Smoldering

My internal flame for her, still flickering.

Burning like the old Olympic torch.

Eternally glowing, without a permanent home.

Charring the timbers of all her defenses.

The leftover ashes, blistering my soul.

The fire-front ruins, leaving me dark and hollow.

A flame, not to be easily extinguished.

A fire, always smouldering in my heart.

 

Ivor Steven.

This Fence

A poem I wrote over a decade ago. I’ve been inspired by fellow bloggers, “Imaginateweb” and “Chatter Master”, to dig it up out of my archives. It was written during a time of great personal hardship, my wife was wheelchair bound, suffering from severe MS, and I was recovering from a reasonably bad Stroke, and the hurdles of life seemed beyond my capabilities. Such is life, I survived, and my dear gracious and courageous lady has since passed. This is an emotional verse for me to present, so here goes, typing between the tears of life, but don’t worry I’m reasonably healed and enjoying myself, unabated. Also I’ve added another little poem below “This Fence”, called “Tears”, for you readers to soak up.

This Fence

I am quickly nearing this fence.

An obstacle of a lifetime I see.

And from my side of this fence,

The hurdle is too high for me.

And on the other side of this fence,

There seems nowhere to land or flee.

 

I have arrived at this fence,

Above the pickets, just grey sky.

And on my side of this fence,

The grass is brown and dry.

And on the other side of this fence,

The grass is green, but still I cry.

How am I to clear this fence,

There seems nowhere to go, or get by.

 

This fence, all built of stones,

Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.

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Ivor Steven.

Sometime after the passing of my dear Lady, I wrote these two lines, I suppose now is an appropriate time to post them, and again don’t worry, I’m ok…..

 

Tears

How many rivers of tears must we cry,

Before all our deepest wells run dry.

 

Ivor Steven

‘Til Death Do Us Part

A poem I wrote over five years ago, about where my life was at that time. I haven’t been blogging for long, and I’ve posted other poems. Sorry but I haven’t been posting any of my poems in any sort of sequence, but maybe that’s wrong. I suppose life is a many jumble puzzle, and my words are there to just to help me, and if you, the reader find them interesting, and of some benefit, then so be it.IMG_1786

‘Til Death Do Us Part.

She’s there, in that tall pale building of brick.

Where the Nightingales care and tend to the sick.

She’s there, away from home and her comforting bed.

Where the Doctors try to fix the endless ills, from her head.

She’s there, her absence, reminds me of future plights.

Where my anxieties for her well being, endure her fight.

She’s there, I need to visit her, all day, and every night.

Where the distance to reach her soul, is out of sight.

She’s there, I’m wondering about that far away dome.

Where my lost personal affection, leaves her all alone.

She’s there, in those misty clouds, church bells ringing.

Where she’s nearing sombre sounds, of angels singing.

She’s there, her constant pain, remains tight in my heart.

Now I’m convinced, like I said, at the very start.

There’s no place like home, for her gathering dark.

And I promise to her, again, ’til death do us part.

 

Ivor Steven.

There’s Room

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There’s Room.

“It’s A Small World”, they say.

My dog, she’s small.

The little courtyard is hers.

My house is small.

The lounge/dining, is enough.

My kitchen is like a galley.

The laundry/bathroom, is clean.

My bedroom is broad.

A double-bed, and studio desk.

My bookcase and humble vaults.

A display of history and wine.

My room, resonating Leonard’s ballads.

My room, my words and dreams.

My room, a song for you.

“Oh”, where are you.

 

Ivor Steven.