The Song Plays Through the Night

I twist and roll over

A musical world spins inside my head


My somersault of dreams

Rotates under my bed-spread


Upside down

Rhythmical tiredness falls out of my seams


Words tumble around

Nameless titles and endless tunes abound


The bad moon’s turning

Singing the blues, over my empty town


I twist and roll over, again

I’m back where I started, I hear my angel humming, Hallelujah


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Arctic Winds.

Today’s poem is one I wrote two years ago, and I was fortunate enough to have the piece published by, ‘Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine’, back in January 2018. A magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,

Artwork:  By Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my beautiful niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.


Arctic Winds


I’m winter hibernating

Inside an Eskimo’s hut

Feeding only on fish oil

And frozen blue blood

My heart’s cold and dormant

Cowering under a dampened vestment

Wind-swept by a blizzard’s dust

Covered in icicles of my rust

My eyes are swollen rocks

Amidst polarised sockets

Terrorising all that’s passed

Like forgotten arctic icebergs

My veins are hollow crevasses

Inside a glaciers ice-flow

Sheering and groaning chasms

Like my memories deepest fjord


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019




My Door’s Firmly Shut

Good morning dear readers, It’s a chilly Sunday here in Geelong, but it’s bad, my sister is coming down from Ballarat and we are going out for lunch. Cyndi will be staying inside, curled up next to the heater…..


My Door’s Firmly Shut

Early Sunday morning

At my desk

Writing in pencil

The inks frozen

No joke

Send the firewood

Light up my heart

With soulful words

Give my fingers a start

Knuckles are throbbing

An arthritic chill

My dog’s coughing

Poor little girl

She feels it too

Ah, not to worry

A sombre smile

A sun-ray

Shining through

Thawing my will

Freeing my quill 



Ivor Steven. (c)  July 2019

I’m Not Too Tired, Yet

Yesterday, I was dead tired

Today, I sternly asked


Why does life have to be such a task ?

Then I quietly answered myself


Life is like a bean-stalk

Isn’t it ?  My son


Whilst we are climbing high

Reaching for the sun


I cannot wait, for tomorrow’s snow

I’m not ready to go


I’m yet to repaint the sky

Again, I’ll have to learn how to fly



Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

An Empty Shell

I’m a broken stick

Hit by a tonne of bricks

I’ve stroke fatigue

Tiredness out of my league

The psyche says go

My body says no

Yesterday everything was fine

Today nothing is mine

Only rest and sleep

Not even a sneaky peep

They say, what’s wrong

I say, who’s playing my song

They say, you look ok

I say, I cannot stay

Read us your poem

No ! I want to go home

Don’t spoil the show

I’m an empty shell, they do not know


** Please note: Feature Image above, copied with the permission by Niki Flow, this is her blog site.


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Witty Butterfly

Thank you Yonnie:

Haiku…Witty Butterfly

via Haiku…Witty Butterfly


singing butterfly

decrees, have my wings and fly

join me in the sky


Special thanks to Mr. Energizer, himself, for dedicating and honoring me with my First Haiku.

I’m truly excited, humbled and grateful. Your such a wonderful friend, encouraging and supportive.

Ivor posted the Haiku in the comment section, after reading my post Witty Butterfly Post. I was eluded. Ivor’s Creative Poetic Charm flourishes with so much joy.


Thanks again Ivor,





Eating Our Own Waste

Is It only me ?

that feels this way

my thoughts gushing out to sea

without knowing what to say


our world is being flushed

down the sewer drain

water-rat politicians eating leftover crusts

every-time our dying clouds rain


never ending, poisoning of the bays

strangling plastic bags

suffocating polystyrene trays

wrapped in bloody newspaper flags


animals killed by our waste

governments retain their ego for greed

T.V. and press reports, via copy and paste

while our planet’s going to seed


are we trying our best ?

for the creatures in need

stop, this shitting, on our own nest

how much more can the oceans bleed ?


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019


White Clouds Over Forest Floor Snail Trails


Again I’m posting this poem on “Go Dog Go Cafe’s”, Promote Yourself Monday’s, and thank you to Linda, of “Charmed Chaos”, for the kind invitation… Please Click  >>>> Here    to visit their fabulous site.



White Clouds Over Forest Floor Snail Trails


I remember the days well

When I could hear the ringing of bluebells

And the horizon, was an aqua clear skyline

Splashed with drifting, pristine shrines

The fertile ranges, enriched by His grapevines

Growing on posts and wires, green living enzymes

Now everywhere, there’s poles, cables and yellow floodlights

Feeding hungry digital mealtimes, instead of stargazers under the moonlight

Oh, to again see clouds glide with full white sails

Moving slow enough to observe, a forest floor’s snail trails

Ivor Steven (c) July 2019