Environment – Page 3 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Throwback Friday, Polar Bears and Cold Sheep

In keeping with this week’s ‘Environment’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2020) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 2, Nature: An Unbiased Timekeeper

Polar Bears and Cold Sheep

hello world, do you see my frown?
will the blizzards ever calm down?
will the rains forever fall on broken ground?
will our tears of silence be the only sound?

the frozen wounds are deep
the mountains of snow are steep
humans need to stop being cold sheep
and begin taking their own individual leaps

the rewards of being caring and kind
far outweigh the coldness of being left behind

For the wounds we’ve carved into the earth, may this music echo the quiet truth our planet keeps trying to tell us.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Our Buckled Bloc

On our buckled bloc, innocence stands alone on thinning ground.

Our Buckled Bloc

Have we lost the plot?
Here, on our buckled bloc.

The planet is still spinning,
but the environment is shrinking.

The polar bears are dying;
isolated, Nature is only surviving
and is visibly crying.

The land is scarred and blistered,
the oceans unwisely polluted,
and even the air we breathe is tainted.

Here’s a song to wander with through the world we’ve weathered.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Wattlebirds Are No Log-jammers

After wrestling with the usual tangle of messages and mischief‑makers, I stepped onto the track for a breath of real air. The wattlebirds were already there, perched and unbothered, reminding me that the sky has no time for scammers or phishers — and neither should I.

Wattlebirds Are No Log-jammers

After wading through my pool of emails,
the clean-up I had planned did fail.
Anyhow, it was time for my morning walk
among nature’s wattlebirds and hawks.
Despite the cool, misty rain
The refreshing breeze will clear my foggy brain

Not far along the wet, winding track,
I see a wattlebird having a peaceful nap,
perched high up in the tree’s branches,
oblivious to humanity’s modern advances.

Beautiful wattlebirds are not log-jammers,
river phishers, or honey scammers
They are free to do as they please
and can fly away from any tight squeeze.

A small reminder that the sky is always wider than the noise.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

It’s Sad

What began as two simple responses — one to the city’s hard truths, one to the fading light — has merged into a single reflection on how we move through darkness and bridge life’s rolling undertow.

The first stanza is Nancy’s, and the second is David’s.
Nancy … Asphalt Jungle – The Elephant’s Trunk
David … We stand, or: Our bodies tilt – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱

It’s Sad

It’s sad how some people can sink so low.
It’s sad how the onlookers come and go.
It’s sad how Skid Row groans and crows.
It’s sad how urban rainbows lose their glow,
and drown in life’s rolling undertow

Nearing the looming edge of night,
is there a hidden bridge
between life’s fading light
and that last, unbroken ridge?

And somewhere in the half‑light, we keep searching for the bridge to span life’s rolling undertow.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Descending

In the hazy mid‑morning light, the moon lingers above the trees as if carrying a memory too heavy to hold.

Descending

Descending through the treetops
the moon appears to stop —
pausing for a moment,
looking despondent.

Naturally, I ask
“Why such a gloomy face?”

“Only a millennium ago
the earth was a jungle of trees,
but now I perceive
only a fallow globe of woe.”

The moon moves on, whispering its sorrow to anyone willing to listen.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

All the Silver Spoons

A soft moon above shapes my morning thoughts below — a light flight into privilege and perspective

Over at Weekly Prompts, the Monthly Colour Challenge is Silver. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here.

All the Silver Spoons

I’m not a fallen star,
nor have I seen the light
from afar.

But I am falling
back to earth
in an empty jar.

There’s nothing like a flight
around the moon
to ceremoniously lampoon
any doubts about who owns
all the silver spoons.

Ivor Steven © April 2026

Freedom Without Gasoline

Featured Image Above: Where the sky opens, freedom rises first

Freedom Without Gasoline

Yes, I must go
Beyond the world’s mist and snow

Flying above the trees
Is nature’s gift to me

Removed from the maddening crowd
Here, freedom is proud, unbowed

And the air is almost clean
Except for the smell of gasoline

A song for the quiet courage of taking flight

Black Knights

In a world scarred by mines, machines, and careless extraction, the sky remains a refuge for those who choose to protect rather than exploit. These Black Knights rise through that open air as nature’s quiet defenders, calling us to join their watch.

Black Knights

We are nature’s Black Knights,
guardians of the planet’s salvage rights.
Watch us soar into the light

There above the earth’s trees,
where the atmosphere is free,
beyond the Daleks of mankind’s
dreadful coalmines and destructive landmines.
“
Now is the time to become a member
of our sky’s peaceful nerve centre.
We welcome all monitors, menders,
clever inventors, and recycled pretenders.

Insatiable Sapiens

Once numbering in the tens of millions, the “bulbous” bison were nearly wiped out — victims of human greed and policy.

Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend challenge is the word bulbous. And you visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here.

Insatiable Sapiens

A flock of birds
fly together.
Herds of animals
graze together.

Humans of different creeds
blast each other apart –
for their stockpiled seed,
and insatiable greed.

A quiet reckoning beneath the branches we share.

Who’s Watching Whom

Featured Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

With two sharp‑eyed magpies and a pale daytime moon looking on, this little poem takes flight as a whimsical protest — a light‑feathered reminder that even the quiet watchers on the fence have something to say about the state of our cluttered world.

Who’s Watching Whom

I’m perched on the fence,
wondering about the world’s
lack of common sense,
and I ask the moon,
“Is there no end to this gloom?”

“Do not worry, my feathered friend –
this is not the end.”

“Soon there will be enough elbowroom
for everyone’s nom de plume
in the planet’s master bedroom,
after Mother Nature has donned
her cleaning costume,
and swept all of the needless showrooms,
backrooms, ballrooms, and boardrooms.”

“And the people should all help groom
their own untidy playrooms
with those unused yardbrooms.”

And here’s a song that hums along with the magpies’ quiet protest…