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.

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.

My Girl

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My Girl

She’s a constant joy,

Tiny like a toy.

She leaps and prance’s,

Does hind-leg dances.

She slips and slides,

Does tummy glides.

She lays on all laps,

Loves all-day pats.

She’s a mirror of love,

Knowingly, from above.

 

Home

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Home

Take me to my home.

Home is where my heart is.

Home is on that windy hill.

Home is a secret valley.

Home is a heavenly cloud.

Take me to my home.

I’m waiting here, alone.

I’m packed ready to go.

I’m departing this old place.

I’m leaving this world behind.

Take me to my home.

I know the beyond will be greener.

I know you’ll be there.

I know you’ve been waiting.

I know you’ll hold me again.

Hold me in my home.