Sunday Lunchtime

Sunday Lunchtime

 

A sunny Sunday lunchtime

I’m home alone, nothing to do

I decide on a Pakington Street outing

At the quaint Box Office Cafe

 

I’m by myself

They will be people I know

And perhaps I’ll meet someone new

There’s Beth I see, a regular, and with her puppy too

 

The Cafe has a dog friendly view

I sit with Beth and little Edith

We order coffee’s, and study the menu

Then two young ladies sit at the adjacent table

 

I introduce myself, to Amber and Jo

They are interested in what I’m writing

Jokingly, I say, “I’m writing a poem about you”

Then I explain, that the topics, ‘A Memorable Meal’

 

Smiling, I say, “here we all are, choosing our meals”

We finish our order, and happily chat away

Enjoying our Sunday lunchtime together

And cheeky puppy Edith, gets her pats and scraps too

Ivor Steven (c) September 2019

Red Rose Sunset

Another sunrise

And my red rose has wilted

I knew she could not stay

Although I sacredly

Stood her in holy water

Nurturing her fading life

As I watched her weep

Petals, one by one

Weaken and fall

Anointing her finality

Leaving a barren stem

Sturdy and alone

Reciting eulogies

About a lost Autumn flower

And that last, red rose sunset

 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

The Woman In Me

G’day readers, It’s Friday morning here in Australia. I recently made an insignificant little comment on a writer’s post, in the form of a short poem “The Woman In Me”, which I’m now posting here today….

The Woman In Me

 

Inside every man there is a woman

The mother of his soul

The lady of his heart

The kindness in his touch

The passion in his blood

The woman who fostered, the way he shows love

 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

Cyberspace, And Melted Digital’s

This week’s word prompt on “Weekly Prompts is : Cyber Invitation. Please go and visit their fabulous site, click >> HERE …

This crazy, distorted cyberspace

Can be a dishonest place

Like talking to aliens from outer-space

False profiles and no trace

 

I dislike bloggers with no face

And avoid, no what “About’s”, a shameful disgrace

As if they’re hiding from the human race

Or thieves of other writers database

 

I’d like to knot together their shoelaces

See them fall from grace

Straight down their slippery staircase

And melt their digital’s in the fireplace

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019