Life – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Throwback Friday, Between Lines, Who Holds the Power

Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in May 2023) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the opening poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time

“And I have carried on this war. Though no one wins an endless fight. I have claimed that God has guided me. And killed to prove I’m right.” Lyrics from Damien Rice’s song, “What if I’m wrong.”

Between Lines, Who Holds the Power

Do you see – a man walking on water?
Did you see – his feet were bleeding?
Do you read – the missing scriptures?
Did you read – your own family tree?
Do you hear, speechless angels, singing?
Did you hear – the songbirds crying?

Do you feel – the erased wars calling?
Did you feel – the hard rains falling?
Do you know – the ones who are lying?
Did you know, the refugees are dying?

“What If I’m Wrong”, Lyrics, by Damien Rice

I could wrestle with tomorrow
Until tomorrow’s in the past
Because I have torn apart what’s beautiful
To prove that nothing lasts I have stayed locked behind these doors
To show there’s no way out
I got lost within the space between
The question and the doubt
I have built a wall between

What I believed and what is true
I have sacrificed the love I had
For power over you

I have convicted those who disagree
And walked over the weak
I have placed a gun within the mouth
Of those who dared to speak

And on an ordinary day
In an ordinary way
I have crushed the minds of children
With extraordinary shame

And I have carried on this war
Though no one wins an endless fight
I have claimed that God has guided me
And killed to prove I’m right

What if I’m wrong
What if I’m wrong
What if I’m wrong
What if I’m wrong

Is this soul worth saving at all?
Cause if I lose my wings then surely I must fall
And the gods prayed to the gods they made

We could wrestle with tomorrow
until tomorrow’s in the past
We could tear apart what’s beautiful
To prove that nothing lasts

We could stay locked behind the doors
To show there’s no way out
We could get lost within the space between
The question and the doubt

But what if we’re wrong?

Until Eyes Hear Sound

Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 © March 2026

This week’s Coffee House Writers Magazine features my new poem, “Between, Inside, and Beyond.”

Featured Image Above: is of my silver teaspoon with the initials “MS” (Multiple Sclerosis) embossed on the handle button.

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, “Between, Inside, and Beyond,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> Between, Inside, and Beyond – Coffee House Writers

And a big thank you to Nancy >> Knocking: A Thursday Inspiration – The Elephant’s Trunk, whose intriguing article inspired the opening stanza of my poem.

Until Eyes Hear Sound

Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 © March 2026

An Unfathomable Mess

Born at 3 am on a scribble pad, when crumbs of musing refused to let me sleep.

An Unfathomable Mess

To near and far,
from inside a cookie jar,
I send my midnight scribbles.

I must confess,
I’ve delved so deep
into crumbled musings
and drowsy dribbles,
I’ll need to decompress
before I resurface
for a peep
at my unfathomable mess.

A gentle goodnight to follow my unfathomable mess.

Ivor Steven © March 2026

Where It All Began

Some mornings begin in silence, before memory fully wakes, and the hush before daylight becomes a bridge between darkness and light

And, For Sadje’s #Whatdoyousee #331 – 9 March 2026 – My ‘Poem’ closely represented Sadje’s first Image.

To visit Sadje’s fabulous site, please click >> Here

Where It All Began

It was only six-twenty.
I could not remember
how my bowl became empty.

What is this strange condition?
Then I shifted the position
of my inner opposition
by refining the leftover light
from within the dark of night –
when silence suspends time –
into the musical sounds of rhyme.

Am I too late to catch the worm,
or beyond time’s sonic boom?
Is there still more to learn?

Ivor Steven © March 2026

When Three Times Three Equalled Minus Three

Featured Image Above: A painting of ‘Three Flowers’, by Carole Steven.

You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?

“Three times, ‘Once Upon a Time” has been difficult to redefine …“

Tullawalla:

Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books

Ivor Steven © March 2026

A stitch in time, or: A rengay

My thanks to David, of “The Skeptic’s Kaddish,” for inviting me into this rengay. It was a pleasure to weave our lines together and watch the threads find their own shape.
>> https://skepticskaddish.com/2026/02/23/a-stitch-in-time-or-a-rengay/

A two-person ‘Rengay’

A stitch in time, or: A rengay

By Ivor and David

1 (db)
weeks before Purim—
sticky glue smears small fingers,
needles pull bright threads

2 (is)
intricate puppet costumes
tangled in the maker’s strings

3 (db)
small gnat in a web
silver threads keep their design—
the body trembles

4 (is)
the wood manikins
loose joints suddenly collapse
first aid kit required

5 (db)
eight waiting legs lose purchase
their radial craft undone

6 (is)
unfashionable
staples, glue guns, costume pins
become quick-fix threads

A little Purim mischief to echo the threads and tangled costumes of our rengay.

Ivor Steven © February 2026

Throwback Friday, The Mystique (a Musette)

Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in January 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the second poem in the Musette section of Chapter 10, Time’s Short Poems: Haiku, Tanka, etc.
I find the Musette’s restrictive poetry format to be very challenging
A Musette is,
three verses
first line – 2 syllables
second line – 4 syllables
third line – 2 syllables
rhyme scheme – a/b/a c/d/c e/f/e
The title reflects the poem’s content

The Mystique (a Musette)

Friday
I said to you
“Please stay”

You said
“Only one night
Twin beds”

Next week
We savoured the
Mystique

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.

Time Doesn’t Go Tick-Tock

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.
“Time doesn’t tick—it unlocks. Not with rhythm, but with riddles.”

And thank you to Beth( https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/) whose comment on my post, “Time, My Muse,” inspired me to create this poem.
“love it! time makes its own rules for sure”

Time Doesn’t Go Tick-Tock

Time is neither tick nor tock;
Time cannot be deadlocked.
It takes no notice of the weather sock.

Time never throws rocks
At either the Eastern Bloc
Or the future’s aftershocks.

A glimpse into the strange places time wanders when it looks back.

A Weary Old Plumber, I’m Thinking of You (Happy Birthday, Dad)

Alex Steven (Dad), February 5th 1924 – July 3rd 2015

A Weary Old Plumber, I’m Thinking of You
(Happy Birthday, Dad)

One hundred and two years ago
When dark became day
And the sun shone on you
Did the gods of the world know
How lucky they were
That your sphere of love
Was all-encompassing

When Words Wear Chains

Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me.

Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word “Squish”
To visit their fabulous site, please click >>Here … and I think everything about censorship is awfully “Squishy.”

Nancy’s story on The Elephant’s Trunk [https://theelephantstrunk.org/2026/01/20/rdp-tuesday-disapprove/ ] stirred an old frustration in me — how easily free expression can be twisted, muted, or dismissed. I left a brief comment there, but the idea continued to nag at me throughout the afternoon. Sitting in a quiet corner of the café, I found myself shaping those few lines into something fuller, a small protest poem about the weight of censorship and the stubborn resilience of words. This is where that moment led.

When Words Wear Chains

Words wearing chains,
Pages awash in teary rain;
Quills feel the pain,
Like wisdom without veins
Inside lifeless brains.

How to explain
The inhumane
Of censorship’s careering train,
While the reigning regimes
Sip on foreign champagne.