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
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
I’m lying in bed, hallucinating
They’ve given me too many pain killers
Swimming between soaked sheets
In an ocean of hot sweat
I see a blue shark in my bed
Angrily circling me
That killers glint in his eyes
His giant jaws open wide
And he viciously bites me
Piercing my lower neck
And poking my left eye out
My blood is boiling on the red sea
If this is hell, please ring the bell
I shall pray to save my soul, and be set free
I’m swirling in drugs, I cannot think
My eyes are shut, I cannot blink
Where are you mum
I was always your number one
She’d make me my favourite cake
A passion-fruit sponge she’d bake
I sense a benevolent friend, if he’s not too late
Smuggling me a gun, past white guards, inside mum’s cake
To you who cannot see me, I’m an ancient fable
Who’s about to leave the table
With the rest of the disabled
I’ll look for you, in your higher stables
How can I find my way back
I’ve lost my winding track
Life for me cannot be the same
I’m not recovering, I’m losing the game
Forgotten my name and where to aim
Destiny has me old and lame
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
Hi dear readers, I’m re-posting this poem “Cream And Honey”, that I wrote yesterday, especially for those that may have missed it. I’m happy with this piece, the feelings within the words were personally deep and meaningful in their simplicity, and I’ll also be submitting the poem to some magazines, to see if I may be able to get it published. However not many of the poems that I like myself, seem to make it through editors selections.
Cream And Honey
I dreamt of what might have been
Dreamt of what I have not seen
Snow on top of lover’s hill
Cream filling my empty till
I had forgotten what could have been
Forgotten what I had already seen
Flowers on top of her wooden bier
Honey kisses, and my empty fear
I’m dreaming of where I have been
Dreaming of what no-one’s ever seen
Snowflakes silently melting in her palm
Cream and honey, my lovers balm
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
I dreamt of what might have been
Dreamt of what I have not seen
Snow on top of lover’s hill
Cream filling my empty till
I had forgotten what could have been
Forgotten what I had already seen
Flowers on top of her wooden bier
Honey kisses, and my empty fear
I’m dreaming of where I have been
Dreaming of what no-one’s ever seen
Snowflakes silently melting in her palm
Cream and honey, a lovers balm
Ivor Steven (c) 2018
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
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
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
