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 still celebrating my first anniversary of blogging, 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


Tit Bits #11

My efforts to beat failures go amiss

Someone keeps moving the goal-posts into the mist

I’m misunderstanding what I need to know

I understand what I already Know

I’m misunderstanding why they throw the stones

I understand the hurt of being hit by sharp stones

There’s a loud cheer from the crowd

But who’s listening to my silence now

Silence is deafening

My heart missed a beat

Waiting times are beckoning

My message replete

Telling myself it’s fine to have empty days

I smile to myself, at my misty eyes

They’re welcome emotions now-days

Swelling my heart in forgiving ways


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Freckles And Dark Hair

Weekly Prompts – Your second chance to be creative

This weeks word prompt, Hybrid


I’m of mixed origin

Am I a hybrid

An off-spring of my parents

Dad was a red-head with freckles

From Tasmania, a convicts great-grandson

Mum had dark hair and olive skin

A German and Scottish background

She was born in Penang Malaysia

They were worlds apart

The great war shaped their paths

Time and peace brought them together

I’m their hybrid, freckles and dark hair


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

A Writers Aviary

A cold winters morn

Another new dawn

I’m refreshed, I’m alive

I roll myself over

Onto my tummy

Elbows on my pillow

The curtains are open

Gazing out the window

Through the leaves and red flowers

Of my Jazzi Bougainvillea

My courtyard’s looking homely

A havens scenery

My forest fernery

Full of natures greenery

I’m feeling cosy and dreamy

Comfy in my writers aviary


Ivor Steven (c)  2018