and fresh, now gone

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

My Isolation Whiteboard

I suppose you could call this post a “black and white comparison piece of writing”. This week’s, weekly photo prompt: Comparison

Dear readers for the last 5 days of my 2 weeks(so far) hospital stay, I’ve been in isolation, and to help me fill in my singular time here I’ve been using a large whiteboard to write my poems on, and I’ve been writing a poem or Haiku everyday, and of course, my whiteboard is now full. Hopefully this is a sign!!, and it’s nearly time for me to go home. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the process, both physically and mentally, and everyone around me has appreciated my writings, my nurses, doctors, attendants, administrative staff, and all my visitor’s, have all come in and had a read of my whiteboard over these day’s. I don’t think this isolation room has seen the likes of a plumber/poet before, and the buzzing atmosphere of expectation, in room 5 on level seven, has made it a pleasant place to be..

Ivor Steven (c) 2018