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.
Our massive May Arts Festival is on “This Friday” from 5 pm to 9pm and Saturday from 11 am to 4 pm!
Join us for a two-day festival celebrating art, music, books, clothing, and more as we transform Centrepoint Arcade into a vibrant hub of creativity. With a bustling makers market, interactive workshops, and live music.
Creative Geelong’s May’d Festival is the perfect place to discover unique creations and a great opportunity to connect with fellow makers and creatives. This year is the fifth iteration of the May’d Festival and will showcase over 40 Creative Geelong Members.
The 2025 Event is supported by the City of Greater Geelong Events Grant program.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Dusty Photos”is in this week’s edition. … To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/dusty-photos/
A swift little fantail, or flashy wattlebird A trusty magpie, or even a hardy crow I’m not overly fussy or bossy
Actually, Air New Zealand Was my preferred choice Four hours to Auckland Thirteen hours to Vancouver Then a short trip to the Island’s Victoria Airport
My hometown, Geelong Is in the State of Victoria (Australia) And here I am flying to Canada Then, finishing up in Victoria
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Silhouette. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >>HERE I have not mentioned the word ‘Silhouette in my poem, but after sunset, the sky is covered in colourfull ‘silhouettes’.
The Horizon’s Encore (a Tank)
Half an hour after The sun’s disappearing act The horizon’s lights Refused to exit the stage When Twilight called out for more
This morning I had a dream. About flying north toward the sun and travelling beyond the Rocky Mountains, trees
On my way there, I dropped in to say hello to the moon And I asked the moon. “How do you cope when waning to that crescent shape?”
The moon smiled and wryly replied “Do not worry, my friend. It’s a crazy phase I’m going through.”
Amble – The Boy Who Flew Away Lyrics:
I’m standing staring at my feet I can feel the eyes on me Is that the boy who flew away I wonder, is he free I wonder, is he free
One will courage a handshake and smile And say ‘oh boy, it’s been a while’ Cheeks will turn, my ears will burn I’ll say ‘oh boy, it’s been a while’
Maybe flying was never my plan To leave and return an older man Have you ever thought You pushed me away I’m home now, with no place to stay I’m home now, with no place to stay
Luke talks about lost and found Maybe he meant found and lost On Sunday eve, we’ll kill a calf And deal with the family frost And deal with the family frost
Luck will fall and ice will thaw For the boy who drew the long straw Bridges mend, and time is your friend And home now will be Lán le Grá And home now will be Lán le Grá
Maybe flying was never my plan To leave and return and older man Have you ever thought You pushed me away I’m home now, with no place to stay I’m home now, with no place to stay
I’m standing staring at my feet I can feel the eyes on me I’m the boy who flew away The boy who’s longer free
Today’s Throwback Friday Poem is from July 2020, during the middle of the ‘Covid Era’, but I think my words could now be applied to the ‘Trump Era’
What Is Normal, My Son?
Breakfast and a hot cuppa Under my cosy verandah As per normal, if it’s not too chilly And I’m having my normal courtyard chat With my friends, Phillip the penguin And the wise old owl, Oscar We’re talking about the future Whether life will ever be normal again
Oscar quietly hoots “What is normal, my son?” Little Phillip chirped in “Normal is a state of mind A comfort zone in time Like swimming in the deep blue sea every day.” Oscar agreed with Phillip “Normal’s been perched in the same tree every night.” Oscar and Phillip grinned and nodded at each other And I listened and pondered
Smiling at my two furry companions I added, “Our old normal won’t be normal anymore.” Oscar’s brows lowered, and he said “As per normal these days We shall patiently try to adapt, then wait and see What colour will the new normal turn out to be Black, white, or green like the trees Maybe the striped yellow of our life-giving bees”
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 