Throwback Friday, In the Full Moon’s Afterglow


It’ll be a full moon tomorrow, and appropriately, my Throwback Friday is a full moon poem, which I wrote in May 2024.
Please note that all attached images were taken by me late this afternoon (Thursday).



In the Full Moon’s Afterglow

My world’s worn-out words flow
From the torn sunflower meadows
To the silent streets of Moscow
Written on the hills of Dnipro in blue-line lingo
Beyond the reach of the full moon’s afterglow
And painted in lyrical tempo with hypnotic gusto

Am I to be another muted scarecrow
Mutilated by the warlords’ errant crossbows





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Until Eyes Hear Sound

Lulu Books >>  Until Eyes Hear Sound (lulu.com)



Perceptions:

Amazon >>  Perceptions : Steven, Ivor, Knight, Derrick: Amazon.com.au: Books
Lulu Books >>  Perceptions (lulu.com)



Tullawalla:

Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books


OR: >> You may email me directly for a signed copy at
ivorrs20@gmail.com


Ivor Steven © May 2025

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ivor20

G'day, and welcome to my blog site. My name is Ivor Steven, I live in Geelong, Australia. I'm an ex-industrial chemist, and a retired plumber, and a former Carer of my wife(Carole), for 30 years, who suffered from severe MS. I Write poetry about those personal thoughts, throughout and beyond my life as a Carer. I've been blogging for over 2 years, and writing poems for 19 years. Of course a lot of my poems are about my favourite subject Carole, but since I've been blogging my writings have become quite varied, humourous, mystical, observational, and even a few monster/horror poems.

19 thoughts on “Throwback Friday, In the Full Moon’s Afterglow”

    1. Yes, it was very unusual for there to be no wind at 3.30 in the afternoon here on Corio Bay, especially in winter 🌖. The moonrise over the calm waters of the bay looked wonderful …

      Liked by 2 people

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  5. Gorgeous photos/views…and Frankie makes them even more beautiful and alive with peace! 🙂 Such calm, safe, and serene images…the opposite of the war(s).
    Powerful heart-touching poem, Ivor! It makes my heart sigh and my eyes cry. I especially weep for the children.
    Such an inspiring gives-me-hope song by Sivert Høyem.
    (((HUGS))) ❤️🌻 ❤️🌻 ❤️
    PS…we need more “scarecrows” in this world…unselfish men and women who stand strong, care about the protection of others, have a connection to nature, strength, and humble wisdom attained from observation, compassion, and resilience. Ivor, please keep sharing your thoughts, wisdom, compassion, challenging of others to be compassionate, etc., through your powerful poems. We need you and we need your poems! 🙂

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    1. Thank you for your outstanding summation of my metaphorical poem, Carolyn … Scarecrows are incredible artifacts, here’s a few lines from Robert Okaji’s magnificent poem “Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome”

      “Even my voice lies stranded in the refuse, silent yet harmonious, clear yet strangled, whole and unheard, dispersed, like tiny drops of vapor listing above the ocean’s swell, enduring gray skies and gulls and those solemn reefs bearing their weight against the white crush. Why do I persist? What tethers a shadow to its body? How do hear we by implication what isn’t there? …
      … What I sing is not heard but implied: the high lonesome, blue and old-time, repealed. Crushed limestone underfoot. Stolen, borrowed sounds. Dark phrases subsumed by light, yellowed, faded to obscurity, to obscenity. – – – –
      From Robert Okaji’s Chapbook, “Scarecrow Sees”

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  6. A metaphorical masterpiece, Ivor. Most likely, muted scarecrows can reveal many secrets if anyone listens. Your photos are stunning, and of course Sir Frankie is the star of the show. 💖💫

    Liked by 3 people

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    1. Oh, that Frankie he’s a photo ‘bomber’ …. and here’s some amazing words about scarecrows, from Robert Okaji’s magnificent poem “Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome”

      “Even my voice lies stranded in the refuse, silent yet harmonious, clear yet strangled, whole and unheard, dispersed, like tiny drops of vapor listing above the ocean’s swell, enduring gray skies and gulls and those solemn reefs bearing their weight against the white crush. Why do I persist? What tethers a shadow to its body? How do hear we by implication what isn’t there? …
      … What I sing is not heard but implied: the high lonesome, blue and old-time, repealed. Crushed limestone underfoot. Stolen, borrowed sounds. Dark phrases subsumed by light, yellowed, faded to obscurity, to obscenity. – – – –
      From Robert Okaji’s Chapbook, “Scarecrow Sees”

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

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