Author: 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.

Memory Lane

A quiet moment in the grass this morning — just me, my camera, and a lone mushroom in the light to guide me down memory lane — a soft umbrella for tired legs and fading recollections. This poem is the path I followed beneath its shelter.

I don’t often do this, but before the poem, I’ve added a song that’s always offered me a quiet kind of shelter. Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm feels like the right companion for this morning’s walk and the memories that followed.

Memory Lane

I’m slowly drifting back
along a familiar winding track.

My old legs feel like used lard —
I can’t travel another yard;
the climb has been long and hard.

Please, can you give me shelter
here, under your mushroom’s umbrella?

Let my weariness rest for a few moments
while my memory lane’s missing residents
struggle to recall who’s the President.

And as the day drifts on, this song carries my missing dreams down along memory lane.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Below the Coconut Palms

In the cool, silvery hush between daytime calm and midnight cloud‑glow, tonight’s full moon drifts above, coinciding with the poem’s own shifting rhythms below.

Below the Coconut Palms

The world’s a sphere of disparity,
like the incongruity
between the becalmed daytime moon
and the shiny orb’s cloudy midnight party —
savouring dark-side ice cream with a silver spoon
and sipping on milky star-dust until noon.

While down here on planet Earth,
between Perth and Fort Worth,
I perceive nothing is calm
below the empty coconut palms.

Where wanderlust meets wonder — let this song carry you to the far places your heart remembers.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

Nancy’s, Lai “Singed” challenged me to try the form myself. I’d never written a Lai before, but her poem inspired this first attempt — a small reply shaped from her spark.
Nancy: Singed – The Elephant’s Trunk

A traditional lai is a short French poetic form built on a pattern of nine lines, arranged in three stanzas. Each stanza follows this structure:

Lines 1–2: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 3: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 4–5: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 6: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 7–8: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 9: 2 syllables, repeated refrain

The rhyme scheme is: a a b / a a b / a a b

The refrain (“truth hurts”) repeats at the end of each stanza, giving the lai its heartbeat.

And for Sadje’s WDYS >> What do you see # 347- 29 June, 2026 – Keep it alive

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

I’m an awkward dill
with a broken quill —
truth hurts.

I don’t swallow krill,
nor kill for the thrill —
truth hurts.

I can’t light the grill,
my flame has no will —
truth hurts.

From fog to fire – a quiet truth above, a wild awakening below

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Behold

Feature Image Above: A pale, gold sun, a held breath, a path unfolding —and a quiet truth still finds its way through.

Early yesterday morning, I read Gigi’s fierce and tender poem, and something in her words stirred an old ache of my own. What began as a quick response grew into this small reckoning — a quiet look at age, longing, and the goals that slip beyond our grasp.

Gigi >> FYI… | Rethinking Life

Behold

As I grow old
the heart goes cold,
so I am told.

I’ve never been bold,
nor has life been gold.
Dreams remain deep in my soul —
and now, as the mind unfolds,
they’re my only stronghold.

I’m yet to be paroled,
and the resolve of my goal
has been lost and sold.

And so I leave these lines here, drifting toward Cohen’s voice, where the narrowing of life becomes its own kind of truth.

Ivor Steven © June 2026

The Impending Implosion

This afternoon’s quiet wait at the café, with Violet’s poem still echoing in my thoughts, stirred a darker reflection beneath the softening sky. These images and lines emerged as the light shifted and the world felt both beautiful and fragile.

Violet’s thoughtful little poem was the spark that set these lines in motion.
Violet >> Nibbles | Thru Violet’s Lentz

The Impending Implosion

Corruption and corrosion
Decimating nature’s frontlines
Ongoing repetitive ugly explosions
Nagging away at the senses of mankind
Ultimately, there’ll be a cataclysmic implosion

And in the hush between notes, the world feels both fragile and fiercely alive.

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Four Short Poems

I am extremely proud and humbled by the acceptance of four of my poems by the amazing Susi Bocks, Editor‑in‑Chief at The Short of It. They are “hot off the press” and released for publication today.

A sky full of turning light — a fitting doorway into my four poems published today on The Short of It.
>> Ivor Steven – I Write Her

Jeremy Thomas – Unsplash.com

Two quiet moments from my own walks — small reminders of how light and flight keep finding their way into my words.

Ivor Steven

PUBLISHED ON June 26, 2026

Scaling Time

Beyond time
Is there another world to find?
When time returns
Will there be a different mountain to climb?

Inside out

Fortresses and walls.
Inside, we cringe and crawl.

Outside, we see only winter and fall.
Beyond the bricks -who heeds our call?

The Writers

Tired eyes lose sight
Ink flows at night

But still they write
Ink becomes their light

A Moment In Time

Between the descending sun,
And the hessian horizon,
There is a shimmering twilight zone —
Instinctively waiting at the bottom
Of the doorway’s causeway,
For that designated time
When every definitive moment
Emerges into a second.

And now, let the light carry these moments a little further — inside it all, the music finds the same quiet pulse that shaped these poems

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Throwback Friday, Lost In Space

Penned in June 2020, now relaunched for Throwback Friday — a flight through memory and space, chasing love through the stars.

Two glimpses of flight — the bird and the moon — guiding the way toward her celestial star.

Lost In Space (Revised)

I’m leaving this land of lost grace
And flying off into space
It’s time to run away
My aircraft, Itmims, is leaving today

Love is a stowaway in the heart
And love needs a head start
Somewhere in this universe
There’s love waiting in her celestial purse

Let the music drift with you into the long dark, where love still finds its way.

Ivor Steven © June 2026

A Flash in the Pan

Postcards and Poetry at the Old Courthouse Museum, Drysdale

There was a lovely hum in the air last Sunday — the kind that only gathers when people arrive ready to listen, ready to be moved. The little courthouse filled quickly, every seat taken, every face turned toward the poets and the artifacts that inspired them.

During the breaks, harpist Nin drifted gentle notes through the old timber room, her music settling over us like sunlight through stained glass.

And then came the readings.

Postcards and Poetry at the Old Courthouse Museum, Drysdale.

The very appreciative audience filled the little courthouse.

During the breaks, we were entertained by harpist, Nin.

There I was — Ivor in the witness box — sharing my two poems, “Drumsticks” and “Dear, Danny,” written especially for the museum’s stories and shadows. (They’re attached below for anyone who’d like to read them.)

And as the afternoon’s echoes fade, let the music rest where the poems left off — quiet, steady, and full of heart.

No Connection, or Seven Rhyming Couplets

Still offline, still smiling. While the internet takes its sweet time returning, I’ve tapped out a whimsical little poem on my tiny iPhone screen — a lighthearted look at my ongoing battle with the great digital void. Hope it brings a grin.

And fittingly, as this article goes live, I’m pleased to announce that my internet connection has finally returned.

No Connection, or Seven Rhyming Couplets

I’m in isolation;
I have no internet connection.

Now falling beyond day five,
without my writer’s bee hive.

ISP could not solve the problem –
oh, what a sad conundrum

There’s a frog and toad
on the outside pole’s naughty node.

Linesmen, trucks, and ladders are required;
I’m frustrated, tired, and uninspired.

Might be fixed in another 48 hours …
plenty of time to pluck more moonflowers.

Now climbing into day seven,
I’m sailing up the internet’s stairway to heaven.

And now, with the moon back in view and the wires behaving, here’s the song that carried me through.

Coffee House Writers Magazine features my new poem, “Living in the Shade.”

Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem, “Living in the Shade,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.

>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/living-in-the-shade/

This week’s piece was shaped quietly at my café table, with late‑day light drifting across the floor and Portugal. The Man’s live performance of “Shade” echoing through my headphones — a fitting companion for a poem about those left waiting in the dimmer corners of our world.

Let this song cast its own soft light across the shadows we carry.