A Purple Rock

I found a purple rock

Under the big purple clock

The purple rock was quietly listening

To the purple sounds of whispering

Hordes of purple voices reverberating

Within the purple shadows of distancing


Unexpectedly the purple rock began crumbling

Into a dusty purple mist, now malingering

And quickly the purple cloud started raining

Spreading purple over those outsiders witnessing

Eventually after years of purple transitioning

The purple bad-seeds flowered after reconditioning




Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020

Her Kindness

A poem for Gina, a hard working angel at the hospital. Last night my dreams echoed her kindness….And a big thank you to everyone working in the health care system.


Her Kindness


I can hear storm clouds rumbling

But I cannot hear the darkness

I can see a tired sun fading

But I cannot see the gloominess

I can say help those who are crying

But I cannot say I am fearless

But I will not sit and be silent

My hands ring the bells of kindness



Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020

Hold Your Horses

This afternoon I went for a walk to the Moorabool Valley Cafe, however the cafe was operating under strict lock-down conditions. At the cafe door, I could order a take-away coffee, where I also ordered a delicious slice of cheesecake. Luckily I had my backpack on, and the package sat easily in my backpack, and I carried the coffee, I was not allowed to stay at the cafe, nor even in outdoor patio area. Anyhow off I trek on way back to home. On the way home I knew of a park bench where I could have a rest and eat my cake, and I also took the above photos on the way back….. and everything combined to inspire me to think of a poem, while sitting at the park bench, “eating my cheesecake, and writing these words”……. .

Hold Your Horses

I’m riding my white pony from the air-force

She’s a Pegasus, and the perfect horse for this course

But are we on the right track?

Am I actually heading back?

Winging our way across the continent

My loyal stead is divinely competent

And I trust her heavenly sense of direction

Flying us towards my celestial connection

Ivor Steven (c) March 2020

The Universe and My Backyard


The Universe and My Backyard


Outside alone, stoically I stand

Old toes gripping into cold sand

Here my lawn cover is sparse

But I see the universe in a blade of grass


Under my feet I feel our planet’s ground

Above I see a grey sky swirling around

As the sun hides behind trees and clouds

And my backyard garden grows lush and proud


Inside, I’m surrounded by a world of sound

Old fingers typing a rhyme of words yet to be found

As the studio rhythm inspires my pen to speak

And my writers haven is where dreams flow vivid and sweet



Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020


Survive, Again

I’m here, in my writers room

Secure in this single cocoon

But my active mind’s wondering

And dreams of freely wandering


Be patient I am told

Remember those bad days of old

When your body turned cold

Dead from a worldly mould


You’re to be a good patient again

Remember those months of pain

When clots and spots invaded your brain

And how you survived, to see your spirit reign




Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020

A Dragonfly Lives Six Months

The Weekend Challenge from Weekly Prompts is  Ladders.‘ please go over and visit the  “Weekly Prompts” fabulous site by clicking >>HERE. Today my poem is about the view I see from the top of my ladder….


A Dragonfly Lives Six Months


From atop of my wooden ladder

I saw crowds growing madder

Beyond the world’s yellowing sky

I heard a murmuring dragonfly

Cry and fall off his rainbow slide

Landing awkwardly on his side

Powerless I gazed, mortified

As one of nature’s angels, slowly died



Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020

Grandma’s Hands

I wonder what mum and grandma are thinking

Mum was born after the First World War

A child of the roaring twenties

Then she became a poor teenager, of the great depression

And a young nurse, during the horror’s of a second World War

A time when everyone’s supplies were rationed


Everyone helped each other, when things run out

Everyone knew a son, that been killed in the war

Everyone gave you a soft shoulder to lean on

Everyone shared each others pain

Our parents and grandparents survived

And taught us compassion, and the value of every single life




Ivor Steven (c)  March 2020