The Green Witch’s Old Broom

My locked bubble is about to go boom

Too long I’ve been a stranger in my own tomb

Under a concrete lid, hiding my gloom

Where my world was a Hades of doom


Now these walls are my life-giving womb

Being reborn as a smiling used groom

I’m breaking out of my master bedroom

Escaping on the green witch’s old broom


Flying to the distant land in springtime bloom

Where I won’t have to wear my mask and costume

Discarding my orange Kaftan from Khartoum

I’ll invade the big apple’s newsrooms, to broadcast my poetry heirlooms


Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Yorkie And Me

Yorkie’s staring at me vacantly

Like I’m a strange tattooed bikie

Sitting on him, me anxiously crying away

Why am I crying, he quietly says

Looking at me with those big silver eyes

Pondering whether he’s hurting me

Is the ride too much pain

Is all the walking a physical drain

No !! None of that I exclaim, crying tears again

I’m crying wondering, if I’ll ever get there

Crying, because I cannot wait to be there

Crying with embarrassment, for the tears I’ll shed when I’m there

Suddenly, Yorkie barks out at me

Oh Ivor, keep pedalling, toughen-up and and you’ll arrive

Yes, me and my companion Yorkie, have become friends.


Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Roasted Dry

In between meals

I’m nibbling on my nuts

They’re handy

And easy to find

But I’ve nearly eaten

All my unsalted nuts

Shaved, skinned and plain

Roasted dry

Warm and crunchy

They’ll fill that empty hole

A stomach, now full of my nuts

I’m sure my nuts are good for me

Good for my innards

Good to take-up my time

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

My Lost Sock, A Christmas Story

I’ve selected this poem for Kaylaannauthor”s Blogmas Christmas Contest, please click on here >>>

Contest    I’ve written this piece, as a Christmas Story, to be included in a charity book, for the “Black Dog Institute” here in Australia. The book is to be called, “My Lost Sock”, and every story in the charity book will be an anecdote about “My Lost Sock”. The Black Dog Institute, is a not-for-profit facility for diagnosis, treatment and prevention of Depression and Bipolar disorder.

My Lost Sock, A Christmas Story

I’m a hand knitted woollen sock

Here’s my story from year dot

In the beginning

I started as a piece of spinning

The wool off a sheep’s back

An odd colour of brownie-black

Being spun into dark twines

On a wheel from olden times

Craftily hand knitted

Lovingly, soon to be gifted

There were two of us

We were like knitted twins

Righty and Lefty

And of course I’m Righty

Our gorgeous red-haired spinner and knitter

Had dutifully finished

Cheerfully folded and wrapped

In colourful paper and flower strap

A fabulous Christmas present

For her husband’s aged parent

Soon it was Christmas day

Everyone’s jolly, merry and gay

Drinking red wine, local Cabernet

Eating fish, caught in a nearby bay

And presents opening time began

Families smiled and sang

We’re sitting on Pop’s lap

Gently and slowly unwrapped

Pop proudly exclaims and holds us up

“Look here, see what I’ve got”

Suddenly Pop throws Lefty into the corner

And I’m left dangling like “Little Jack Horner”

There’s much laughter and jokes

Kids come over and give me a friendly poke

Poor discarded Lefty, on the floor with no folks

While I’m up here being kindly stroked

There’s more giggles, they’re all staring at me

Pop’s grinning from ear to ear

Wriggling in his wheelchair to loud cheers

Oh, my discovery, Pop’s left leg’s missing below his knee

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Inside Out


Weekly Word Prompt : This week’s word prompt is : Perspective.

This is an old poem of mine, The poem “Inside Out”, is more just a rhyme and a play on a few featured words. Over the road from were I once lived, there was a furniture shop, and the advertising hoarding was, “Inside Out, Exotic Furniture”, well I was sitting there waiting for the bus, and in my minds imagination, I changed the the words to “Inside-out, Upside-down, Erotic Furniture”, and hence my little anecdote was laid…. with a totally different perspective..

Inside Out

The view of my love seems upside down.

When I’m at the bottom of her flowing gown.

And my erotic picture appears inside out.

What’s this scenic love all about.

The ways of my love seem upside down.

When she’s on top, covering me ’til I drown.

And I’m underneath, neither in, nor out.

What’s this crazy love all about.

The river of my love seems upside down.

When I’m sitting inside her smiling frown.

And her foreign body hits me in and out.

What’s this exotic love all about.

The world of my love seems upside down.

When I’m laying below her pounding mound.

And her endless thrusts, feel inside out.

What’s this frenzied love all about.

Ivor Steven (c 2018


“Weekly Prompt” . The word prompt for this week: Serendipity


I’m a poet of little renown

Writing continuously for eighteen years

Scribbling word after word

Penning thousands upon thousands of lines

Forming hundreds and hundreds of poems

My stories of memories and rhymes

Soulful words of mine

By perchance

I’m reviewing my poems today

Reading every poem, every word


Discovering there’s a word

A word I’ve never used

I’m mystified and perplexed

I’ve never been charmed

With the gift of the written word

Fortuity has rolled on by me

I’m wondering why

Why I’ve never used the word



Ivor Steven (c)  2018