Annoying Mind Games (Again)

Hi dear readers , below is a poem from two years ago, one that I really didn’t want to post again, but sadly, here the story is, on repeat again…………

Here I am in bed now, with a sharp raging headache(again). I’m not well, my occipital neuralgia has flared up (again) . All I can do is rest, so I’ll be lying low for a few days (or more). I’m beginning my treatment on Tuesday, physiotherapy and acupuncture, which in the end gives me some manageable relief. The whole process can take up to 4 weeks,…. Yeah… I should be ok for Christmas……. Hope you all have a good weekend


Mind Games (Again)


There’s a sharp pain

Inside my brain

Harpooning my eye

More than Ouch, I cry

So hard to write

Blurry is my sight

All I do is peep

And I must rest and sleep

I’ve not lost the knack

And I shall be back……….

Hopefully soon

Before they play my tune


Occipital neuralgia is a distinct type of headache characterised by piercing, throbbing, or electric-shock-like chronic pain in the upper neck, back of the head, and behind the ears, usually on one side of the head. Typically, the pain of occipital neuralgia begins in the neck and then spreads upwards.


Ivor Steven (c)  Nov 2019



The name Dallas

Hangs proudly under my verandah

The name of our old family house

There’s only us cousins, who are left

We’re unsure as to where Dallas first came from

We do know that Dallas

Was uncle John’s middle name

But where did the name originate

It’s a family mystery to us now

There’s no other mention, anywhere in our family history

And the name has not been used again

The name Dallas, shall now remain

Hanging under my verandah

As a silent memorial to uncle John


Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Olive Eyes


The Café Philos Poetry Prompt For Them That Be Wild Things (April 11, 2019)

Has there been a moment, time, person, event, etc. in your life that you thought and felt was so beautiful and fulfilling you would not have regretted dying after it?

Not that you would have wanted to have died, but that you would have had no regrets afterwards……… Here’s my story Paul, a tale of no regrets…………..

Olive Eyes


I’d forgotten to pump-up the car tyres

The car’s out the front

We’ve got to be going soon

The appointment note is crumpled in my hand

It’s over an hours drive to the city

My mother-in-law is waiting to see us off

She’s pensive, knowing I’m on edge

Feeling for her daughters predicament

My wife, my patient, looks at me forlornly

Her pleading olive eyes make me more panicky

Now to transfer her from our bed

Into her borrowed wheelchair

I’ve no idea, it’s my first go

Damn, the chair’s tyre’s are nearly flat too

No time now, we must leave

Another transfer into the car

I almost stumble, she’s awkward to move

She’s unsteady, her legs aren’t working

I firmly grab her around the waist

And she clasps her arms over my shoulders

A gentle embrace of respect

We wryly smile at each other

She looks at me, with her pleading olive eyes

I stay strong, but I’m anxiously shaking

Finally I’ve positioned her into the car

I somehow fold the borrowed wheelchair

Frustrated, throwing the chair into the boot

Off we drive, I’m trying not to over-speed

Nervously over-gripping the steering wheel

The whites of my knuckles plain to see

Soon we’re approaching the city centre

Agape, I’ve little idea of where to go

She looks at me with her pleading olive eyes

Bravely I say “Just a few more blocks”

Blindly lucky, I eventually find our destination


An imposing building, tall and dark grey

Ungracefully I transfer her out of the car

Wheeling her in, “damn” these flat tyres

Eight storey’s up to the Doctors rooms

He’s a renowned Neurologist, there’s none in our town

We greet him, he’s a confident, but sombre man

And my wife looks at him with her pleading olive eyes

Knowingly, I think, he’s seen those sort of eyes before

There were tests, lots of questions, and more examinations

Our time there seemed to be standing still

And silently we wait for blood results to return

Eerily the Doctor begun to speak and explain

A strange aura of hush fell upon us

As we listened to his authoritative voice

“It’s my diagnosis, that you’ve the Neurological disorder, Multiple Sclerosis”


The long hour’s drive home was stunned quiet

Except for the many rolling tears

Trickling from my wife’s pleading olive eyes

And on the road the cars tyres felt flatter

The next day, I pumped the tyres up

On her borrowed wheelchair, and on the car

That signalled the beginning of our long journey

Another thirty years of her gracious and everlasting smile

Wheeling over the lumpy roads, until the last bend

Looking at me no more, with her pleading olive eyes


Ivor Steven (c)  2018.


My Courtyard Fence

The Weekly Prompt, Photo prompt is : Fences..  Across the road from my home, there’s a large housing development, under construction with a high wire fence around the site. It’s in vast contrast to my private little yard here. I’m on my exercise bike, Yorkie, pedalling away and looking around at my courtyard fence. I’m wondering, how I got this far and how I arrived at this place, jumping all of life’s tall fences on my to journey  here. On my courtyard fence hangs so many memories, and it takes me back to when I wrote a poem, of when life was extraordinarily hard and I felt the end was near, it was just after  I had my first Stroke eighteen years ago, and I couldn’t jump “This Fence”<< Click to view the Weekly Prompt’s site

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This Fence

I am quickly nearing this fence.
An obstacle of a lifetime I see.
And from my side of this fence,
The hurdle is too high for me.
And on the other side of this fence,
There seems nowhere to land or flee.

I have arrived at this fence,
Above the pickets, just grey sky.
And on my side of this fence,
The grass is brown and dry.
On the other side of this fence,
The grass is green, but still I cry.
How am I to clear this fence,
There seems nowhere to go, or get by.

This fence, all built of stones,
Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.


Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Hello Dad

Hello Dad, and happy birthday, you were the most honourable and kindest man of my life. I’ve got a lot live up to Dad, my dear friend.

**By one of my favourite writers, Colleen of, “The Chatter Blog”, a superb piece

Etched In Stone

“When your father’s name is etched in stone

It is never as indelible

As the etching in your heart”       —  Colleen Faherty Brown


**By one of my favourite musicians, Neil Young, and his song “Old Man”

“Old Man”
“Old man look at my life,
I’m a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I’m a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don’t get lost.
Like a coin that won’t get tossed
Rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life
I’m a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that’s true.

Lullabies, look in your eyes,
Run around the same old town.
Doesn’t mean that much to me
To mean that much to you.

I’ve been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I’m all alone at last.
Rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life
I’m a lot like you
I need someone to love me
the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that’s true.

Old man look at my life,
I’m a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life,
I’m a lot like you were.”        — Neil Young

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

My First Post Is Now My “500th Post”

Liquid Joy (Revised)


Tears of liquid joy

Like rivers of fear

The memories so clear

And a toast to cheer

Tears of liquid joy

Like waves from the heart

Two great oceans apart

And wishing for another restart

Tears of liquid joy

Like dredged canals of the soul

Leaking from a broken porthole

And wishing for a free parole

Tears of liquid joy

A flowing molten lava

Passing a secret convoy

And singing like the last choirboy

Crying liquid joy


Ivor Steven (c)  2019

My Collection

I’m laying here in my hospital bed, waiting for my next scan/test, I’ve been fasting for a while now. So I’m playing a YouTube collection here on my phone, through my headphones, and I thought I might as well share these personal selections with you, I hope you enjoy “My Collection” this morning, or whatever time it maybe wherever you are ❤️😆

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Thank You, From Tullawalla

Hello dear readers and followers, as part of my Eighteenth Month, blogging celebrations, I’d like to sincerely thank you all who participated in my Tullawalla program to raise money for MS Society of Geelong, all donations have been gratifully received, and of course I’m open for more donations anytime. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Sorry I’ve not been around to all my fellow bloggers on WP, with my usual diligence and zest. As most of you might know, I’ve had a 6 week stay in hospital, resting and recovering. However I’ve been keeping myself busy, in between nanna-naps, preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “Waiting Time”, and of course along with the other 5 booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 6 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe

And, Tullawalla, Waiting Time

And I’m happy to say that I’ve now learnt how to print on both sides of the pages, thus halving my mailing costs for anyone interested in purchasing, for the price of postage and plus a donation for the MS shop. I have a PayPal account, to make payments easier.

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.