Tullawalla: Booklet #4

Hello dear readers, friends, family and followers. Sorry I’ve not been around to all my fellow bloggers on WP, with my usual diligence and zest. I’ve been very busy preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: Who’s Left To Row The Boat”, and of course along with the other 3 booklets, all money’s that I make from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 4 booklets below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscape size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet

Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven                                                                                   Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times                                                                                               Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye                                                                                     Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat

And I’m happy to say that I’ve now learnt how to print on both sides of the pages, thus halving my mailing costs for anyone interested in purchasing, for the price of postage and plus a donation for the MS shop. I have a PayPal account, to make payments easier.


From Ivor xx


Quote #1

Maybe I’m starting a series of “Quotes”, if I am, this is my first one. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to think of anymore, but these words were in my head today, as I was looking up at the big tree next door

“He who worships from the tallest tree,

should be weary of the broken branches he trod on below”


Ivor Steven (c)  2018


This is a very old poem of mine, and the poem’s words appeared in my dream-time last night, so I’ve dragged the verse out of my archives, and I’ve rewritten it in present tense. The original title was “With All Her Might”, but I think “Brave” suits Her better now. xx

She had a glorious smile everyday

Despite her painful stay

She tried with all her might

Oh, what a brave fight


She relied on us all, to fill her days

Caring for her different ways

She helped with all her might

Oh, what a courageous sight


She rested, unable to relate

Comfy in her sorry state

She sighed with all her might

Oh, what a sombre plight


She never complained about her fate

Carried our worry weight

She defied destiny with all her might

Oh, what an endless night



Ivor Steven (c)  2018



Liquid Joy 

Hello dear readers, well I’m celebrating my eighteen month anniversary of blogging, with another post originally from June 7th 2017, and I’ve rehashed the poem slightly.

Tears of liquid joy
Like rivers of fear
The memories so clear
And a toast to cheer
Tears of liquid joy
Like waves from the heart
Two great oceans apart
And wishing for another restart
Tears of liquid joy
Like dredged canals of the soul
Leaking from the broken porthole
And needing a free parole
Tears of liquid joy
Like a flowing molten lava
Passing a secret convoy
And singing like the last choirboy
Crying liquid joy


Ivor Steven (c) 2017

Vaults And Bookcases


To keep celebrating my first year of blogging, I’m reposting this poem from June 21st 2017. The actual bookcase (the picture below) was made by dear grandfather, for my 18th Birthday (1969), it stands behind me here in my writing haven, and the beautifully crafted piece is one of most treasured possessions, and a loving reminder of my Poppy.

Vaults And Bookcases

A cool Sunday morning, wearing old brown slippers and warm bedclothes

Looking through my window, and hearing crows singing, I suppose

Sitting here on borrowed chairs, at a homemade table, built by dad

Listening to my music of sorrow, ballads of truth, voices humming so sad

The tunes vibrating softly, from my brothers equipment, quietly in tempo with my pulse

Staring at the tall wooden bookcase, displaying visions from my deepest vaults

The dusty shelves, lined with personal photos, whom I’ve lost and found over the years

Mostly pictures of her, now departed for a while, always engulfing my many fears

And images of family and friends, but they’re all smiling as if nothings wrong

Oh how we mysteriously grin, for that camera pointed at our souls of song

There’s memorabilia, and her little trinkets, all reflecting on my hidden veneer

And unopened dry red wines, dotting the racks, like mirrors of yesteryear


Ivor Steven (c)  2018