“Villanelle For Our Time”

“Villanelle For Our Time”
Dear readers, if you are inclined, please read this magnificent piece, written by Leonard Cohen, a truly inspiring poem, displaying all of his brilliant craftsmanship.

From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.
This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.
We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.
The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.
Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.
Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.

Lines To Nowhere

My curtains were opened

I saw a setting eclipse

And I decided to walk

To the south side of the moon

Taking my own spoon

I heard there’s a cheese-cake tasting

A sweet crumbly base

Topped with blueberries and cream

Life’s not about lying in bed

I’ll meet you for a kiss

After school

Down by the old pool

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

Hysteria

Yesterday’s ancient graves

Sent me a parting wave

Passing the higher fools

Leaving me to drool

My body was shivering

Bones were rattling

My leftovers are for the taking

Mum’s sponge-cake is baking

I need a change of attitude

A party at high altitude

Up here on level seven

Close to heaven

I could invite my unknown bacteria

Sing along to Leonard, sharing hysteria

Ivor Steven (c) 2018

P

Oh What A Night, They Sent Me Home Tight

All My News.    By: Leonard Cohen

 

Do not decode

these cries of line

They are the road

and not the sign

 

Nor deconstruct

my drugless high

I’m sober but

I like to fly

 

Then quickened with

my open talk

You need not pick

the ancient lock

 

From Leonard Cohen’s, Poems And Songs, produced by “Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets”. 1993

A Blue Shark In My bed

I’m lying in bed, hallucinating

They’ve given me too many pain killers

Swimming between soaked sheets

In an ocean of hot sweat

I see a blue shark in my bed

Angrily circling me

That killers glint in his eyes

His giant jaws open wide

And he viciously bites me

Piercing my lower neck

And poking my left eye out

My blood is boiling on the red sea

 

If this is hell, please ring the bell

I shall pray to save my soul, and be set free

I’m swirling in drugs, I cannot think

My eyes are shut, I cannot blink

Where are you mum

I was always your number one

She’d make me my favourite cake

A passion-fruit sponge she’d bake

I sense a benevolent friend, if he’s not too late

Smuggling me a gun, past white guards, inside mum’s cake

 

To you who cannot see me, I’m an ancient fable

Who’s about to leave the table

With the rest of the disabled

I’ll look for you, in your higher stables

How can I find my way back

I’ve lost my winding track

Life for me cannot be the same

I’m not recovering, I’m losing the game

Forgotten my name and where to aim

Destiny has me old and lame

 

 

Ivor  Steven (c)  2018

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

A few days ago(29th Nov 2017), I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks Collection”. So apologies to Ray Davies for using his song titles in such a manner. And thank you to Jane for providing me with the inspiration to actually write these jumbled up words.  ** And now today(8th Nov 2018), this poem has been edited, and re-posted, as a response to CalmKate’s Friday Foto Fun – Wheels Or Circles.

img466 (2)

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

 

I remember the olden times

Of pennies and farthings

Pounds and pence

When money made no sense

Mary Hopkins sang

“Those Were The Days”

And the Kinks song “Lola”

Was the best number one ever

Many a lazy Sunny Afternoon

Spent down near Waterloo Sunset

Where we would all dance

All Of The Day And All Of The Night

My Friends would all dress-up

Like Dedicated Followers Of Fashion

Unlike that lonely Plastic Man

Who faked the Death Of A Clown

Way back then, You Really Got Me

You fired me up, here in Victoria

Thousands of Days forgotten in the burn-out

Charred in a cloud of Big Black Smoke

But now, I’m Tired Of Waiting For You

Wondering, Where Have All The Good Times Gone

Ivor Steven

8th November 2018.  10.30pm

Inside Out

Perspective,

Weekly Word Prompt : This week’s word prompt is : Perspective.

This is an old poem of mine, The poem “Inside Out”, is more just a rhyme and a play on a few featured words. Over the road from were I once lived, there was a furniture shop, and the advertising hoarding was, “Inside Out, Exotic Furniture”, well I was sitting there waiting for the bus, and in my minds imagination, I changed the the words to “Inside-out, Upside-down, Erotic Furniture”, and hence my little anecdote was laid…. with a totally different perspective..

Inside Out

The view of my love seems upside down.

When I’m at the bottom of her flowing gown.

And my erotic picture appears inside out.

What’s this scenic love all about.

The ways of my love seem upside down.

When she’s on top, covering me ’til I drown.

And I’m underneath, neither in, nor out.

What’s this crazy love all about.

The river of my love seems upside down.

When I’m sitting inside her smiling frown.

And her foreign body hits me in and out.

What’s this exotic love all about.

The world of my love seems upside down.

When I’m laying below her pounding mound.

And her endless thrusts, feel inside out.

What’s this frenzied love all about.

Ivor Steven (c 2018