Saturday Night Bedtime Music

It’s Saturday evening here at Tullawalla in Geelong, I’m going to bed soon, to do some reading, and listen to my music, and some quiet bush rhythm music from Oka. Then next, as I’m getting into bed, to be “Safe & Sound” a beautiful piece from composer William Joseph.



Goodnight, sweet dreams.

Featured picture: That’s my temporary little computer, the small black box on the left.

Let Us Climb

Climb Aboard, (Introduction by, Jane Basil)
all who wish an end to war are welcome;
we beg you to share our message of peace,
that it may reach across the wildest desert,
weave through cities, travel with the waves of the seas
that stroke our shores and soak into our sands.
Let it grow to encompass our nurturing planet;
let every peacemaker of every nation join hands,
and be embraced with love in return.
Let peace become a pandemic
the like of which we have never known.

This was written for our peace campaign which was dreamed up by my amazing friend Paul Sunstone. Yep – remember the name; that man has greatness in him. We want the campaign to go viral. Share his post (see link below) and/or write a post of your own.

Click <<<<<<<HERE>>>>>> to find out more

and find even <<<<<<<MORE>>>>>>>   <——— there

The above introduction is copied directly from Jane Basil’s blog site and her post  “Climb Aboard”

Below an older poem of mine from over 10 years ago, and I’m afraid nothing has changed, and Click onto “Return The Bullets” title to view Paul Sunstone’s latest post.

Return The Bullets

The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed.

All the violence of the worlds pounding inside my head.

The killing and the maiming of all the innocents who fled.

What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered.

When the people’s of all religions and creed are dead.

And we can’t return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.

I’m afraid.

The backyard stairway is far too steep to climb.

The hand rails are way out of reach to find.

And the public change-room windows are covered with bars.

Now encircling the city hall, the security backdoor is ajar.

Entering the marble aisle, the White-room appears vacant.

And guileful leaders have run, leaving a chasm of gloomy dark.

I’m wondering.

Where to go, the healing house is full of ugly holes.

The citizens cowering in shadows behind splintered lighting poles.

And the crumbling streets are awash with rivers of leftover blood.

Now the warring bosses have to fight amongst themselves.

Throwing poison pens and paper darts at each other.

Never bruised nor battered, using ivory towers as cover.

I’m terrified.

The dusty mushroom cloud, slowly settles on the barren ground.

With sands of distant lands, shifting into every nook and cranny.

We need the good Doctor, to help us cure these alien scourges.

And foreigners arriving upon waves of our neighbouring seas.

The deathly TV images, wrongly implanted for all to see.

As the press only gossip and drivel with selfish glee.

I’m stupefied.

The guns of freedom lands, haven’t even stopped the cull.

Death to friends or foe, no matter, to the rulers from above.

Their only rules, the poor and weak to be kept totally down trodden.

One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt.

And the rich will feast upon their own contaminated bread.

And we’ll never return the murdering bullets back into the barrel.


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Time Travelers

For my readers, followers, friends and all those who doubt my connection to our unidentified Aliens, my “Mothership” landed for a visit today, to check-up on how I was handling the planet earth’s present dilemmas, and I’m afraid I had to report that the situation here is stagnant and quite grim.  

Zap, a gigantic lightening bolt precedes a mystical power surge

Traversing the cobalt skies, like horizontally sleek outriggers

Vividly scoring chords to hang our every word on

Like musical lines, writing out our lost dreams and regrets


Sound-waves echoing, poles apart, going north, south, east and west

Conducting iridescent lights over our purple and orange sunset

Vibrating quasars, pulsating from deeply inside, outer-space

Focusing towards the huge magnetic Receiving Dish, signalling “An Arrival”



Recording a celestial traveler, singing with an angel’s voice

Resonating sweetly, like Handel’s, Messiah Hallelujah Chorus

Translated into our universal language of symphonic sound

Digitally televised for the world’s population to simultaneously view


The Super-Sonic Cosmic message to be heard loud and clear

“We’ve returned to your degraded planet earth”

“To again, bestow upon you, Peace And Goodwill”

“Like we’ve done before, Eons of Millenniums ago”


Ivor Steven  (c)

Beyond Today There Is Tomorrow

Beyond the broken porthole

I stand on a basin pedestal

I’m going down with the ship

She left the wreck last week

Left my bones in the bathroom

Drowning in the blue lagoon


Last night there was a fire down the street

On the other side of the creek

I heard the commotion in my sleep

The old farmhouse was burnt to the ground

And lingering smoke on the water whispered sounds

Of memories lost and a loyal dachshund


The Alien poet’s brain

Is a fascinating place

A distant surreal view

Hooked, like a fish on a line

Laying tomorrows foundations

On old pieces of used paper

Using dried up ink as mortar

And the sky is the work’s next brick

Remembering yesterdays sunshine

Is today’s dawn and beyond


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Quote #5, And, Quote #6

            “The sound of nature

            the voice of our future

              rings loud and clear

the Symphony of life we need to hear”       

– Ivor Steven




 ” Where there is nature, there is life

       without nature there is no life”             

– Ivor Steven



Ivor Steven (c)  2018


Words, Lost And Found

When your senses are blind

Driving you out of your mind

How do you find that word

Unique and unheard

Lost, gone out of your head

Not there, under your unmade bed

Nor between your untidy sheets

Removed during your midnight heat

You’ve searched along every note-pad line

Flicked through grandpa’s dictionary overtime

The missing word is yet to be found

Your dog stares at you, as if you’re unsound

It’s somewhere, you wrote it down

The word, to be your poem’s crown

Shaking your brain, side to side

Rattle, rattle, adjectives clash inside

Suddenly you remember

It’s something about December

How could you forget

The fallen Refugee reject

Cutting himself on his old sword

Swearing, “restitution”, is the word

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Across The Hallway

 Sunday morning bliss 

A memory, a wish 

Confirmation, of a promise 

A togetherness kiss 


My tears do dwell 

I was under her spell 

There’s no need for show and tell 

You know my heart well 


There’s a memory lane 

Within my sighing veins 

Pumping slowly, flowing deep 

A river of dreams that never sleep 


Visions of a begone life 

A joyful husband and wife 

The glory days are gone 

Happily, I’ve begun to move on 

And remember with fondness 

Our first, and last kiss 



Ivor Steven (c)  2018

A Morning Kiss

Photo Challenge Laundry Day

Yep a photo of my little laundry, untouched, on this sunny Sunday morning, and below, if I had done the washing, is a photo of my clothes line under my Verandah, my laundry day didn’t happen. My Saturday night’s over indulgence has developed into a Sunday morning hangover, and my dirty washing will be still there again on Monday !! Monday often becomes my laundry day……… and also below, a few words I wrote this morning instead of doing the washing, yes, definitely a lot more fun, and far more comforting for this self-inflicted headache of mine…….
A Morning Kiss
Your lips taste of warm honey
Sweetly delicious
Our kiss lusciously melts into one
Firmly moist
We lovingly smile, a honeymoon embrace
Divinely entwined
And a pleasant Sunday morning song by Nick Cave.
Ivor Steven (c)  2018

The Dark Streets

I’ve been listening to The Waterboys songs lately, their lyrics are meaningful and their music is always dramatic. In this following piece of mine I’ve used 18 of their song Titles as the foundation for my poem. To other Waterboys fans who read this post, I hope my words have done The Waterboys the justice they deserve, by all their glorious songs. For those readers, and me, who are struggling with the italics and too many capital letters, below at the bottom of the post, is an easy reading version.

The combined Trumpets of the world are sounding

Being carried on today’s Lonesome Old Wind

Resonating loudly for The Stolen Child

And Choirs are singing The Faery’s Last Song


Where did their promise go, and there’s no Sweet Thing in sight

Will the children get to view The Whole Of The Moon again

When will they ever cry out, “This Is The Sea”

Searching for their parents, crying “Where Are You Now When I Need You”


Children crawling Down Through The Dark Streets

Cowering under black clouds and Purple Rain

In A Pagan Place, created by governments

Shamefully they have Let It Happen


Our leaders need a wake-up call And A Bang On The Ear

When will they tell us “The Healing Has Begun”

We Will Not Be Lovers anymore, until

They declare to the last refugee girl, “She Is So Beautiful”


Let us hope the children suffer no Red Army Blues

And need not worry about being Too Close To Heaven

A big thank you to my friend Chris Black of, A way with words. for inspiring me to write another one these poems using song titles, the last one I wrote was on December 2nd 2017.

The Waterboys Lyrics

“Down Through The Dark Streets”

Down by old house
Over the bridge
Down through the dark streets
Where we used to live
Out by the cornfield
And the sycamore trees
Down to the water
Will you come, Lassie please?Snow in the town square
December afternoon
Christmas lights
A crescent moon
A boy selling chestnuts
Roasted and brown
Dropping black cinders
That hiss on the ground
You and I stand like strangers
In our Hokusai clothes
Like we come from some strange country
That nobody else knows
And to go where the wind blows
Are just the words of thieves
So will you come with me, Lassie
Will you come Lassie, please?There’s a place there by the river
I never showed you before
But when I’m far away
That’s where I go
Outside it’s lamplight
High time we leave
Will you come Lassie, please?The big blue sea between us
Is thousands of miles
It’s cruel I know
But you just have to smile
I’d be back for you
If I could just believe
That everything is right and pure
That everything is right and pure
That everything is right and pure
Will you come, Lassie, please?


The Dark Streets

The combined trumpets of the world are sounding

Being carried on today’s lonesome old wind

Resonating loudly for the stolen child

And Choirs are singing the Faery’s last song


Where did their promise go, and there’s no sweet thing in sight

Will the children get to view the whole of the moon again

When will they ever cry out, “This Is The Sea”

Searching for their parents, crying “Where Are You Now When I Need You”


Children crawling down through the dark streets

Cowering under black clouds and purple rain

In a pagan place, created by governments

Shamefully they have let it happen


Our leaders need a wake-up call and a bang on the ear

When will they tell us “The Healing Has Begun

We will not be lovers anymore, until

They declare to the last refugee girl, “She Is So Beautiful”


Let us hope the children suffer no red army blues

And need not worry about being too close to heaven


Ivor Steven (c)  2018.