Sorry For You

Sorry, I wasn’t always there for you.

I’m sorry for your life of misery.

I’m so sorry, for writing this unhappy story.

And I couldn’t find your holy grail.

That sacred cup of water to cure the frail.

Sorry I couldn’t help or heal you.

I’m sorry for your life being wrong.

I’m so sorry, for playing this wordless song.

And I couldn’t find your holy grail.

That sacred cup of wine to cure the frail.


Sorry I didn’t travel every path for you.

I’m sorry for your life’s that’s lost.

I’m so sorry, for holding this worthless cross.

And I couldn’t find your golden grail.

That sacred cup of blood to cure the frail.

Sorry I couldn’t be stronger for you.

I’m sorry, for your lonely life with me.

I’m very sorry, for walking on an empty sea.

And I couldn’t find your silver grail.

The angel’s vessel of purity, to no avail.


An old poem I wrote, when I was feeling guilty about my capabilities as a carer. I’m posting here, and thinking someone in a similar situation may read these words. Please do not feel guilty or inadequate, you’re not failing, and there’s really only so much that is possible. You’re not alone in having these insecure feelings, and please understand, us carer’s all go through these self doubts and confusing thoughts.


Ivor Steven.

Hide And Seek


You hid behind your veil,

Your Athena’s shield.

I sought a way in,

The doorway was sealed.

Your thighs were closed,

Love was asleep.

I left you my heart,

It was yours to keep.

You buried our past,

That was a crying shame,

I soothed with words,

You weren’t to blame.

Those secret wounds,

So mysterious to view.

You’d years of pain,

So plain to see.

I knew your regrets,

You were as humble as could be.

Clamping your thoughts,

Ensuring you were secure.

I levered the latches,

So hidden and obscure.

You’d closed every avenue.

Now, you’re not so sure of this,

As you return my glances,

Silently wishing for a kiss.

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Hide And Seek

You hid behind your veil

Your Athena’s shield

I sought a way in

The doorway was sealed

Your thighs were closed

Love was asleep

I left you my heart

It was yours to keep

You buried our past

That was a crying shame

I soothed with words

You weren’t to blame

Those secret wounds

So mysterious to view

You’d years of pain

So plain to see

I knew your regrets

You were as humble as could be

Clamping your thoughts

Ensuring you were secure

I levered the latches

So hidden and obscure

You’d closed every avenue


Now, you’re not so sure of this

As you return my glances

Silently wishing for a kiss


Burning The Fears

I’m frightened, and I’m too scared to wait. And knowingly, I’m arriving late. The ghouls are spying from the hill. And lower fools are poisoning her will. Underneath her, a wicker complete. Above, she’s suspended from a stake. The bonfire’s started, against the rules. And the crowd’s rejoicing, as the fire drools. […]

via SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: Burning Fears — SlasherMonster

Here One Day, Gone The Next.

MY GIRL.                                                                                                                               Emotional news, our gorgeous little Lily has passed. She died peacefully in her favourite basket, in my bedroom, with me sitting on the the floor beside her, patting her ’til her last tiny breath… Lily’s gone to be in the arms of her Angel, Carole, in the universe of Celestial Stars, and dreams…………. One day.

Ivor Steven.

My Girl’s Haircut

Little Lily’s going to be 13 in November, so she had a birthday haircut today, ready for her big birthday bash, although Lily didn’t seem to be that happy with her new hair-style after I got her home for these photo takes .. And for those that haven’t seen or read my little poem about “My Girl”, here you are….

My Girl

She’s a constant joy.

Tiny like a toy.

She leaps and prances.

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.


Ivor Steven.

Tea Leaf’s

It’s early morn, on this lazy Saturday.

And I’m going to enjoy a relaxing day.

But first, I must make my bed.

“Yes, just like Mum said”

Oh, I gratefully do remember.

As I straighten the colourful quilt cover.

That gift from my previous lover.

And I like to fluff-up my pillows.

Ready for tonight’s wondrous dreams.

Revisiting plenty of stupid cupid’s arrows.


I’ve a long, handy bedhead shelf.

It’s always untidily in disarray.

However I’m smiling, satisfied within myself.

Last nights scribbles are all on display.

I gather up this multitude of loose words.

Sorting the jumbled mess into phrases.

Snippets of my subconscious memories.

Pieces of forgotten wistful dreams.

Then I begin to decode my productive sight.

And happily I start to rewrite.

About the tea-leaf’s floating on a calm sea.

Forming love letters, from her to me.


Ivor Steven.