A lone bird lifts through the rain‑softened morning, above the crowd as they gather beneath a brooding Easter sky.
Dizzy Heights
Below the drizzly clouds,
the bamboozled
and grizzly crowd
gather together
beneath a holy shroud.
where silent voices
unitedly become loud.
Beyond the occasion
of being allowed —
will the songs still sound
strong and proud.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
On this quiet Easter morning, I’m sharing a poem shaped from small conversations and long-held echoes — a few stones rolled aside to let a little light through.
This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:
1. Violet: The Long View | Thru Violet’s Lentz
2. David: Lockjaw, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
3. Violet: A New Day | Thru Violet’s Lentz
4. David: In the Navy, or: A passage problem – The Skeptic’s Kaddish
5. Beth: lights shining. | I didn’t have my glasses on….
Roll Away the Stone
History is horrific;
life today is tragic;
the future wears yesterday’s fabric.
Bad seeds
produce sour feeds;
poet’s quill bleeds
and mortally needs
a chalice of mead.
Sometimes a new day
begins before tomorrow,
and sometimes tomorrow
just colours you in.
With red sand between my toes,
I would walk on water
to save the world’s woes.
Look beyond the desert
that divides our bones.
May the Light illuminate all pathways
that eventually intertwine
on sacred stones.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
FREE PDF COPY >>> Links Below
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you may know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at #31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead.
However, the booklet format is a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce, and as the saying goes, “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La”, the name of my little Villa, and it is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”.
I now have “2295” Poems filed in these booklet formats!!
(On my bookshelf, I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
“Like all my booklets, this one is here to be read at your leisure — no rush, no expectation, just an open page waiting when you are.”
Click > HERE. for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of “Shangri La, Volume 19, Leftover Heirlooms.”
OR … Shangri La, Volume 19, Leftover Heirlooms.pdf
Leftover Heirlooms
I’m roaming around
the inner zone of Shadowland,
the heart of twilight’s middle ground.
Inquiringly peering down
upon the sun’s retiring nightgown.
Above her hessian costume,
the fading crescent moon
is also descending into the world’s bedroom.
Again, I am an abandoned groom
from life’s fragmented honeymoon,
here clutching nostalgia’s leftover heirlooms.
Here, at the water’s edge, we let the last of the day slip quietly from our hands.
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Until Eyes Hear Sound
Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
On this Good Friday morning, a lone bird drifts beneath the sun — a small, steady shape moving through a world that still carries its wounds. Watching it, I felt the familiar pull of memory, the long years of care, love, and quiet endurance that shaped my life. This Tanka rose from that moment, from that tear in the sky, and the music below holds the same fragile ache — a home built from devotion, loss, and the tenderness that remains.
Not Good, But I’m Ok (a Tanka)
I fly beneath you
On this Good Friday morning,
And I spy a tear
In the corner of your eye —
Is our World a sinful stye?
Ivor Steven © April 2026
In keeping with this week’s ‘Anti-war’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in June 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
And I Wonder Why
On a windless winter morn
I am walking beside the waveless bay
Watching the white wispy clouds
Wandering above the whispering trees
And I am wondering why
Our worried and weeping world
Wantonly wastes time
On unworthy and wearisome wars
“Esmerelda”, a wonderfully dramatic song by Ben Howard
.
Until Eyes Hear Sound
Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
Sometimes poems arrive in clusters, even when we don’t plan them. After posting A Fistful of Sand (CHW), another anti‑war piece surfaced, and Beyond the Debris continued that same uneasy thread …
It seems I’ve unintentionally written a small trilogy — each poem looking at conflict from a different angle, each one carrying its own weight. Tonight’s piece steps further into the aftermath, where the smoke settles, and the world tries to breathe again.
Solar Isosceles and More Debris
From behind the bushes and trees,
crows crash through the branches and leaves.
And flee toward our solar Isosceles,
like blind bats that can now see
beyond the world’s charred canopy –
a toxic cloud of wartime debris
and the smouldering embers
of expendable draftees.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
Feature Image Above: Created by my Canva App.
When the tent starts sagging, the whole performance shows its seams
After reading Mirroring the World’s blistering take on Trump’s latest political tantrum, I felt a poem forming almost instantly — a small, sarcastic echo of the chaos described, and a reminder that no self‑crowned king is above a little poetic scrutiny.
taurusingemini >> Trump is Now, Out of Plays in the War with Iran He Started | Mirroring the World
No Kings!
There is a clown,
with an apricot crown
under his dressing gown,
who’s swinging upside down
on the outskirts of town
The false king is insane,
with a selfish brain.
He’s inhumane,
and greed is his game.
Without shame
his aim is to blame
anyone whose name
is not on his “gravy-train.”
And to close, here’s a song that carries the same simmering energy — a little theatrical, a little exasperated, and perfectly tuned to the mood of this piece.
Ivor Steven © April 2026
A simple glance upward — two birds, one sky — became the seed of this poem’s wish for peace.
Beyond the Debris (a Tanka)
Come and fly with me
To where we all want to be
In a peaceful world
Of calm seas and olive trees
Beyond our warring debris
Ivor Steven © April 2026
Featured Image Above: In the last light of day, even a weakened sun can show how much of our shared humanity has slipped away.
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, “A Fistful of Sand,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> A Fistful of Sand – Coffee House Writers
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Until Eyes Hear Sound
Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © March 2026
Bathed in soft morning light, this bright sunflower greeted me today — lifting my spirits and reminding me how instinctively nature leans toward renewal.
My Sunflower (aTanka)
Good morning sunshine
Your yellow blush warms my heart
And restores my faith
In humanity’s instinct
To revive our tired planet
Ivor Steven © March 2026
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 