A Chalice Of Champagne

Hello dear readers, my night was full of dreams, remembering “our” Anniversary, and I also had many happy thoughts of Leonard Cohen. In the early hours, I wrote these words, thinking of my forever girl, and my lifetime sage, on his birthday, 21st September  1934…. For, Carole, and Leonard…..

A Chalice Of Champagne

 

Once upon a time

In the days of rhyme

When learning to climb

I saw my neon sign

Slowly die by design

 

An angel’s teardrop fell

Ringing the church bell

And missing my empty well

From the tower of song, I wanted to yell

But life doesn’t let you dwell

 

Despite annual September rain

I trek over flooded plains

Avoiding delta swamps of pain

Scaling the same old mountain again

Searching for our chalice of champagne

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  September 2019

Ballad Of The Absent Mare; By Leonard Cohen: My Typing Exercise

Hello dear readers, I’ve been having trouble comprehending and concentrating on reading your articles/posts, of more than two stanza’s or one short paragraph in length. So my physiotherapist has given me some tasks to help improve my situation. Today I’m typing up one of favourite longer poem’s, by Leonard Cohen, called the “Ballad Of The Absent Mare”. I hope you enjoy his brilliant writing here.

Ballad Of The Absent Mare: By Leonard Cohen

Say a prayer for the cowboy, his mare’s run away

and he’ll walk till he finds her, his darling, his stray

But the river’s in flood and the roads are awash

and the bridges break up in the panic of loss

 

And there’s nothing to follow, there’s nowhere to go

She’s gone like the summer, she’s gone like the snow

And the crickets are breaking his heart with their song

as the day caves in and the night is all wrong

 

Did he dream, was it she who went galloping past

and bent down the fern and broke open the grass

and printed the mud with the iron and the gold

that he nailed to her feet when he was the lord

 

And though she goes grazing a minute away

he tracks her all night and he tracks her all day;

blind to her presence except to compare

his injury here with her punishment there

 

Then at home on his branch in the highest tree

a songbird sings out so suddenly

Oh the sun is warm and the soft winds ride

on the willow trees by the riverside

 

And the world is sweet and the world is wide

and she’s there where the light and the darkness divide

and steam’s coming off her, she’s huge and she’s shy

and she steps on the moon when she paws at the sky

 

And she comes to his hand but she’s not really tame

She longs to be lost and he longs for the same

And she’ll bolt and she’ll plunge through the first open pass

to roll and to feed in the sweet mountain grass

 

Or she’ll make a break for the high plateau

where there’s nothing above and there’s nothing below

And it’s time for their burden, it’s time for the whip

Will she walk through the flame, can he shoot from the hip

 

So he binds himself to the galloping mare

and she binds herself to the rider there

and there is no space but there’s left and right

and there is no time but there’s day and night

 

And he leans on her neck and he whispers low

Whither thou goest I will go

And they turn as one and they head for the plain

no need for the whip, no need for the rein

 

Now the clasp of this union, who fastens it tight

who snaps it asunder the very next night ?

Some say the rider, some say the mare

some say love’s like the smoke, beyond all repair

 

But my darling says, Leonard, just let it go by,

that old silhouette on the great Western sky

So I pick out a tune and they move right along

and they’re gone like the smoke, they’re gone like this song

 

Extracted from the book: Leonard Cohen, Poems And Songs, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Hold Me.

Today is Saturday 22nd of December 2018, 7.00am, and I’ve been home a night, after basically a six week stay in hospital. I’m not over all my problems yet, I’m very tired, both physically and mentally, and it’s going to take me a while to recover. hopefully I’ll end up ok. Anyhow, It’s lovely to be home, and I thought I’d repost this old poem of mine,please enjoy.

Take me to my home

Home is where my heart is

Home’s on that windy hill

Above a secret valley

Hovering, a heavenly cloud

Take me to my home

I’m waiting here alone

All packed ready to go

Vacating this old place

Leaving this world behind

Take me to my home

The beyond will be greener

I know you’ll be there

You’ve been waiting so long

I know you’ll hold me again

Hold me in our home

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Ivor Steven (c)  2018.

“Villanelle For Our Time”

“Villanelle For Our Time”
Dear readers, if you are inclined, please read this magnificent piece, written by Leonard Cohen, a truly inspiring poem, displaying all of his brilliant craftsmanship.

From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.
This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.
We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.
The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.
Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.
Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.

Oh What A Night, They Sent Me Home Tight

All My News.    By: Leonard Cohen

 

Do not decode

these cries of line

They are the road

and not the sign

 

Nor deconstruct

my drugless high

I’m sober but

I like to fly

 

Then quickened with

my open talk

You need not pick

the ancient lock

 

From Leonard Cohen’s, Poems And Songs, produced by “Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets”. 1993

Inside Out

Perspective,

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

Scars Revived

Days were dimly full of mace

I was a seedy old scar-face

With a shredded dark heart

In need of a surgeon’s restart

My innards were slashed and torn

Stuffed with yesterdays corn

My brains were in a rotted pumpkin-head

Emptied, thrown out into the shed

Ankles shattered, with crinkled toes

I looked like a weathered scarecrow

 

Sirens screeched and screamed

My angels golden chariot beamed

Nurses in white, doctors in blue

They all came to my rescue

Sewed my broken heart together

My rubber soul became light as a feather

Inspired dreams were renewed

A familiar smile re-screwed

My body’s bindings restrengthened

Life revived and internally lengthened

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018