Category: Melancholy

By The Waters Edge, (Tullawalla)

In reply to CalmKate’s, Friday Foto Fun Prompt;  Uprooted    << Click to view Kate’s site…..

By The Waters Edge, (Tullawalla)

 

Above: The home I lived in, growing up.  Above Right: My bachelor’s pad, a first floor apartment

 

Above: Our home, Carole & I, shared for the next 37 years of togetherness. until her passing

 

Above: Were I rented for 3 years, with a lady called Sue.  Above Right: The next year I boarded here.

 

Above:  The old Tullawalla & the new Tullawalla, Mum & Dad’s, holiday house, and then their retirement home. Me and my brother (Danny) lived there for 6 months, at the end of 2016. And then at start of 2017, I moved my present home.

 

Above: My home today, the front view, and the back courtyard and verandah

By The Waters Edge, (Tullawalla)

 

I’m in an isolation cabin

Like a waiting mosquito larva

Ready to burst

Surrounded by sand and sea

And a river mouth

Tidal and free

And I share my daily bread

A piece for you, for her, for them

Thoughts of you

I dream of now, and then

I see your flowered coffin

 

I’m tangled in a cocoon

Like an angry dragon-fly

Begging to break free

Surrounded by water-grass and weed

Tea-tree and Dunes, far as the eye can see

And a garden bed

Grown from seed

And I share my weekly menu

A piece for you, for her, for them

Thoughts of you

I stare down upon a fallen brave

I see your flowered cave

 

 

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Sorry, I’ll Be There Soon

Oh baby, I’m tired of watching

You drive my car

The wheels are on fire

Beyond the grip of my sweaty palms

Whenever, is my burn-out time due

Behind the old steering wheel

Before I finally run-out of fuel

Driving on my road, with no rear-vision view

A new license to live, and be beside you

I’m sorry, I’ve not been to see you, I’ll be there soon

Ivor Steven (c) 2019

Intrusion

I didn’t realise I had written so many of these sort of “life as a carer” poems, these were written years ago, when I was struggling with the process of coping…… Please do not over react, many years have gone by, I’m Ok these days. Hopefully my words may help other carers that maybe in a similar situation, and realise that they are not alone out there, with their thought and doubts

 

Intrusion

 

The process of being alive

Such an intrusion on going awry

The engagement of caring in life

Such an intrusion on living to get bye

 

The labour of toiling for pay

Such an intrusion on flying away

The dishonour of begging for more

Such an intrusion on failing to score

 

The exhaustion of continuing to care

Such an intrusion on needing to dare

The silence of the evening moon

Such an intrusion on hearing too soon

 

The explosion of morning sunlight

Such an intrusion on pleading for quiet

The disharmony of singing this song

Such an intrusion in sighing, so long

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

 

Don’t Ask Me Why

Hi dear readers, I’ve found this old poem in my folder of poetry called “Love And Reflection”. I’ve changed a few words, so the poem is in the present tense, but basically the words are in the same format. I’ve had it hidden away for a while, the poem is quite personal and emotional for me, I hope you enjoy reading my words from 6 years ago.

Don’t Ask Me Why

 

Unknowingly, I often dream of her serene ashen face

Years ago, I gently held her frailty in my tired arms

Softly I whispered to her, my last words of love and grace

Don’t ask me why, I count the moons since I missed her charms

Because I cannot give you a sensible or plausible answer

Don’t ask me why, I count the stars since I lost my way

Because I’m unable to fathom the depths of my inner cancer

Don’t ask me why, I count my every heart beat, since she died that day

Because now, I’ve nearly recovered

And somehow, life has been steadily rediscovered

Remembering, she’ll never ever go away

Knowing someday, I’ll be allowed to stay

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

Haiku. A Flower Gone

This haiku was a very sad piece for me to write. Personally, the words are an ode/tribute to our grandniece, Georgia, who was only 20…… Please, I’m ok, I’m wishing my words are appropriately good enough for the poor child lost….

A Flower Gone

In a sea of lights

She, an unpicked bloom, wilted

Young and fresh, now gone

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Level Seven

I’m here on level seven

I might nearly see heaven

Suddenly the great wall slaps me hard

With a soul shattering boom

My heart recites to me, her tune of doom

A building of gray bricks

Comes crashing down on me

I’m crying remorseful tears

‘Twas her hospital for thirty years

We would always either be home or here

Backwards and forwards

Short visits, long stays

Inside out, upside down

Wounded hopes, broken dreams

Decades of her gracious courage, never undenied

Now I lay on her memories, here she died

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

A Fairy-tale Misread

I’m slowly drifting out of bed

Feeling like an empty wood-shed

There’s a fire within, unfed

Yesterday’s ashes smoulder inside my head

Remembering the day we were wed

The perfect couple they said

A fairy-tale, crystal, silver and golden thread

Our life was a rainbow, yellow, blue and red

Now I dream of you, beneath our bedspread

And I’m sorry, our fairy-tale was misread

 

Everglade,  By Antony And The Johnson’s. Lyrics.

When I’m floating in the water
And your eyes are lilies all around
When I’m lying sweetly in my bed
The sun plays crystal with my eyes

Then I stop
My body stops crying for home
My limbs stop weeping for home

When I’m peeping in a parlour of trees
And the leaves are winking all around
I’m home, my heart sobs in my veins
But brains they play the softest games

Fingers kiss the string
Mouth taste the blade
Of everglade (x3)

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Cloudy Visions

I’m trying to write myself a Mission Statement

Feels like a speech I need to practice in the basement

I’ve never been good at making speeches

They’re messy, like eating mushy soft peaches

 

When I first began writing poetry

My main aim was to teach myself to read and write again

Eighteen years ago this month, I suffered a Stroke

Times become tough, depression drowned this bloke

 

Poetry became my form of self therapy

I listened to music and inspirational lyrics

Leonard Cohen’s songs were always playing

I fervently keep writing

 

My life became a routine, centered around love

The love of caring for my wife, her MS was severe

Writing was my retreat, a place of solace

My world was narrow, I was skating on thin ice

 

Six years ago my wife did pass

My heart turned to water on glass

Then I heard Leonard singing again

His music and words were not in vain

 

I resumed writing my poems

Grieving, words were sad and solemn

Healing takes time

Soulfully I wrote more rhyme

 

I joined local writers groups

My words were out there, under readers boots

On a prompt, I started a website fifteen months ago

My confidence grew, I came in from the snow

 

Wondering what’s my goal, where do I go

There’s many answers I do not know

In the future, I believe a poetry book or two

I’ve volumes of poems, enough to fill my shoes

 

This is my story

My life’s journey

Of cloudy visions

My words, my mission

I used to care about tomorrow’s endings

Now I care about today’s beginnings.

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Tunnel Echos

I’m lying here on the floor, prone again

Pining in vain

Listening to Leonard’s ballads again

Flooding my soul in rain

There’s happy dreams

And shattered dreams

All flying by

Passing under yesterday’s indoor sky

Here today, where’s tomorrow

Drifting through clouds of sorrow

 

My tunnel visions are echoing

Like rusty train wheels, loudly resonating

I’m my old verandah door, swinging

Badly hinged, my feelings are hanging

Knowing I’m a lonely alien widower

Untouchable, like a Hindu follower

Caresses by wandering hands, shunned and cropped

Wondering why my foreign heart suddenly stopped.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018