Humour – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Old Goat Blues (a Limerick)

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.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Steve the Snail’s Bookcase

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

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…

Ivor Steven © September 2026

How Deep Is My Well

In the hush before dawn, the poet’s desk waits — ink, paper, and silence mingling with the faint hum of a song. “Last Rites” plays softly, and the night’s spell lingers just long enough to ask: how deep is my well?

How Deep Is My Well

Inside my pastel grey cell,
where the poet’s pencils dwell,
I stumbled over the inkwell
and felt a dank, dark swell
run down my silk lapel.

“Help!” I yell.
My cocoon’s inner shell
has become as black as hell.

“Please! Ring the hotel bell
Perhaps the night-shift personnel
will know how to quell
this bewitching writer’s spell.”

From here, the ink settles… and this song becomes the last whisper of the night.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Poles Apart

I nearly deleted this photo — a pole in the way, a couple of wires cluttering the frame — until the birds decided to rescue it. They swooped in, sketched their own storyline across the sky, and left me wondering who was really directing the scene. While they painted truth up there, I stayed down here trying to catch whatever tale fluttered past. This little poem followed soon after, curious, a bit cheeky, and happily poles apart.

Poles Apart

We’re poles apart
before we even start.
You guys up there,
me down here —
I don’t know where.

Truth flutters freely in the air.
Meanwhile, down here,
fiction is both oblong and square.

Wise cracks don’t need stairs.
Poetic knack has dare and flair,
and down here
storybooks fly anywhere
without a compere,
traveling from deckchair to airchair.

And as the birds drift off into their own truth, this tune keeps the sky talking.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

There Are No ‘Cents’ in Pretense

Just before midnight, I wandered through Nancy’s whimsical corner of The Elephant’s Trunk, where her poetic mischief nudged me over the fence of common sense. In that soft hour, a playful spark took hold — and this anecdotal poem tumbled out as my midnight excuse.
For Nancy >> Poet’s Excuse – The Elephant’s Trunk

And because midnight rarely behaves itself, here’s Nick Cave’s “Night Raid” slipping in with its dark velvet mood before the poem leaps the fence again.

There Are No ‘Cents’ in Pretense

None of it needs to make sense
no matter present tense
or past tense

Your quill has a license
to leap the pretense fence —
forget about common sense

And write delicious nonsense
in future tense
with imaginative effulgence

And to round out this midnight ramble, here’s the song I shared with Nancy — Leonard Cohen’s wonderfully unusual “Ballad of the Absent Mare,” a wandering little masterpiece that trots alongside any poet willing to leap the fence of pretense.

Ivor Steven © August 2026

A Fantail’s Flighty Tale, or a Tricky Tail

Sometimes the morning gifts me a little magic.
Yesterday’s wander with Frankie brought a flurry of feathered moments — a Fantail on a rail, a Magpie mid‑grumble, a Mudlark caught in a swirl of tiny bravado. These images arrived with such charm and mischief that the words followed instantly, light as a breeze. What began as a simple set of photos quickly turned into a playful tale of one tiny bird bossing the bigger ones about, all in good humour and whimsy.

The cheeky Fantail and the grumpy Magpie

The twirling Fantail and the brave Mudlark

A Fantail’s Flighty Tale, or a Tricky Tail

I’m not a fiendish tax collector,
nor a fat company director.
I’m not a bossy dictator,
nor a busy Choir conductor.

I’m just a flighty tiny fella
who flits around like a flirty ballerina —
a cheeky little Fantail who unfurls
on the breeze, commander of curls;
Magpie stumbles, Mudlark sighs —
yet all obey my mischievous eyes.

A burst of bright, buoyant energy to match my cheeky Fantail’s playful world — Nick Cave’s “Joy” feels like the perfect musical wink to close this whimsical tale.

Ivor Steven © August 2026

The Icings on the Cake, or a Sweet Full Moon

When the full moon rises, Frankie and I can’t help but chase its glow. What begins as a playful lift‑off soon becomes a delicious journey through clouds that taste like desserts and skies that shimmer with childhood magic.

“Itmims”
Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space

The Icings on the Cake, or a Sweet Full Moon

I’ve time enough to finish my mushy mango.
The full moon is about to put on a show.
Both Frankie and my spacecraft, Itmims,
are howling and revving to go.

I pour the leftover banana juice
into the awaiting craft’s fuel compartment,
then untether the impatient machine,
and Frankie and I quickly jump aboard.
Up, up and away we go,
high above the mist and creamy snow.

We fly toward the cherry pie clouds
and twilight’s strawberry jelly sky,
where, to our consummate delight,
we spy the full moon’s white Knight
glowing brighter than grandma’s
world-famous passionfruit pavlova

Ivor Steven © August 2026

No Connection, or Seven Rhyming Couplets

Still offline, still smiling. While the internet takes its sweet time returning, I’ve tapped out a whimsical little poem on my tiny iPhone screen — a lighthearted look at my ongoing battle with the great digital void. Hope it brings a grin.

And fittingly, as this article goes live, I’m pleased to announce that my internet connection has finally returned.

No Connection, or Seven Rhyming Couplets

I’m in isolation;
I have no internet connection.

Now falling beyond day five,
without my writer’s bee hive.

ISP could not solve the problem –
oh, what a sad conundrum

There’s a frog and toad
on the outside pole’s naughty node.

Linesmen, trucks, and ladders are required;
I’m frustrated, tired, and uninspired.

Might be fixed in another 48 hours …
plenty of time to pluck more moonflowers.

Now climbing into day seven,
I’m sailing up the internet’s stairway to heaven.

And now, with the moon back in view and the wires behaving, here’s the song that carried me through.

A Mid-Morning Fling

Today, a casual stroll on the path turned into an unexpected glimpse of tenderness, and all we can do is slow our steps and witness the quiet life unfolding at our feet

A Mid-Morning Fling

It was odd to see larks
Lying on the concrete path.
At first, I thought
One of them was injured.

Then, as I approached
For a closer gander,
The grounded bird
Was not wounded at all,
But pleasantly enjoying
Her partner’s advances.

And as I edged nearer,
My unexpected presence
Did disrupt their
Mid-morning fling.

A gentle reminder that even the smallest moments can shift the rhythm of a day — just as a song can shift the rhythm of a heart

Magazine features my new poem, “Email Overload.”

Featured Image Above: The image is a photomontage of my computer desk, a Pandora Box, and my imaginary space craft, ‘ITMIMS’ (Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space)

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, “Email Overload,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> Email Overload – Coffee House Writers