Back To Her Man

My poem here was entirely inspired by Michnavs, and her poem and article from her post today…

“My Saga Continuous”

“My Saga on my awareness campaign against Violence continuous as i explore the possible reasons why abused women chose to stay in an abusive relationship.”

If you would like to read her post, please feel free to click on this Link:


Back To Her Man


She goes back to her man

A female ghost, in no-man’s land

When he angrily points to her wedding band

How many broken promises, she cannot understand


She goes back to her man

What is the colour of his bruised hand

When he rips off her headband

How many times will she feel his fistful of sand


She goes back to her man

What is that name for his brand

When he stomps her armband

How many years before she’s able to make a stand


She goes back to her man

What is the origin of his shameless land

When he demands her waistband

How many decades before he is banned


She goes back to her man

What happens to her life unplanned

When his every word is a command

How will she survive the witness stand


She goes back to her man

Abandoned, now in shadow-land

Living is hell, after his reprimand

He is not worthy, nor is he grand


She goes back to her man


Apologies to Damien Rice, for using his lovely song here. The song title has the only resemblance to my poem, his beautiful lyrics, clearly have nothing to do with my poem. 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019


I’m filling out a questionnaire

And I’m at my desk pondering

At one of the of the questions

Marital status ?

Single, married, or widowed

I had to stop and think

Before, I could tick the box

Widowed !!

The fact, hit me between the eyes

Am I a weirdo

Do I look like a creep

Now, that I’m widowed


I do not feel different, nor special

Her clock stopped, she ran out of time

And I still do not comprehend

Why ?

I am alright now

Yeah, but why ?

I remember her smile

When she whispered to me

” Life will eventually be easier for you:”

Most of the time

Now, I’ll tick that box

Widowed ………..



Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019



Lisa Hannigan

Here I present the music I’m listening to this morning, from an Irish singer/songwriter Lisa Hannigan.  I hope enjoy her singing, and you might like to see more of her on YouTube….

Lisa Hannigan: Lyrics.

“We, The Drowned”

We, the drowned
Hold our hollow hearted ground
Til we swallow ourselves down
AgainWe, the ashes,
We spend our days like matches
And burned ourselves as black as
The end.

We know not the fire in which we burn
But we sing and we sing
And the flames grow higher.
We read not the pages which we turn
But we sing, and we sing, and we sing, and we sing

We, the wrong,
We the sewn up and long gone,
Were before and all along
Like this

We, the drowned
The lost and found out,
We are all finished again.

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

The Song Plays Through the Night

I twist and roll over

A musical world spins inside my head


My somersault of dreams

Rotates under my bed-spread


Upside down

Rhythmical tiredness falls out of my seams


Words tumble around

Nameless titles and endless tunes abound


The bad moon’s turning

Singing the blues, over my empty town


I twist and roll over, again

I’m back where I started, I hear my angel humming, Hallelujah


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Arctic Winds.

Today’s poem is one I wrote two years ago, and I was fortunate enough to have the piece published by, ‘Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine’, back in January 2018. A magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,

Artwork:  By Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my beautiful niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.


Arctic Winds


I’m winter hibernating

Inside an Eskimo’s hut

Feeding only on fish oil

And frozen blue blood

My heart’s cold and dormant

Cowering under a dampened vestment

Wind-swept by a blizzard’s dust

Covered in icicles of my rust

My eyes are swollen rocks

Amidst polarised sockets

Terrorising all that’s passed

Like forgotten arctic icebergs

My veins are hollow crevasses

Inside a glaciers ice-flow

Sheering and groaning chasms

Like my memories deepest fjord


Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019




My Door’s Firmly Shut

Good morning dear readers, It’s a chilly Sunday here in Geelong, but it’s bad, my sister is coming down from Ballarat and we are going out for lunch. Cyndi will be staying inside, curled up next to the heater…..


My Door’s Firmly Shut

Early Sunday morning

At my desk

Writing in pencil

The inks frozen

No joke

Send the firewood

Light up my heart

With soulful words

Give my fingers a start

Knuckles are throbbing

An arthritic chill

My dog’s coughing

Poor little girl

She feels it too

Ah, not to worry

A sombre smile

A sun-ray

Shining through

Thawing my will

Freeing my quill 



Ivor Steven. (c)  July 2019