Tullawalla #18 “I, Can Breathe”

Hello dear readers and followers. Over the last 3 days I’ve been preparing and typing madly, to produce my Eighteenth Tullawalla Poetry Booklet….. Because of my recent health issues, the setting out and formulating of the booklet has been quite a task for me….. And I apologise for my absence from your blog sites… my ability to do more than one thing at a time, is now very limited….Anyhow, for new readers that don’t know about these booklets, they are basically the reason why I write poetry. I produce the booklets for the sole purpose of raising funds for my favourite charity organisation, the MS Society, in Australia via the MS Charity Shop here in Geelong. And actually all money’s I receive for any of my poetry .via, submissions, I donate to the MS Society…. I’m proud to announce, that the sale of my “Tullawalla Booklets”, have now gone pass $1300.00, … to all the lovely readers, who have donated, to help achieve such a wonderful amount, a big heartfelt thank you, from “us” and the MS Society … …..Amazingly, there is now a total of “736 poems”, in my collection/series of 18 Tullawalla Booklets. This booklet is finally completed, and ready for sale now !! As always, they are available for purchase, either as a hard copy or a PDF format….. All proceeds go to the MS Charity Shop, here in Geelong West….. Please contact me here through my website page and I can chat about arrangements from there…. Oh, the booklet is called “Tullawalla: “I, Can Breathe”… …. And here is the link to my website >> https://ivors20.wordpress.com

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Ivor Steven (c) July 2020.

There’s a Penguin In My Courtyard

Today I was struggling for a title and the wording of my 2nd line, but after a chat with a friend of mine, a well known poet, who’s, “Living on the equator and longing for snow”. and she inadvertently inspired me, to come up with the title, and complete my second line….


There’s a Penguin In My Courtyard


my courtyards a frozen pond

cold enough for a penguin

shrouds of ice lay upon the ground

and a crisp sharpness cuts the sound

of the birds unthawed songs of silence

as fernery fronds curl in glaciated defiance

and in the corner there’s a frostbitten spider’s web

while frigidly rigid is the succulent flower bed

above there’s the sun’s ambient saffron disc

the dawn’s prediction that golden days do exist


Ivor Steven (c) June 2020

My Scenic Saturday

The Weekend Challenge on Weekly Prompts is, Scenic. Please go over and visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here … Below is my photographic article in response to the prompt…

My Scenic Saturday


After writing my daily poem in the morning, I then pottered around in my courtyard garden, however my fingers were becoming frozen from the frosty dawn, and I decided to delay the potting, until after going out for my usual Saturday coffee and cafe visit, to the scenically rural Box Office Cafe. The above photos are from my lunchtime visit today. The winter sun was starting to warm me up, and on viewing my photos, you’ll understand, (maybe), why I frequent this quaint and rustic establishment….

It was definitely a lot warmer when I arrived home. Last week a friend of mine made me two wall hanging racks out old wooden pallets. I hung them up during the week, and today was my day to fill the two pallets with plants… The below photos, were taken after I finished the potting and planting…. and I’m very pleased with the gorgeous ”scenic” outlook of my small but vibrant courtyard…




Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020

Sharing the Sun

I’m waiting for Aine’s promise

On an outdoor setting of the Box Office

My open eyes don’t see lies

The white icing is only a disguise

Reality lays under the glossy lid

Hiding a secret taste of apple and fig

Together, we’re sharing the sun’s halo

A warm circle of iridescent yellow

Divinely shiny, fresh and mellow

A glorious treat for me to swallow


Aine- In Irish mythology, Áine, is the summer sun. Áine is the goddess of wealth, with power over crops and animals and she is sometimes represented by a red horse.



Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020

Lost, Without a Compass

Lost and isolated, without a compass

Below the dome of justice

Inside the great white shed

Behind faceless masks of dread

Hides a secret constitution misread

And under fire the penguin wears two heads


The curtain of the sacred temple

Has been torn down the middle

A shredded divide, created by design

The devils’ chasm, now cleverly enshrined



Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020

Lost In Space

Above, my bedroom space this morning….I’m also linking this poem to “Fae Corps Inc” for their ‘Indie Wednesday’ article, and you may visit their creative site by clicking >Here


Lost In Space


I’m leaving this land of lost grace

And flying off into space

It’s time to run-away

My airship left yesterday


Love is a stowaway in the heart

And love needs a head start

Somewhere in this universe

There’s love in the shepherd’s purse



Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020


Hills and Valleys

“There’s sweetness in the winter sunlight”  … Ivor Steven

This weekend the challenge on Weekly Prompts is; Dessert. …..Please go over and visit their fabulous site, by clicking >>Here.  My poem below is about the sweetness of waking up, after a moment of darkness, and the sudden realisation, that I’m still alive.. !!


Hills and Valleys


Far beyond the maddening crowds

Falling through the darkening clouds

My sacred message did arrive

And the neon sign said, “You’re safe and alive”


Again, I managed to survive

As my celestial angel glided by

Glowing upon the gilded wings of her dove

And loudly singing, she cried, “Don’t give up, my love”


Soaring above, she left me a feather

A quill to use, during my valley of rough weather

Her gentle persuasive reminder

To keep on writing, my own agenda


Life does matter, despite the hill’s jumbled mess

And there will be a deliverance from this jungle of stress



Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020

A Crooked Lightning Bolt

Walking this burning deck

Life’s becoming a pain in the neck

Where’s that healing pill

A wellness, instead of this daily swill

Dribbling out of the great white one

Carrying on like a piece of dung

Crazy statements like, “Drink Dettol”

Spewing from his cake-hole

And stupidly, “You loot, we’ll shoot”

Sickly crap off his swanky boots

With a raised Bible in hand

A crooked lightning bolt struck our land



Ivor Steven (c)  June 2020