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.

Throwback Friday, Pockets Full of Stone


Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the second poem in the Humour section of Chapter 9, Humour, Fantasy, and Fairyland: Timeless



Pockets Full of Stones

I would like to fly away
On this cold, wintry day
But my pockets are full of stones
And my old wings are fragile bones

My benevolent friend, the moon
Is hibernating in his orbital cocoon
So, I’m grounded with muddy toes
Stuck here on this frosty meadow







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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 … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.


Ivor Steven ©  January 2026

A New Year’s Day Conversation, with Brian

This morning, Brian and I had an interesting conversation related to my poem, “A Rocketeer’s Poetry Career.” You may visit Brian’s fabulous Photographic site by clicking on this link >> https://bushboy.blog/


A New Year’s Day Conversation, with Brian

“There is a time
to put away your sword,
and pick up a pen,
Isn’t there, Ivor?”

“My old quill
is still full of ink, Brian”

“and blood on your sword?”

“There is always blood
After the thud
Of a muddy flood”

Ah, this swords a dud,
So dull, draws no blood
Only, this bloody mud







Ivor Steven ©  January 2026

Going Up the Country, to Possum Gully Rd


Before we headed “up the country” in verse, here’s the real thing — my sister (on the right) with Suzi and Ando, warming up the crowd on a blazing Sunday afternoon.





Going Up the Country, to Possum Gully Rd


The noon sun is blazing down,
and we’re heading up north,
where mirages hover over the white ground,
and the Kangaroos know it’s already ninety-four.

My Sister is singing in a band on a concrete floor.
They’re aptly named, “Suzi And The Ice Breakers.”
in a galvanised iron, country shed called the Green Door;
and despite the heat, everyone’s dancing like ice-skaters.

There’s a welcoming halftime tea break,
and all the friendly country folk brought a plate –
scones, sponge cakes, and laughter fill the air,
a homespun feast no city crowd could ever compare.







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

A Country Trail


The Ballarat – Skipton Rail Trail, sunburnt meadows, and tree-shadowed tunnels


Horse drawn cart, and Nimons trestle bridge


The Devils Kitchen is an impressive geological reserve in Piggoreet, 15 minutes from, Smythesdale. The Woady Yaloak River winds its way through a thickly vegetated valley, surrounded by cliffs of spectacular basalt columns. 




A Country Trail


How scenarios change over time-
The old unused rural railway line.

From Ballarat to Skipton and back
is now an unspoiled community track.

Gently meandering over sunburnt meadows,
Then dipping through tree-shadowed tunnels aglow.

Along the trails, valleys, and rocky ridges,
Travelers will see horse drawn carts and trestle bridges.

And on the way to Snake Valley and Linton,
Be wary of the gold miners “Devil’s Kitchen.”




A song to wander with along the trail…




Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

Rustic Smythesdale

Some places invite you to step sideways into another world. Smythesdale is one of them. This poem wanders from the paddocks into a quiet, cosmic holiday — best read with M83’s Un Nouveau Soleil rising gently underneath.

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Rustic Smythesdale

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Here, where the country paddocks
beam at you through the bedroom window,
grazing kangaroos curiously look your way
and front-yard elephants laze in the shade
of the friendly eucalyptus tree.

I’m untethering my Itmims space craft,
and there’s an aurora lighthouse
to guide the ship around the Cape Of Good Hope
on toward the great passage in the sky.
I’m not saying goodbye, but having a holiday
in the western zone of my rural universe.

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Bhttps://youtu.be/36mlX318Q3w?si=OJ47PPfWNKAsJGNt

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Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

The Weather Report

This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:

Stanza 1. Derrick, >> Not Going Out Much – derrickjknight
Stanza 2. Nancy, >> Novembre – The Elephant’s Trunk
Stanza 3. David, >>  This, too, shall pass, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
Stanza 4. Beth, >> darkness just begun. | I didn’t have my glasses on….

The Weather Report

The weather report comes and goes,
whether we feel like it or not.
Nature’s unchained window frames
shall always remain,
unclaimed and untamed.

I miss your November sunshine,
Just before Christmas time.
I miss your gorgeous November style –
all year round, your everlasting smile.

With the season’s colourful changes,
Nature’s crayons pepper the ranges.
Her tablecloth’s scattered mess
Becomes her ancient doll’s festive dress.

A spectacular sunset,
and they are all stellar,
in their own special way –
by single-handedly
signifying the end
of another successful day.







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

Throwback Friday, Are All the Doors Closed?

“Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.”
— John Lennon


“When doors close, and wars roar, let peace be the key we choose to turn.”

Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in March 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the third poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time


Are All the Doors Closed?

Scores of uncultured doors
Closed pores of the old stores
Hiding drawers of past accords
The forgotten ardours of wise mentors

Now, just condescending decors
to the new wars
Like cantankerous dinosaurs
with itchy bedsores









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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 … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.


Ivor Steven ©  December 2025