"Improvidently Dying (Voicing His Resignation To God)" by Steven Ilchev /1992/

Improvidently Dying (Voicing His Resignation To God)
[Steven Ilchev, 1992]
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As a baby that boy was destined to believe
That before he'd read and write a word in anger
He'd be fertilising all the way the poisoned soil of a
Wrecked peasant land

So, he would stare in the haze
To set his battered heart ablaze
As he strolled along the road to Thee
The blue horizon was a mockery of him

A mockery of his innocence and lack of
Strength, he would lie down shelled in agony
His eyes fixated on the shark of death slaying him
Unkindly in his padlocked bed

For the young boy's limping through his devastating
Sickness, frying in hot tears, improvidently dying
Improvidently dying, the little creature cries
Its ailing body's drowning in the creamy swamp of
Flies!

The little 'un has seen the eaters of his life
The cutters of a bread-like thread of heart
The little boy was scolded throughout
The days of cold, beside the hostile snowflakes he
Was told:

"Soon you'll be away, you trembling, dying ray
Your joy will never start, from mummy and daddy
You'll depart!"

"The Mersey Written Glide" by Steven Ilchev, 2010

The Mersey Written Glide
==================
by: Steven Ilchev, 2010
==================

Dedicated to the Scribe Of Merseyside, Jennifer M. Smedley
and her enchanting novel "Snofjell"


There is a Lady Jennifer
A scribe of Merseyside
Her linguist's rhythmic outlook
Intrigues the written glide

She gives her readers images
That paintings strive to share
For aeons with some shoving wiggles
They haven't got the glare

On Merseyside, there is a scribe
She has the world engrossed
Well, all her readers circle round
The soothing literary toast!"

"Clearest Romance Lakeland" (2010) by Steven Ilchev

Clearest Romance Lakeland
--------------------------------
by: Steven Ilchev, 2010
--------------------------------

Dedicated to the fragrant Gardenia Dame Sue who reminds me time and again
just why it is o so worthwhile to breathe intensely and scorn
all bile


My rambling mind is singing still,
Soprano-saluting the siren-songbook hill
Of the breath you transfer on romance's
Clearest lakeland, that stretch of
Life itself in woodlandic tingle-drama

O help thy joyous self to all my ardent garlands
For they exist for only you, and you alone in
Rocky Valley, that Cornish privacy
Outside Tintagel, impossible for all else
To decode

Haunting whispers, sprightly caressing
Nibbling tenderly with all my might is I
My arms' in-built harpsichord's so
Tone-somersaulting in that Heaven so
Versed in longing's adagio selfless cry

The only days for which I'm feeling grateful
Are those that radiate your luminous halo
Those days, those days, I'd monkey up
The stage, the stage set for all barbaric
Senses to rot upon my very person uncaged

That stage, that stage I fear not,
I fear nothing as I dedicate more pieces
Of my simplicity to your sophisticated
meaningful ways, so sensual in biblical
thunderbolting, starry-skied lakelands

That stage, woodlandic, hyper-mental
On a sole wavelenth in its uncharted register -
The heat of you, you my gardenia - my soul's
Fulfilment and modern-day sacrosanct Rome,
My unpublished desires' forbidden ice-cream cone

My rambling mind is singing still,
Soprano-saluting the siren-songbook hill
Of the breath you transfer on romance's
Clearest lakeland, that stretch of
Life itself in woodlandic tingle-drama.

"Rosy Realms' Robotics" by Steven Ilchev, 2010

Rosy Realms' Robotics
====================
by: Steven Ilchev, 2010
====================

Our Mother Nature,

Afflicted deity

Defined by eternally

Loyal raindrops from a silvern
Height unsung

By messianic gestures
Underscored by dolour
The roving rodents of
Robust ritualistic romp
In radical, ridiculously rosy

realms' robotics.

"When Leaders Fall And Rodents Stroll" [dedicated to Mr. Lennon of Woolton] by Steven Ilchev, 2010

When Leaders Fall And Rodents Stroll
===============================
Steven Ilchev, 2010
===============================

Dedicated to JWOL of Woolton (1940 - 1980)

JWOL, JWOL...

Thirty years is not a long time at all
when leaders fall
and rodents stroll
Who had the gall?

In whose name we mould
the seeds of gold
Gold too intrinsically cold...
Heartedly unhearted

Bartered and carted
through sanguine
pomposity of
revolving-door crustiness?

In whose name we mould?...

"THE LICHFIELD X-FACTOR 2004" by Steven Ilchev

Nevermind the awesome ITV programme that keeps us royally entertained. Lichfield's blessed alehouse THE KING'S HEAD played host to an engrossing competition each Monday night for over three months in 2004. The contest was known as the Lichfield X-Factor.

Tony Edwards and Sue Carradice were the comperes and the judges panel was the magnificent trio of King's Head locals: Brian, Gordon, and yours truly Steven. Steven would conclude each evening with what he termed the 'show autopsy' or 'post mortem' in a Simoncowellesque tone of voice. That brought a bit of extra spice to the show and it earned many a laughter and cordial boos alike. Why not?

Who could ever forget judges Brian and Steven performing on the night of the final show? Imagine Simon C and Louis W. doing that on the live X-Factor shows? Would that not be a scream? Brian, a seasoned musician who was a member of a good band in the 'SEXTIES' (oh, and he attracted a lot of fanny for his troubles too, he proudly admits) sang an Everly Brothers classic and Steven did a politically-charged version of Lennon's 'Revolution' which kept the crowd roaring along. Steven initially wanted to do either 'Give Me Some Truth' by Lennon or 'Anarchy For The UK" by The Sex Pistols but Tony Edwards had neither on his KARAOKE catalogue. Ah, well!

At first there were twelve contestants. Initially, Tony Edwards and Sue Carradice gave the competitors a free hand as far as song choices were concerned, however, as the latter stages loomed, Judge Steven recommended Themed Evenings. It was Songs from Films, Sixties et al on the agenda as the final phases passed by. The final two that fought it out neck in neck were Gemma and Paul. Paul edged Gemma out on the very last Lichfield X-Factor 2004 evening but in the end this was a competition that was enriched by every brave trooper who stood up in front of an adoring audience and gave their all.

Gemma really won her audience's hearts and mesmerised their minds alike with her performance of Lulu's immortal 'To Sir With Love' on one of the Themed Nights. The song was recommended to Gemma by Judge Steven. Gemma had never even heard of it so she had to seek help from her mum who recorded a copy for her and Gemma practised with unparallelled diligence and determination prior to her performance. It was all the more phenomenal an effort on her part in those circumstances.

*************************************
Gemma Massey has since won a local radio show contest which was staged at THE CROWN (formerly Hogshead) in 2006. She had the privilege of switching on the Christmas Lights in Burton-upon-Trent as part of her reward.
*************************************

"OPEN MIC EVENTS AT THE KING'S HEAD IN BIRD STREET, LICHFIELD" by Steven Ilchev

Mr. Chris Niven runs the most enthralling weekly event in the magnificent Cathedral City of Lichfield - i.e. Friday night's OPEN MIC at The King's Head alehouse in Bird Street. The traditional freehouse venue in the city centre suddenly emblazons itself with all the nocturnal rays of laughter and basks in the orchestral shower of guitar riffs and muso fantasies galore courtesy of any odd soul that dares entertain a local crowd of interested listeners who suck on their pints of wondrous ales boasting appropriately captivating names such as STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN.

"Play one we all know" is the most overstated yet by the same token most beloved catchphrase in the inimitable pub-performing-arts-amphitheatre that is our beloved King's Head. May the serenading episodes of beauty and ghastliness alike in this home-away-from-home environment never ever cease!

**************************************
Mr. Chris Niven is planning to start a recording studio business . He is a seasoned musician and if you fancy an opportunity knocking on your very door you should consider discussing the possibilities for a glittering career in this field with the Cathedral City's guitar virtuoso/folk narrator.
**************************************

"Mr. J. Gascoine, Assistant Branch Manager of Lichfield's O2 Outfit - A Consummate Professional" by Steven Ilchev, Staffs

Assistant Branch Manager Mr. J. Gascoine, O2 Store, 4 Bakers Lane, Lichfield, Stafforshire, WS13 6NF [Branch # 0337]

I would hereby like to refer to the above.

I had recently experienced a few niggling problems with my smartphone, a Blackberry Curve, so I took the trouble to pay a visit to the Lichfield branch of my network provider O2. I undertook to do that on a couple of occasions as I needed advice on certain matters pertaining to my relatively newly acquired smartphone. I was greeted in the branch on both occasions by the branch's assistant manager, Mr. Jamie Gascoine. He was thoroughly professional and patient even though both my visits were near closing time and I am certain that the gentleman was looking forward to relaxing after an exhausting slog since the morning, not that he gave any indication of that.

Mr. Gascoine listened attentively to both my queries and then came up with solutions for them ever so promptly. His dedication to his job and the responsibility it entails is most refreshing in this day and age when many a so-called manager opt for the "going through the motions" route. I re-iterate that the type of optimal professionalism upheld by O2's representative is an invaluable asset that will only serve to enhance my high regard for the so far altogether flawless service that the O2 network has provided to me during my short but rewarding period as their customer.

The day I distanced myself from the inefficiency and permanent state of befuddlement on the part of the "3" network is the day my mobile phone usage became a source of fulfilment again. I shall gladly proceed to recommend Mr. Gascoine to any friend on the O2 network who might be in need of advice on how to tackle the intricacies of smartphones' technological motorway. I shall also earnestly recommend this company to my long list of associates as I have not to date experienced better customer interaction courtesy of any other network.

"Apres Bar in Bird Street, Lichfield City Centre And Its Meticulous Striving For Unparalleled Nous For Customer Service" by Steven Ilchev, Staffs

I would hereby like to convey to all appreciators of sophisticated nights out my impressions of the standard of service that I was the recipient of at Lichfield's atmospheric Apres Bar on Sunday evening, November 14th 2010.

I happened to wander into the customarily immaculately maintained establishment in Bird Street, Lichfield City Centre after a long hard toil in the South-East throughout the aforementioned day and it was profoundly pleasant to be promptly attended to by the unmistakably articulate and eloquent staff member Emma. The evening was somewhat frosty and I was fatigued, therefore I was hardly the most inspirational or uplifting customer within the far classier than myself establishment's confines. However, that did not deter said staff member from bearing up with me as I took my time to decide what meal I would select from the versatile menu before my gluttonous ocular wishing well. I can imagine the stress that I must have transferred onto the staff as the kitchen was about to close but I have this mildly unholy tendency to labour a thought or two when it comes to determining my meal - a corpulent amoeba's priority. I apologised to Emma who responded with a smile and made me feel absolutely welcome. She did of course make me aware that I had eight minutes before closing time which was very professional of her so I had just about sufficient time to make up my sluggish mind. In the meantime, more punters streamed in and Apres' team of unimpeachable professionals continued to multi-task while I still grappled with my choice. Not once did they even hint that I should hurry up (for what it's worth, I should have) in any shape or form. On the contrary, they made me feel even more like a special customer which is not very common in this day and age of unbridled stress.

I eventually settled on a delicious-sounding and refreshingly uncommon pizza with hoisin sauce and Emma very intuitively suggested a side order and jocularly (and there's plenty of truth in jest) she figured out that I would be a curly fries person. I nodded with a smile and she said that I would savour Apres' special curly fries with immeasurable delight. She was not wrong at all. I did not have to wait a long time at all for my food as I sat comfortably in the cosy eating area with all the condiments already provided and my pint of Smooth perfectly presented. The speed of the kitchen's food preparation was infallibly matched by presentation and succulence. It was an utterly magnificent way to kick back late on a Sunday evening and for that I am ever so grateful to Apres of Lichfield's staff.

I firmly believe that Apres' entire team is a glowing credit to Lichfield's entertainment industry and their pleasantly heartwarming service with a genuine smile is inspirational to frequenters who should waste no time in recommending this trendy landmark to their relatives, close friends and others. I, for one, will never have an ounce of hesitation to point friends, associates, relatives, and many an acquaintance in the direction of this most welcoming venue and I shall proceed to do it with an exponential degree of enthusiasm.

I look forward to many further genial interactions and memorable episodes within the esteemed social jungle's parameters known as Apres Bar Lichfield.

"Go On Heaving (The Deepest Sighs Of Relief)" (2008) by Steven Ilchev

GO ON HEAVING (THE DEEPEST SIGHS OF RELIEF)
===========================
Steven Ilchev, 2008
=====================­======

Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Keep on breathing,
Go on heaving deepest sighs of relief
You seem to be smiling
But deep down you're writhing, yeah you
In agony non-stop
Emotional melting-pot, you know

It isn't becoming of you to be slamming
Your inner calamity,
Cerebral disparity, mate!
Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Lfe's fulfilling so go on heaving
Deepest sighs of relief

That you are your own bloke
In motley suits bespoke
And underneath all that
Your outlook is nowhere near old hat

The bird you caressed hard
Is nothing more than a block of swelling lard,
You shouldn't be tracking her down
She's paid you with interest by many
An icy frown

Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Life's quite fulfilling
So go on heaving them
Deepest sighs of relief

Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
Don't you give in,
You ain't the needy type
Sipping life's alluring gin
So go on heaving themdeepest
Sighs of relief.

"Mule-Tea Cunt-Ur-Anal-Ism Is Not For England!" (2009) by Steven Ilchev

I am not at all religious but we must preserve our heritage and as a general rule churches do not impose their beliefs on us so they must be left alone to function as an integral part of our freedom-loving society. Traditions, cultural traits, etc have existed in each country for aeons, and for a good reason. They are definitive features of a nation that motor its philosophical heartbeat and set it apart from others. Why would anybody who has been moulded as a national of any given land want to forsake all that? The fact is not many would. Not of their own volition, anyroad but that is inevitably construed by misguided appeasers as raving 'racism' or bigotry.

Society must be homogenous otherwise it becomes a most degrading pigsty. Society is no mish-mash wishy-washy tuneless orchestra of fundamentally opposed factions pretending to shag each other blissfully upon a multicultural bridge! Society is a proud united infantry beaming up the same essential components of inner, not necessarily overzealous but rather sophisticated pride and unconditional dedication. That is why India, China, Japan, France, Germany, Scotland, Ireland, Italy, the USA, Ethiopia, and yes England too, dare I say it, are unique in their own right and heaven help anyone who challenges their right to hold onto millennia-established identities. I do not want other cultures taking precedence over the English one which contrary to political machinations has been in existence since Angles and Saxons first migrated to these lands and brought their own brand of ingenuity with them. I care not what one's ancestral lineage is. Keep it at home behind blinds and iron gates alike. If you were born and bred in England or you have opted to make it your home, you have a sense of responsibility to guard our land with your deepest heart of hearts and most unbeatable troopers of soul! When people visit England, let them feel the Englishness and not some tasteless alacrity. When I visit France, Germany, Japan, Sweden, Norway - I want to feel the respective national essence and sample it accordingly! I refuse to abide by blindsiding, despicable, nation-lampooning multiculturalist tyranny. Refuse as well if you hold your national riches and flag dearer than the dearest gem!

"O 'Curno Fantasia Foam That Crashes" (2010) by Steven Ilchev

O 'Curno Fantasia Foam That Crashes
============================
by: Steven Ilchev, 2010
============================

O 'Curno fantasia foam that crashes
against theatrical marvels and blushing
audience members so intensified
by all that is heard from under the slabs
the cultural herd

Those slabs so hypnotic, symptomatic
of trance, that drizzle or sunset
their lord of the dance
the spotlight falling unto actors
no hint of heckling from detractors

O 'Curno fantasia foam that washes the
trite, worn out phrases one always botches,
skinny-dipping in the alcove
awaiting the mastermind falcon
another moment gifted, banality
has drifted

"White Pride Worldwide... And Don't You Know It" by Steven Ilchev

I do care for all the English women and men be they colourless, odourless, genuine, or smarmy. I care for my sexier than sex itself country! I love England more than life's juggernaut itself so rollercoasterish and guitar-rifferty... or anything else for that matter. I'd give everything for England and my people! Every flesh I have. Every pint of blood that flows through my nicotine-enriched veins. I detest those who spit in the perfect Dame England's eye! I want them dead, deader than any dodo.

I want to see each non-assimilating exponent of phlegmatic dross nuked beyond recognition and yes, I stand by my race, the white race because it has been unjustifiably much maligned predominantly by diseased lilly-white trash liberals! I actually respect the Black Panthers more because they are defending their own principles and steadfast convictions. However bigoted the latter may be, I would still rather attend a Black Panthers meeting and be genuinely abused than sit among tongue-lick-cock hypocritical whitey liberals who would go to extra lengths to be politically expedient for the sake of over-inflated expediency. The reality check they so need would spell it out, "The Black Panthers, The Muslim Council Of Britain, and every other niggling non-assimilating fluff crawling on Lioness Inglaterra's or any other elegant beast's body despises liberals every bit as much as white Conservatives do"! If any such group's flag does fly over Downing Street it'll be the daft Liberal mob that will be first in the firing line. What a flock of flightless axe-kissers thou art!

I do not think that being white makes one superior nor do I consider those born and bred here with skin colours that are not quite white as any less my compatriots. You can be blacker than the ace of spade but were you hatched and reared in England, you are an Englishwoman or man and for thee I'd stand... thee I'd defend. However, I am not nor shall I ever be an apologist for the white race having created, nurtured and prospered in formerly uncivilised lands that would have otherwise gone to waste. WHITE PRIDE WORLDWIDE and you know it!

The German Footballers Missed Out On The Most Platinum Of Opportunities in The Flower Fountain City

If Plutarch Were Watching Sports on TV
[by Dr. A. Ilchev, my dad]
======================================

It is not uncommon for a referee to make a blunder while officiating at a decisive game - Maradona’s 'hand-of-God' goal versus England in the 1986 World Cup quarterfinal in Mexico City is a notable example. However, the case of the last sixteen match between Germany and England at the World Cup 2010 in South Africa takes the repercussions of the fallibility of man to a completely new level.

There was no doubt about the validity of England midfielder, Frank Lampard's goal - TV cameras confirmed it from every possible angle and it looked 'in' in both real-time and in slow motion. What’s more, the ball was not just a hairbreadth, or an inch, or even a foot but almost a yard behind the goal-line. One wonders what the referee and his assistant were doing at the time. Maybe they were thinking what they could do with the FIFA pay-packet which was already allocated to them. A few excesses at Sun City, perhaps? The unpardonable error will always haunt them until the end of their careers (if they have not reached the finishing line already).

Yet, my concern is not with the referee. It was a bit too late for him to revise his decision and he did not want to embark on a procedure with no actual precedent and with the possibility of a Pandora's box unravelling before the eyes of the world. I am not blaming the FIFA officials who supervised the game – they did not want to start a precedent with unpredictable consequences either. After all it was they who were digging their heels in, opposing any ideas of introducing TV replays and a television official in football as has been common practice in both cricket and rugby union for a considerable length of time now. My concern is about the unique chance blown by the German football players who could have made history and, possibly, would have changed the world of this popular sport forever. I would like to adopt Plutarch’s parallel mode in clarifying my point: cricket versus football.

It was during an epic international test cricket mach between the West Indies and England - the kind of clash which offers ample opportunities for a brilliant player to shine - that a certain talented member of the West Indies’ team (one Brian Charles Lara) single-handedly destroyed the opposition. Well, not exactly single-handedly - he was using both hands whilst batting. At the end of the game, the English cricketers lined up in a guard of honour to demonstrate their great respect and admiration to this single opponent who brought about in such a spectacular and memorable way a magnificent victory for his side.

Against the backdrop of the above, I would like to super-impose the German football players who are paid more per week than a professional cricket player grosses in a year. Their names are all over major brands' billboards. These men are worshipped by millions of fanatics who would go to unfathomable lengths to catch a glimpse of the celebrities' aura. Yet the German footballers' class of 2010 does not appear to love football as a sport for if it did then the natural reaction to the travesty of justice perpetrated upon Fabio Capello's England should have been as follows:

The German team heads for its changing-room at half-time, discusses what took place on the field of play and agrees that the officials will not take any action. Thus there is a risk that the whole game would be compromised. The Germans then decide to take the matter in their own hands. As the teams return to the arena and the match official resumes proceedings, the Germans take possession of the ball, then they kick it into touch. They then line up together, goalkeeper included, and give a sign to the English players to quickly score a goal in order for the match to continue without the burden of the referee’s earlier appalling decision. There is nothing in the rules of football which stipulates against such action so the referee would have had no other option but to award the goal to England. Had this happened, the benefits would have been far-reaching:

1. The whole world would have hailed the gallant German sportsmen
2. The football hooligans would have been moved. Maybe they would have realised that smashing furniture, shop-windows and each other's heads is not the ideal way to show the world how much they love the game of football
3. Millions of young children would want to excel in football and not only be motivated by financial incentives
4. In the spirit of the classic English adage “It's just not cricket” one would be right to say "It's just not football”.

For the first time in my life (I am 64 now), I wish I were a player who had made it to the top and was in the German starting eleven in Bloemfontein on June 27, 2010 when a stunning opportunity to change football and in a way the whole world would have stared me in the face. The German footballers blew that once-in-a-blue moon chance to pieces.

"Not to be Done by Man-Made Epidemics of Shame… We Vote for What is Beautiful!" [2002] by Sir Steven Ilchev

Not to be Done by Man-Made Epidemics of Shame…

We Vote for What is Beautiful!

{Steven Ilchev, 2002}


============================
'When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high and don't

Be afraid' {Hammerstein}


To Holly Wells, Jessica Chapman and Milly Dowler
=============================



Thinking you could sort of railroad young

And aggrieve the weepin' old, well you

Done it but not annihilated the spirit of simple innocence,

O Soul-tumbled cowards flying higher now!


Lowest be your heads when you look yourselves

In lakes marbled in the honest tears of those beautiful

Unforgettable children of ours whose lives were

Not led in vain… they enriched our scopes with the playful

Golden grain… zooming in their mica-silver eyes, unstained


No, they didn't play in vain… three bright children

Whose tender hearts belonged to sweetness so alive and independent

A glory-hound madman couldn't thwart, not even with a blasted sword -

Dishonourable in these infanticide epidemic stains of giant shame


You swiped their looks out of here but not their magic touch

With moments that pass we believe in the salvation of this crippled world,

Crippled by Grim Reapers so worldly they settle on our doorstep, they turtle

Along but their time will be dressed in tatters for we ain't gonna be done

By man's epidemics of shame… we opt to vote for what is

Plain beautiful… this day, the next and beyond!


Three lovely girls, you touched the world's collective heartbeat gong

Symbolizing passion for nonchalance in childhood's perfect garden

And the sweet song of carefree laughter will tinkle all around as that

Lovely affectionate mum-and-dad hug will always live on for you


Cowards… you may be almost-takers, successful in your echoing

Sickness-mind-motivated bells of shallow glory but our

Girls will not be goners ever, for we shan't forget them

In our album of beloved thoughts and as we snub your epidemic, vile

You'll be the sorry sight that lies awoken in forgotten mud

So faraway indeed it wouldn't matter…


O, I will ask our shattered, wounded world to hold the

Human hand, to bring it ever closer to our children's

Hearts and minds and let me lead this kiss that sets

The feelings free… the feelings of compassion

So needed in these catastrophic times… believe!


I kiss you, children… will you kiss them with me too?

Of course you will! You are all so lovely and living can really be

A conglomeration of unchained splendour, tearful

And laughter-pampered


Today I let out my tears, my worn-out muscles

Flexing to save the most beautiful particles

Of us we've opted to vote for! Will you cry

With me, then? Will you let cry with me and

Not feel the least bit ashamed?

"The Lovecore of Forever's Knots of Exaltation" [2002] by Sir Steven Ilchev

The Lovecore of Forever's Knots of Exaltation

/Steven Ilchev, 2002/

Where is your morning's smile? -

Here in my mirrored sight;

Where is the crazy twinkle in your

flaming eyes that pearl like glowing

particles in the sesame dark of old? -

Here in my mirrored sight, oh precious love!

Yet newness is forever circled

in the fire of gypsy fortune-tellers

by the river-sand of swampy turfs

begotten in the platinum seed of gold

My passion slots in for your mercy within

the grinning butterflies of the prawns' thinking's host;

terrible is all my swerving wording

marvellous is your appealing portrait -

a hushed noise of dramatic expectation

Trembling wiring of jilted telepathy -

where is my leek of words? -

zombie muttering of pillows squatting

and togetherness in shallow ponds

I want to swim with your profile of wine's

tasty expression on your lips... and the caramel on your body

will shiver on my grated hands as I ponder on midnight's

wonders while the songs erase my brain control and I

dive unto your wagon of sensual electric cores

Love will manifest its flute's companion when I swell

my loving spree for you to feel in heady heaven

in heady heaven we shall spring...enhancing the pine cones of

our love's epitome when I feel you close to me

clinging to your cushy shoulder 'til I surrender to you, free

I wish to swim and please your profile's winery

of the honey-melting rock sensation

that bodies paint upon the caramel

of shadowed couches whereupon the midnight song

Stimulates my brain control and erases all my reasoning

for I give you my electric cores of shrubby love -

love bushier than ghastly density; bushier than the bush-war of

fatalistic words, sobering up before the wine glass' trumpeting

that cries for more and more... and more!

"Splendour Never Escapes" [2004] by Sir Steven Ilchev

Splendour Never Escapes

/Steven Ilchev, 2004/


=========================================
To the legend of anything and everything legendary and beyond,

The real-life statue of humane interaction breathing from within

And radiating ever so gently from without – the most unselfish

Character in a film called My Life Alive and Kicking,

My creative, inspirational and never deprived of worldly wisdom

Mum… Mums, you are an example of unsurpassed splendour

That simply can't ever escape… don't you dare forget it!
=========================================



Feel the poignant sunshine radiating from within the green,

green grass of goodness as you walk upon a lawn

that belies the power of the soil crumbling underneath

your feet as you galvanise every bit of yourself!



Poetry in sliding motion through mountain rivers

cascading towards your unspoilt dreamy eyes like

manoeuvring opalescent dribblers of a game so beautiful

it becomes us



The game of natural splendour questionnaires

you and the green lawn, the emancipated trees...

and the wistful music of hedgerows stretching

for many an unforseen mile...



Splendour never escapes... not when it comes from your

loving self… not when it redefines the immense gentle

strength man could've never learned from anywhere else

but from the versatile you...



Mum, you are a legend in your own right and splendour

never escapes me because of that!



======================================
From your son who terrorises words and language but in a sweet,
sometimes idiotic kind of way, to you, the mum of all mums...

"Pyre" (1994) by Steven Ilchev

Pyre

/Steven Ilchev, 1994/

I seem to have become an old man so aged,

I feel I ought to die for the good of all the nations

And the catchers in the rye

Through all the years that I ploughed I wept

My only sweet desire to be 'lone in cowardice

And extinguish on the pyre

For the pyre seethes with ire and the crops are

Growing free, Apollo plays the mournful lyre

With commitment to the beast

I wrote of days of effervescence; I wreathed them

In a head and chilled them in an icy letter to a

Hedgehog of another Earth;

For whom my lips were dry

For the pyre seethes with ire and the crops are

Growing free, Apollo plays the mournful lyre

With commitment to the beast

With time the rivage is beclouded from my vision

And I begin to fall apart

It seems I have been always near

A pillow of the opaque sleep

For the pyre seethes with ire and the crops are

Growing free, I am committed to the lyre

In wanton feelings to expire!

"Mystic Cyclone Squiggling Interlude" (2002) by Steven Ilchev

Mystic Cyclone Squiggling Interlude

{Steven Ilchev, 2002}

===============================

To a beautiful lady with loving,ceaselessly romantic thoughts and fantasies this festive season

Wish you were here, my love, cuddling my life's

figurine with immortalising passion and bathing in maroon bubbly

with me by the outdoor amber fire

which keeps playing colourful viola blues of idyllic intimacy never before played.

Merry Christmas, my glowing Mermaid. I, thy protective

unicorn love and cherish you and will never ever leave you!!!

==================================

Tenderness…

'Tis what my hands crave when I spread them

Far and wide, when I want you every glimpse of

A quiet maroon moment vilifying placid

Seas like a restless, frenzied speedboat

Bellowing for dramatic love

To express itself in film

Film…

'Tis ours in the making and nestled in an

Evergreen pine-tree wherein an affectionate flute breathes out

The breathing-in of a sweltering love's breath you breathe upon me

Through precious words of magic and everlasting festive smiles

Blowing through a mystic cyclone leading us to

Merry palaces of secret feelings so inner and clear

So inner and clear…

To the eyes of a boomerang lovestorm of festive cheer so tingly and dear

For when I think of you and me, guitar-strummed in silent moments of that unstoppable forever's busy intersections of trafficking desire, I'm enthralled…

For I see you and I could see nothing else but your winter season's glow

Tunefully coloured in shades of summer's ballet spring step of

Autumnal painting motifs,

How wonderful you are, my flame-wooing darling mermaid of crystal Music sheets leaning through the ice-skating squiggling

Interlude at our private Solstice park

Our private Solstice park…

With binding chords of intermittent

Viola blues of idyllic intimacy never before played

My hand twists like a braided tree branch through

The crown of your smooth pianist's fingers and can't

Let go… ever

Not ever…

As we waltz through the mystic cyclone squiggling interlude

Amidst warm oceans' whales and silvern alps united

Through our Wiccan pledge to love and honour one another

And Nature's gifts adorned on all mankind and wildlife

Oh, wildlife of beauty inexplicably powerful…

The spontaneity of being joyous lovers in jacuzzi-astral allegretto

Selflessness while the season's white viola squiggles the

Simmering air of soul-soothing stripping exchanges of emotive

Sugar scenes creamingly plated, vineyards elated…

Film…

'Tis ours in the making and nestled in

A forest's firewood's philosophical message screened through

The breathing-in of a sweltering love's breath you breathe upon me

Through monkey-wrenching cherry-juice tears of amazingly gorgeous Inviting words of intimate viola themes and everlasting festive smooches

Blowing through a mystic cyclone leading us to

Floating palaces of secret feelings so dizzy in gear

Clearer than the planet's Christmas trees in blinding union.

***

May my little effort of presenting my undying

Love and adoration to you through the above verse this jolly season

Immerse itself into your nucleus of sensitivity with the degree of elegance

You have bubbled through my life for a few years now.

I fall in love with you more and more each day and I cannot

Wait to take you in my arms and show you

Just how much you make me want to live

And give you a life of continuous unrelenting

Thrill, gallantry, unconditional support,

And fearless unrestricted sensuality

.

My blood vessels, muscles, brain sands, and skin's

Webbings will feel your charisma ever so strongly this Christmas and beyond.

I hope they touch you in the same manner you keep touching me

Every single day of my life.

All my slow heated kisses, most sensual lady xxx

"Of Whitby Swelterpassion" /2003/ by Steven Ilchev

Of Whitby Swelterpassion

/Steven Ilchev, 2003/

--------------------------------------------------------
To an incredibly beautiful lady and the magical North Yorkshire village we were so blessed to roam through with symphonic heartbeats, under summer's scorching spell and Dracula's scintillating eerie grin
------------------------------------------------------


Meet the dame of swelterpassion
swing a tear of delight
while the scintillating prism-vision
beaches are vampirically bright

Meet the dame, breathe no longer
conventionality is thrust aside
as free-falling into magnetism
cannot be historically trite!

Whitby is within me,
my ghoulish goosebumps tell a tale
of listening to Dracula chanting
as the dame grips me
and her touch just never flails...
amid hot amorou-airborne sailing!

I free-fell again and again
still free-falling as I speak,
I countenance those Whitby moments
zooming forever more,
my grotesque mind will ne'er leak

Ne'er again, tis solid now
and climbing those two-hundred steps
or so to the hillways of our
kissways and that euphoric murmur:

"Oh, blist'ring summergaze... Oh, Whitby!"

"One Dead God" by Steven Ilchev /1992/

ONE DEAD GOD

/STEVEN ILCHEV, 1992/

**********************************************

Ever since Julius Caesar was stabbed in the back

Our dastardly world has never quite been on the

Right track

Reading Romeo and Juliet spells glory in my ears

As I imbibe them tasty, life-like bitter

Tears

Oh, Romeo and Juliet you converse with each other

Churning out words so expressive and

Pure

My geriatric soul is forever enthralled by it all

That my sight can conceive of

No cure

Damn! I'm driven like a humanly-inept animal out

Of my narrow-fisted mind treading through forests

Boasting an almighty green lawn

With unfounded brutality, though I strike

A tender match and put paid to the rotten bod

Of a lost ghostly gibbon

Then I drop like a writer's ink, so

Very senselessly thrown into the

Imposing abyss of the perilous unknown

Damn! I do, I feel forevermore the trendy, heavy boots of

Somebody who's a total drone; his voice hits me for a six:

"Dear Man, decaying lethargically is this sinful human bone!"

Oh, oh… I reckoned I was in contact with some golden ray

But how it turned out it was the reflection of my artificially decorated

Shiny o so shiny dismay

This man, this man has hidden our happy days, who is he…?

He comes to heal, to preach, to lift your soggy figure from

The heartache knitted to the perils of your mire, the forbidden pearls they are…

Who is he? One dead and deader god of the doleful tone

He conjures up something or other, gesticulates to the

distantly distant phantasm, his ire is incessant

His tongue is so entreating: "Why don't we

Pray? Why don't we merely pray for praying's

Sake?"

Who the dickens is he and are we of our own selves

Or of the sky of the Universal overthrow,

Are we of our own selves, my brothers and sisters?

Do we, do we live in a phantasmagoric environment,

Yes we do and yes we do and how we do it is

A mystery but the point is that we do

Who the dickens is this man? Who is he?

He conjures up something or other, that much

Even your granny could ascertain

His magic has outlived the ages or the mind of human pages –

To heal, to preach, to lift you up, lifting you high

And dry, amen!

A god so irreproachable with a doleful tone

He gives advice, advice he gives,

Betimes – and that's his style, his trendy style

One god, just one in a charnel

One god, just one in chastisement,

One god who made us for his ardour

A god in a dusky water, one dead

Hackneyed resolution; one man of iniquity

Iniquity, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes

One dead god, one god deader and deader each day,

Each happy day that smiles

upon us

One dead god who sojourns somehow beside his

Patricidally-inclined audience,

One dead god for our common bedpost.