Bloody Tears, Bloody History

Can you hear the ghosts of Sunday?

“Sunday, Bloody Sunday”

From your distant country’s

On the edge of peace and tranquility

Within your rural trees of serenity

Beyond invisible borders of rivalry

Between oblivious inequality

From the old schoolyard bully

Overseeing an avoidable atrocity

Again another “Sunday, Bloody Sunday”

How can they forget history so quickly?

Love is Not Declined 


My internal battle is never ending  

Neither won nor lost 

My opponent is my ghost 

I forgive with the morning dew 

And my regrets are few 

There is two breaths in every moment  

The first one kisses our heart 

The second breath caresses our soul


True love is hard to find  

And impossible to define 

When found, be exceedingly kind 

Love can spellbind your mind 

But blindly, love is not declined 

Ivor Steven (c) February 2022

Ex Comes Before Why 

Do you get caught staring? 

At an unknown person 

Who returns your stare 

With an angry glare 


I was daydreaming 

Inside an empty vortex 

You were not in there 

Nor next


My vacant gaze 

Was mindlessly waiting 

For my sparkling mirage 

To turn into Cinderella’s carriage 

Or am I? 

The next ex 

Before the why 

Ivor Steven (c) February 2022

A Buzzing Chime

It’s the devil in me

The curiosity of a buzzing bee

I just had to see

Your words of poetry

Writing is a conundrum

Your quill keeps attuning the drum

A humming note on every blue line

Do not worry if your rhythm is not in time

I only need to hear the chiming of your rhyme

To understand your journey’s resounding climb

Ivor Steven (c) February 2022

Words to You

I wrote to you

You wrote to me

Your words turned to scrawl

Eyes began to call

A crack crept down the wall

You stood on the rubble so tall

We let the dust settle

Heated up the Kettle

Had a cuppa and a silent chat

Light flows back, through the crack

Words were our pearls

Writing is my world

Ivor Steven (c) February 2022

Dear Emily

The featured imaged above is photo I took today, because coincidently, I happen to be reading a book of Emily Dickinson’s poems … and thank you to my neice Kerri, (a graphic design artist) for cleverly enhancing the image, so as to make the words legible .. (my original photo was deplorable due to bright reflections from the midday sun)

Dear Emily

Your mystical words speak to me

About yesteryear

And beyond today

Where smiles and dimples

Live within bandaged moments

Of my soul

Your book describes the universe

From Celestial lists

To below nature’s dome

Where birds and butterflies

Live within unruffled moments

Of the sky

Your worldly wisdom fills my dreams

From babbling brooks

To mountainous oceans

Where imagination flows freely

And lives within loving moments

Of my heart

Ivor Steven (c) December 2021

A Sunday Dream

Featured Image Above: has been cropped from the photo below, which was taken by Derrick Knight, and again I sincerely thank Derrick for allowing me to reproduce his photos here, in conjunction with my poems. You may visit his fabulous site by clicking on this link

A Sunday Dream

did you hear the stars sing last night?


neither did I

did you see the sun cry at dawn?


neither did I

did you hear the bells ring this morning?


neither did I

did you feel the earth sigh today?


neither did I

there is you, I, and why

why cannot they see the sky?

why do they always lie?

why do they not cry?

Ivor Steven (c) December 2021

A Blue Shark in My bed

This time three years ago, was the beginning of my three months is hospital, originally suffering from a “mystery” virus, and then I had a stroke, followed by another minor stroke. … Somehow I managed to write about that three month journey via my poems, and today I’m presenting the first poem I wrote from my hospital bed during that time …

A Blue Shark in My bed

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) November 2021

Hypnotic Jasmine and Aromatic Coffee

On Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is post something just for the fun of it, and their prompt is: Just For Fun. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here . .. And today my poem “Hypnotic Jasmine And Aromatic Coffee” is a fun piece I wrote at the ‘Box Office Cafe’ this afternoon…

Hypnotic Jasmine and Aromatic Coffee

Under a sapphire sky

bathing in purified sun

a cool sea-breeze drifts by

adroitly holding the exotic fragrance

of a hypnotic jasmine blossom

then the cafe’s aromatic coffee

flavours the air

as a tasty apple-slice

awaits to be sacrificed

beyond the pandemic’s vices

Ivor Steven (c) October 2021