Cooking For Frankie (a Tanka)

Cooking For Frankie (a Tanka)

The casserole lid

Breaks, slashing a left digit

Not the typing hand!

An emergency visit

I ask, “How many stitches?”

Tullawalla is Available From

Jaymah Press:

Ivor Steven: email,

Amazon: search via, ‘Tullawalla by Ivor Steven’

Perceptions is Now Available via:


Jaymah Press:

Lulu Books:

OR: email me directly for a signed copy –  

Ivor Steven (c) March 2023

Putin … Would You

I would surrender my poetic soul to you 

If that could hand you compassion? 

To help you stop your war

I would offer my shattered heart to you 

If you are needing a piece of heart?  

To help you stop your war

I would remove my crying eyes 

and stay blind to you 

If your ego is looking for guidance? 

To help you stop your war

President Putin
Have you a shred of decency? 

Left inside your arrogant mind

Would you? 

Desert your grandchildren 

And Evict them to be

Homeless and frightened

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

The Children’s Empty Streets

Do they hear humanity’s fears?

Will that day come?

When all the big ears

Will listen as one

How many rivers of tears must we cry?

Before all our deepest wells run dry

How many innocent children must fall?

Before all the big ears hear their helpless calls

That wounded haunting drawl

The ghostly scrapping sound of homeless feet

Mournfully shuffling along their bombarded streets

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

Innocent Millipedes

Please Mr Shootin’ Putin

Do not roll your tanks of destruction

Over the innocent Mr & Mrs Millipede

Millipedes were the earliest animals to breathe air

And make the move from water to land

They date back 428 million years

Now people of the world cannot hold back their tears

Did you know Mr Shootin’ Putin

That Millipedes are fairly timid critters

Docile decomposers that live in the leaf litter

Of forests all over the world!

They aren’t flashy or fast

And they follow the motto

“Slow and steady wins the race”

Millipedes are peaceful

They don’t bite

They can’t sting

And they don’t have pincers to fight back

Please Mr Shootin’ Putin

Do not roll your tanks of destruction

Over the innocence of creation

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

Red Lilies Under Broken Ground, is up at Coffee House Writers magazine

Hello dear readers and followers, as you may know, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “Red Lilies Under Broken Ground”, is in this weeks edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … please click on the link below and visit my poem, at Coffee House Writers >>

Red Lilies Under Broken Ground

Do the selfish greedy few
Watch the innocent die
And bleed upon the morning dew
Do they inhale the red dust
Above the crumbling homes of trust

Has their warring blackboard
Been desecrated by the blood-spattered horde
Sacrificed by their beheading swords

The white doves of peace are crying
While the red lilies of love
Lay under broken ground dying

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

The Disappearance of Decency


Naked I stand before Him
Stripped of common decency
Debased, I kneel crying
Sad words fall like rain
Tanks are still rolling
Over the Ukraine
My Tanka’s are scrolling
Down their bloody drains

Tanka #1. Sad Sky

False words smudge old clouds
Gray clouds hang under sad sky
The sad sky decries
“Children are our butterflies
And please stop the warring lies”

Tanka #2. Broken Biscuits

Life is imperfect 
Like broken war-time biscuits 
Re-connection waits 
Reconciliation stops 
Life’s sweet shortbread’s unopened 

Tanka #3. Abandoned

May the stormy winds
Calmly abate in Europe
And bring peace quickly
Do not forget the children
We cannot abandon them


Cover me
Give me beauty
Inspire me
Calm me
Save me
From that deadly bee
Above the Black Sea

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

Tomorrow’s Shadows, (a Haiku)

A big thank you to David Repath and Timothy Price for jointly inspiring to write this Haiku, and for Timothy’s stunning music/video

Tomorrow’s Shadows

Shadows of today

Precede tomorrow’s darkest clouds

Silhouettes of doom

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

The Gates of Hell Over Stolen Ground

Do you feel the weight?

Of radio-active clouds

Hanging over stolen ground

Do you hear the birds singing?


Is that peaceful sound

Do you hear warning sirens howl?

Resonating like old war songs

When bombs are guided into sacred ground

Fires from hell destroying beds and towns


As ashen children wander over burnt ground

Home is a communal air-raid shelter

Where families fearfully huddle together underground


The torn loyalties of alien soldiers

Tread lightly and warily upon broken ground

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022

Bloody Tears, Bloody History

Can you hear the ghosts of Sunday?

“Sunday, Bloody Sunday”

From your distant country’s

On the edge of peace and tranquility

Within your rural trees of serenity

Beyond invisible borders of rivalry

Between oblivious inequality

From the old schoolyard bully

Overseeing an avoidable atrocity

Again another “Sunday, Bloody Sunday”

How can they forget history so quickly?