What’s So Important

I do wonder,

What’s important in life.

Why’s it so important,

To have someone to talk to,

And a companion too.

Does it matter,

If we remain alone and bare,

And love continues to be unfair.

I do wonder,

What’s important about our pounding hearts.

Why’s it so important,

To have a soulful beat, like a bass drum,

And walk a single path with your loved one.

Who cares,

If we leave a hopeful trail of crumbs,

And the Bowerbirds eat everyone.

And I do wonder,

Why’s love so important.

And I crave for the answer,

Before I’m dormant.

 

Ivor Steven.

Words Of Mine

I’ve given you all, my humble words.

I’ve given you, my hidden soul.

Words trickling, like the cool mountain streams.

Words dripping off the frozen ashen trees.

Words gliding across the icy lakes.

Words flowing through happiness, and sorrow.

 

I’ve given you all, my inner self.

I’ve given you, my outer grief.

Words Tumbling over the embedded rocks

Words twisting like the winding valley rivers.

Words cascading down the forest waterways.

Words sifting through my barren hands.

 

I’ve given you all, my lonely heart.

I’ve given you, my secret loves.

Words of life, like the deep blue oceans

Words of time, traveling to the stars beyond.

Words of love, drowning in the memory rains.

Words of mine, falling down upon dreams of tomorrow.

 

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Ivor Steven.

 

Memory Rain

Featured Photo: Taken by my, Samsung Galaxy S5, 24/08/2017, sunset at the end of my Court, here on the top of Geelong, Bell Post Hill.

 

Every time I opened a photo album,

I saw her personal emblem.

Every time I turned about face,

I felt my pain, all again.

Every time I switched on the screen,

I waited for a different dream.

Every time I tried another channel,

I cried during the battle.

Every time I played another sad tune,

I sang until the next full moon.

Every time I walked out the back door,

My head would be in the clouds.

Every time I looked up to heaven,

My angel would be at the gate.

And I saw the rain on her face,

And I felt the memory rain, all again.

 

Ivor Steven.

 

 

 

If Only Walls Could Talk

It’s true you know,

Walls can talk.

So I’ve been told,

By a beautiful rose.

You’ll have to listen,

Listen very closely.

Put your ears against the wall,

Use a stethoscope if you must.

Listen to the wooden heart,

Standing proud and tall.

A rough soul, rendered smooth,

Layers of paint, every hue.

Covering up dusty memories,

Of hearts lost, through years of cavities.

Like the old Wailing Wall,

You’re walking along a history hall.

Your secrets, one and all,

They’ve heard every gasp.

Your children’s moans,

And your lover’s groans.

 

Ivor Steven.

Special thanks to Poet Rummager, my friend Rose, being my the inspiration to write this poem, after a recent conversation we had, mentioning to me, that walls do talk !!

Changing Things Around

Sipping on tea, from old Ceylon.

This lazy day’s, all but gone.

I’m changing things around again.

Thinking I’m yesterdays craftsmen.

Putting dreams up, taking walls down.

Wandering around in my morning gown.

Daydreaming again, oh, her in this room.

Writing silly words, about sun and moon.

Feeling lost within this empty saloon.

Wishing for her to reappear soon.

Replacing the sofa, for her to see.

Reclining she would, so relaxed and free.

Oh this void, she left alone for me.

Returning she said, to share a Ceylon tea.

 

Ivor Steven.

A Crack In The Wall

Another re-post, originally from June 9th, and I’d been blogging for only two days, and the poem had only received two likes, and now most of my current readers would not have viewed this poem yet, so this seems an appropriate time to re-present the verse.

A Crack In The Wall

 

Placing yesteryear’s photos,

In that bygone album.

Cutting window holes,

In today’s front door.

Pasting forgotten memories,

In the bible, so forlorn.

Packing tomorrows cases,

Full of dusty dreams.

Clutching torn curtains,

Darkened to the outside world.

Passing a crumbling brick wall,

Weakened by the original fall.

 

Ivor Steven

Waterways (Revised)

I’m re-posting “Waterways”, It’s one of earliest blogs, and many readers may not have viewed this poem. I enjoyed writing this verse, and the words are open to be interpreted what ever way suits

Thinking about jumping into the waterfall from above.
Diving into her churning pool of heartache, called love.
Surging through the cascading rapids, of loves up and downs.
Settling upon her icy lake, where lovers often drown.
Flowing down the valley river, to where all waterways meet.
Trickling across her dry creek-bed, under the dampened sheet.
Spreading amongst the delta swamp, both bitter and sweet.
Flooding onto to her warm salt flats, discovering the open heat.
Spilling the water-lilies of love, over the seas so deep.
Joining her ocean of lost love, caressing her to sleep.

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Text_Swag_15-06-2017_125618_PMWaterways

Oh, I’m thinking about jumping into the waterfall from above.

And diving into her churning pool of heartache, called love.

Surging through the cascading rapids, of loves ups and downs.

And settling upon her icy lake, where lovers often drown.

Flowing down the valley river, to where all waterways meet.

And trickling across her plains of pain, under the dampened sheet.

Spreading amongst the delta swamp, both bitter and sweet.

And flooding onto her warm salt flats, discovering the open heat.

Then spilling the water-lilies of love, over the seas so deep.

And joining her ocean of lost love, swimming so replete.

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Arctic Winds.

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

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. More of her Design/Artwork attached below.

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.

Pumping only yesteryears rust,

And icicles of my dust.

My eyes are swollen rocks,

Amidst polarized 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.

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