An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart
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.
A gentle twilight settled over yesterday’s sky, its fading colours echoing the soft hush of evening. This poem grew from that quiet moment — a lingering farewell woven through the last light of day.
Echoes Of Goodbye
Daylight is on the soft edge of night. Today’s sentinel sun has wistfully said goodbye to the world’s indigenous blue sky.
Twilight time melodramatically commandeers earth’s chromatic horizon.
I stand here, amazed and wondering how do I explain these encircling, empyreal surroundings to the echoes of our final goodbye.
A final whisper of twilight, carried forward in song.
The day began with a rosy glow, the kind of gentle morning that seems to lean forward and welcome you in. Chrome‑tinted clouds drifted apart, the wattlebirds stirred their songs, and a brightening sky offered a quiet rainbow as a good‑luck sign. With nature setting such a hopeful tone, it felt only fitting that the Market followed suit — a day of kind faces, steady conversations, and a humble sense of things going right.
A Blue Sky Rainbow
Early Saturday morning and we are out walking before heading off to the Market
Dawn’s chrome clouds are clearing the wakening wattlebirds are warbling and serendipitously there’s a rainbow in the sky blithely waving hello and goodbye
Nature’s welcoming signs are favourable and on this cozy, rosy day, hopefully, Ivor’s Poetry Book display will become humbly profitable
As the sky brightened, the music rose with it, and even the morning’s rainbow seemed to hum along.
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,“Odd Extremes,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> Odd Extremes – Coffee House Writers
Beneath this softened hilltop haze, the sun’s stolen streams slip through the sky’s seams — a quiet prelude to Odd Extremes.
And as these stolen sun‑streams slip through the sky’s seams, this song rises like the world remembering its own extremes.
The beams that climbed through last night’s clouds left their mark — a quiet moment held in a soft, rising glow that lingered long enough to shape today’s bohemian rhyme.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend Challenge word is Moment/s. To visit their fabulous site please click >> Here.
My Sign Is On The Climb
Life’s arduous and continuous incline has me staggering beyond my prime. Here, balancing between the sublime and the interior of twilight time, where the pearlised skyline’s radiant beams are on the climb.
Perhaps I missed tonight’s assuring sign while writing this bohemian rhyme, and I didn’t see the clouds talking in mime while being bedazzled by nature’s pantomime.
And as the sky’s glow drifts upward, today’s rhyme now meets this unforgettable anthem.
“Loose Gold Nooses” — a collage creation by Ivor, blending a silhouetted bird in flight with a golden sunrise, echoing the haiku’s quiet tension and beauty.
Loose Gold Nooses (a Senryu)
There are excuses For being tied in nooses Of thin gold feathers
Let the final song unwind the day’s knots, where the gold loosens, the nooses fall away, and the night opens its hands.
A year ago, during a visit with my Canadian cousins, I left Vancouver Island for Edmonton and met my Alberta cousin in the small town of Wainwright. Soon after, we set off on a three‑day road trip back to the island, travelling through Jasper and the towering Rocky Mountains — a journey carved into memory.
A Picnic in the Rocky’s
Leaving Salmon Arm
On the outskirts of Vancouver, heading towards the Ferry
The ferry from Vancouver to Sidney (Vancouver Island)
From the Mountains to the Sea
I am gradually drifting down, From out of the mountains’ smoky shroud, Toward the seaside playground, To rejoin a welcoming crowd.
Where, around the magical island, There will be more stories unfold, As time quickly filters through my hand; But these precious moments will be all molded Into poetic lines, written in charcoal and gold.
My Canadian cousins pointed me toward this Great Big Sea classic — a spirited companion for any journey drifting from mountains to shoreline.
It’s Market Day this Saturday from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. * Our popular monthly markets are all undercover at Centrepoint Arcade on the third Saturday of every month. * They feature art, unique goods from local makers, second-hand goods, plants, books, and more. * There are also open art studios, Yesterday Vintage, Untether Gallery, and the May’d Shop.
All at, Centrepoint Arcade 132 Little Malop St, Geelong From 10 am to 3 pm
And I’ll be there with ‘Frankie’ and my “New Bookstall Set-up“
Let the quiet magic of Sigur Rós guide you toward a Saturday filled with makers, music, and friendly faces.
Nancy’s “Feeding Time” post from last week sparked this limerick. A stray comment of mine turned into a tiny blues riff about Billy, the old goat who can’t keep out of trouble. Nancy >> Feeding Time – The Elephant’s Trunk
Old Goat Blues (a Limerick)
Billy the silly old goat Instead of his wild oats He ate the old leathery shoes Now he needs a glass of booze To clear his sole full throat
And because Nancy’s goat set this whole thing in motion, here’s a porch‑blues groove with just enough swagger to keep his hooves tapping.
As twilight settles across the shelves, Steve pauses for thought atop his old bookcase…
Steve the Snail’s Bookcase
I’m sitting in a secret place on top of this old bookcase — I’m not a nutcase, but wistfully wondering about that space between the sun’s twilight zone and the world’s traversing horizon.
Is that the mysterious place beyond third base, the dark coalface, that I’m yet to embrace — my final footrace?
But wait — before I vanish into space without a trace, I need to don my carapace and tighten these slivery bootlaces.
Steve’s gentle reminder drifts in: put your hat and shoes on, and enjoy life while you’re able.
As Steve settles into the hush of twilight, this song drifts in beside him…
