Inspired by Others – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Words in the Sky (a Haiku)

VJ’s Fire haiku lit a quiet spark in me last night, and sometime after midnight my own words drifted upward — a sky‑response shaped by the birds I photographed yesterday and the lingering anticipation of Cohen Noir. There’s something about Leonard’s voice that reminds me to look up, to let thoughts rise, and to trust the air to carry them.

VJ – Fire (haiku) – One Woman’s Quest

Words in the Sky (a Haiku)

My essence is sky
Words fly with the birds up high
Beyond prying eyes

And as these sky‑bound words drift toward Cohen Noir, I’m guided again by Leonard’s voice — a reminder to steer my way through the clouds and keep writing beyond prying eyes.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

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

Danielle the Donkey’s New Nest

Some stories arrive quietly — sparked by a pair of images that linger longer than expected. Yesterday, Derrick shared a delicate nest tucked into a tangle of branches, and today Jackie offered her charming capture of a donkey pausing near The Lodge. Together, their photos nudged this old poet into motion, setting Danielle on her gentle wander through fading forests, dry summer lodges, and dreams of a new nest.

Please Note: All photos in today’s post were taken by Jackie and Derrick Knight, who kindly allow me to use them on my poetry site
Nest >> The Calendar Says This Is Autumn – derrickjknight
Donkey >> Wildlife On Road – derrickjknight

Danielle the Donkey’s New Nest

One sultry day
on the edge of the faded forest,
young Danielle the donkey
wandered away
from her dry summer lodge.

It was time to discover the world,
find a different place to stay —
a cosy nest of hay
lined with soft, fairy feathers.

Then come what may,
despite the declining chalet’s
bumpy driveway and wilted bouquets,
she pricked her ears back,
ignored the onlookers’ flack,
and dreamed on, never sidetracked.

A tender farewell and a hopeful beginning — Danielle’s journey echoing softly through this song.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

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.