Inspired by Others – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

My Vision (a Senryu)

A quiet morning reply to Bart’s Fraiku, my worn lenses lifting me toward today’s blurry blue sky.
Bart >> Fraiku: For Your Eyes | Bartholomew Barker, Poet

My Vision (a Senryu)

In front of my eyes
Beyond dust-covered lenses
I pause to see more

And the vision carried on beyond the frame.

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

This Morning, or This Anxious Man

This poem grew from two separate comments I left on Nancy’s site, written almost four weeks apart. Different days, different moods — yet when I revisited them, they seemed to lean toward one another and form a cohesive whole.
Stanzas 1 and 2 came from La Casa Azzurra – The Elephant’s Trunk
and stanzas 3, 4, and 5 from What’s Left Behind – The Elephant’s Trunk

Fresh shoes for familiar paths — proof enough that this man plans on walking a little further yet.

Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend challenge is the word “Anxiety”. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here

This Morning, or This Anxious Man

I woke up this morning,
which is always a good thing —
with blue surrounding my head,
quietly filtering through the blinds
from dawn’s levitating, bright blue sky.

I do not need to ask why
the tranquil colour blue
serendipitously keeps me flying high.

I am who I am.
I’m an old man,
and I do the best I can.

My dreamworld plan
is out of my hands.

I remember how it all began,
and here I am —
between Cannes and scans,
still walking this land.

For the fragments that find each other, the blue mornings, the old roads, and the man who keeps trusting the day ahead.

Ivor Steven © August 2026

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

Nancy’s, Lai “Singed” challenged me to try the form myself. I’d never written a Lai before, but her poem inspired this first attempt — a small reply shaped from her spark.
Nancy: Singed – The Elephant’s Trunk

A traditional lai is a short French poetic form built on a pattern of nine lines, arranged in three stanzas. Each stanza follows this structure:

Lines 1–2: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 3: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 4–5: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 6: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 7–8: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 9: 2 syllables, repeated refrain

The rhyme scheme is: a a b / a a b / a a b

The refrain (“truth hurts”) repeats at the end of each stanza, giving the lai its heartbeat.

And for Sadje’s WDYS >> What do you see # 347- 29 June, 2026 – Keep it alive

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

I’m an awkward dill
with a broken quill —
truth hurts.

I don’t swallow krill,
nor kill for the thrill —
truth hurts.

I can’t light the grill,
my flame has no will —
truth hurts.

From fog to fire – a quiet truth above, a wild awakening below

Nature’s Canvas (two Haiku)

These two haiku grew from different moments — the first shaped by the quiet colours in my own sky, the second written in response to Colleen’s moon‑lit Quadrille (link below). Together they trace a small passage from daylight’s pastel calm to the deeper bloom of night.
Link: Colleen’s post — The Moon flower, Quadrille, dVerse – Tanka Tuesday

Nature’s Canvas (two Haiku)

The white canvas clouds
Hover in front of the sun
Nature’s pastel sky

In darkness she blooms
The other side of the moon
Above her white tomb

For the moments we hold, and the ones that slip beyond us.

I’m a Silly Old Black Angel

Featured Image Above: A silly old black angel, flapping through another strange day on Earth.

This morning I sent this comment to Gigi’s post — her unbelievable story truly blew me away. Her words sparked something in me, and from that spark I shaped this composite poem. Here’s the original piece that set everything in motion: “A very silly short story…” by Rethinking Life. And Gigi’s reply afterwards said it all: “Ivor, that was wonderful. Can’t thank you enough.”
>> A very silly short story… | Rethinking Life

I’m a Silly Old Black Angel

Beauty is a thing everywhere,
but the definition changes constantly
according to place and species.

Maybe I’m supposed to bring peace to earth,
but no one can do that.
This place is all crazy,
and there’s no argument
against the truth — right!

Life on Earth is so unfair,
and I think I’m supposed to
do something about that too,
but I’ve no idea.
Everything seems so unjust.

I’ll think about it later
What if there is no later?
I suppose then, it won’t matter.
But does anything matter?
“No,” I thought.

And then all of my words,
just kind of flew away.

A quiet place to land, while the world keeps turning beneath my wings.