Back To Her Man

My poem here was entirely inspired by Michnavs, and her poem and article from her post today…

“My Saga Continuous”

“My Saga on my awareness campaign against Violence continuous as i explore the possible reasons why abused women chose to stay in an abusive relationship.”

If you would like to read her post, please feel free to click on this Link:  https://michnavs.wordpress.com/2019/07/16/my-saga-continuous/

 

Back To Her Man

 

She goes back to her man

A female ghost, in no-man’s land

When he angrily points to her wedding band

How many broken promises, she cannot understand

 

She goes back to her man

What is the colour of his bruised hand

When he rips off her headband

How many times will she feel his fistful of sand

 

She goes back to her man

What is that name for his brand

When he stomps her armband

How many years before she’s able to make a stand

 

She goes back to her man

What is the origin of his shameless land

When he demands her waistband

How many decades before he is banned

 

She goes back to her man

What happens to her life unplanned

When his every word is a command

How will she survive the witness stand

 

She goes back to her man

Abandoned, now in shadow-land

Living is hell, after his reprimand

He is not worthy, nor is he grand

 

She goes back to her man

 

Apologies to Damien Rice, for using his lovely song here. The song title has the only resemblance to my poem, his beautiful lyrics, clearly have nothing to do with my poem. 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Questionnaire

I’m filling out a questionnaire

And I’m at my desk pondering

At one of the of the questions

Marital status ?

Single, married, or widowed

I had to stop and think

Before, I could tick the box

Widowed !!

The fact, hit me between the eyes

Am I a weirdo

Do I look like a creep

Now, that I’m widowed

 

I do not feel different, nor special

Her clock stopped, she ran out of time

And I still do not comprehend

Why ?

I am alright now

Yeah, but why ?

I remember her smile

When she whispered to me

” Life will eventually be easier for you:”

Most of the time

Now, I’ll tick that box

Widowed ………..

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

 

 

The Song Plays Through the Night

I twist and roll over

A musical world spins inside my head

 

My somersault of dreams

Rotates under my bed-spread

 

Upside down

Rhythmical tiredness falls out of my seams

 

Words tumble around

Nameless titles and endless tunes abound

 

The bad moon’s turning

Singing the blues, over my empty town

 

I twist and roll over, again

I’m back where I started, I hear my angel humming, Hallelujah

 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

Arctic Winds.

Today’s poem is one I wrote two years ago, and I was fortunate enough to have the piece published by, ‘Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine’, back in January 2018. A magazine for poets, and to all my readers/followers, I sincerely recommend that you visit/follow the Vita Brevis site,
https://vitabrevisliterature.com.

Artwork:  By Kerri Costello, Graphic Design Artist, my beautiful niece/second cousin, who lives in Philadelphia, she’s so very talented, and a very special person in my life, thank you Kerri.

 

Arctic Winds

 

I’m winter hibernating

Inside an Eskimo’s hut

Feeding only on fish oil

And frozen blue blood

My heart’s cold and dormant

Cowering under a dampened vestment

Wind-swept by a blizzard’s dust

Covered in icicles of my rust

My eyes are swollen rocks

Amidst polarised sockets

Terrorising all that’s passed

Like forgotten arctic icebergs

My veins are hollow crevasses

Inside a glaciers ice-flow

Sheering and groaning chasms

Like my memories deepest fjord

 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019

 

 

 

My Door’s Firmly Shut

Good morning dear readers, It’s a chilly Sunday here in Geelong, but it’s bad, my sister is coming down from Ballarat and we are going out for lunch. Cyndi will be staying inside, curled up next to the heater…..

 

My Door’s Firmly Shut

Early Sunday morning

At my desk

Writing in pencil

The inks frozen

No joke

Send the firewood

Light up my heart

With soulful words

Give my fingers a start

Knuckles are throbbing

An arthritic chill

My dog’s coughing

Poor little girl

She feels it too

Ah, not to worry

A sombre smile

A sun-ray

Shining through

Thawing my will

Freeing my quill 

 

 

Ivor Steven. (c)  July 2019

I’m Not Too Tired, Yet

Yesterday, I was dead tired

Today, I sternly asked

 

Why does life have to be such a task ?

Then I quietly answered myself

 

Life is like a bean-stalk

Isn’t it ?  My son

 

Whilst we are climbing high

Reaching for the sun

 

I cannot wait, for tomorrow’s snow

I’m not ready to go

 

I’m yet to repaint the sky

Again, I’ll have to learn how to fly

 

 

Ivor Steven (c)  July 2019