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

Don’t Ask Me Why

I read a glorious article by Gina of Singledust this morning, please do go over and have a read, Click >> HERE. Thanks to Gina, her lovely “Letter”, prompted me into remembering this old poem, that’s been hidden away in my archives, and that’s the reason “why” I’m posting these words today.

Unknowingly, I often dream of her serene ashen face

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

Softly whispering to her, last words of love and grace

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

I cannot give you a sensible nor plausible answer

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

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

Don’t ask me why, I count the months, since she died that day

Because I’m still gradually recovering

Remembering she’ll never ever go away

And somehow, I’m steadily rediscovering

Knowing someday, I’ll be allowed to stay

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Some Time Now

Anniversaries, they come and they go.

Some time now, since that final May snow.

Anniversaries, they have floated past,

Some time now, I reminisce the last.

 

Anniversaries, none ever forgotten.

Some time now, since your everlasting smile was taken,

Anniversaries, from coral, to every hue.

Some time now, since our tidal-wave passed through.

 

Anniversaries, when love grew stronger,

Some time now, since the years became longer,

Anniversaries, a journey of love, suffering and pain.

Some time now, since our river filled with rain.

Your troubles fell with an Autumn leaf.

Forever enshrined within your gracious belief.

 

Ivor Steven. (c)  2018

Hold Me.

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.

Ivor Steven (c)  2018.

A Million Times Again

My old emotions are flowing

Soaked tissues scatter my room

I feel my wings are regrowing

You’ll see me flying soon

 

I’m recalling our first date

We’re holding hands like old mates

In my dreams

I’m holding you, a million times again

 

I’m rejoicing about when we proposed to each other

We’re kissing and cuddling like true lovers

In my dreams

I’m proposing to you, a million times again

 

I’m remembering our wedding day

We’re both closely whispering, forever and a day

In my dreams

I’m marrying you, a million times again

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Fish-eggs And Grapes

My mind’s witnessing warring hell

It’s time to ring the bell

There is a time

When enough, is more than enough

When the price, far outweighs the costs

Counting the countless heads, is a needless sum

Moguls perched high upon ivory towers

Swinging full circle in their leather chairs

Crystal glasses full of classic red-wine

From grapes, picked by the walking dead

Fine china cups full of black caviar

From fish, caught by the floating dead

 

My mind’s witnessing bloody hell

It’s time to ring the bell

There is a time

When the suffering is enough

When the suffering is more than enough

How many heads do the Mogul’s need to roll

Human alley-pins falling into blackboard bins

Buried under centuries of desert lands

Empty hands holding onto sandy winds

The lost children, mankind’s biggest sin

Temporary tents and stretchers their living sty

And still, bullets and bombs whistle by

I Was Only 19 (A Walk in the Light Green)

Redgum

Mum and dad and Danny saw the passing out parade at Puckapunyal
It was a long march from cadets
The sixth battalion was the next to tour and it was me who drew the card
We did Canungra and Shoalwater before we left

And Townsville lined the footpaths as we marched down to the quay
This clipping from the paper shows us young and strong and clean
And there’s me in me slouch hat with me SLR and greens
God help me
I was only nineteen

From Vung Tau riding Chinooks to the dust at Nui Dat
I’d been in and out of choppers now for months
And we made our tents a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
And an Asian orange sunset through the scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can’t get to sleep?
And night time’s just a jungle dark and a barking M.16?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen

A four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was a war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ’til they had you dusted off
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then someone yelled out contact, and the bloke behind me swore
We hooked in there for hours, then a God almighty roar
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon
God help me
He was goin’ home in June

And I can still see Frankie, drinkin’ tinnies in the Grand Hotel
On a thirty-six hour rec. leave in Vung Tau
And I can still hear Frankie, lying screaming in the jungle
‘Til the morphine came and killed the bloody row

And the Anzac legends didn’t mention mud and blood and tears
And the stories that my father told me never seemed quite real
I caught some pieces in my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
I was only nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why I still can’t get to sleep?
And why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes
Can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen

 

Ivor Steven (c)  2018