A few dreamy mushrooms from my poetic wanderings that nudged my thoughts
WordPress says I’m a social butterfly. This weekend, I’ll be more of a market‑stall moth.
Dreamy Mushrooms
The poet is not dead, and not even seriously injured. Do not fret — today he’s at the Creative Market With his poetry books, sharing the words that slipped and slid out of his head.
He’ll be back tomorrow, after his dreamy mushrooms have been sent to bed.
Let the music hold the hush that lingers after the last dreamy mushrooms are gently tucked into bed.
In September 2000, I suffered my first stroke. After a stretch of intensive rehab, I was finally allowed to return home and resume caring for my wife. I was still healing, still unsteady, and not yet permitted to drive. With the patient guidance of my wonderful speech therapist, I slowly relearned how to speak, read, and write. During those early recovery days, music was always playing in the background — especially Leonard Cohen. Something in his haunting lyrics stirred me, nudged me, compelled me to start writing things down. That’s when I first discovered a small, surprising knack for shaping words into rhyme. After several months, my therapist gently encouraged me to join a local writers’ group. And as the old saying goes, from little things, big things grow.
“A Few Milestones Along the Way”
Every now and then, WordPress taps me on the shoulder with a small surprise — a reminder of how long I’ve been wandering these digital paths, and how many kindred spirits I’ve met along the way. This week, a handful of “Achievements” arrived, and they made me pause, smile, and look back over the journey.
Ten years on WordPress. That one landed with a soft thud in my chest. A decade of poems, stories, late‑night edits, early‑morning inspirations, and the steady rhythm of showing up — even on the days when the words came slowly.
Views from over 150 countries. It still amazes me that something written at my desk in Geelong can find its way to readers oceans away. These badges aren’t really about numbers; they’re about connection — the quiet thread between writer and reader, stretched across continents.
A comment longer than the original post. That one made me laugh. It’s proof of what I love most about this place: the conversations, the generosity, the way a single poem can spark a whole exchange of thoughts, memories, and stories.
And the Globe Trotter badge — 50+ countries — a reminder of the early days when I first realised people were actually reading.
None of these milestones happened in isolation. They grew from the kindness of readers, the encouragement of fellow writers, and the simple joy of sharing words. I’m grateful for every visit, every comment, every quiet moment someone spent with one of my poems.
Here’s to the next stretch of the journey — wherever the words decide to wander.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word ” expressive.” To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here.
In the long echo of these streets, after all the turns and tremors, I’m still here, listening for the next line.
After a week of words and wandering, we finally rest. I apologise for my slow blogging replies — time has been sprinting while this old poet hobbles behind.
I’ll be reading my poems “Drumsticks” and “Dear, Danny” at the next Dome Poetry meeting — a relaxed afternoon of Postcards and Poetry at The Courthouse Museum.
Never a Dull Moment
I’m enjoying an extra-busy weekend — Creative Geelong market on Saturday, Dome Poetry meeting Sunday morning, where I recited my poem “The Portrait That Found Me.”
I also presented two poems “Drumsticks” and “Dear, Danny,” which I’ll be reading at the next meeting At The Courthouse Museum, Drysdale, For an afternoon of Postcards and Poetry.
So as you can see, I’ve written lots more poems during the week — over and above my normal daily output. Needless to say, I’m exhaustipated again.
And here at the Box Cafe on Sunday afternoon, we are having a much-needed rest and relaxation
A quiet promise before the song begins: the three poems from today’s journey will soon be finding their place here.
There is a clown, with an apricot crown under his dressing gown, who’s swinging upside down on the outskirts of town
The false king is insane, with a selfish brain. He’s inhumane, and greed is his game.
Without shame his aim is to blame anyone whose name is not on his “gravy-train.”
And to close, here’s a song that carries the same simmering energy — a little theatrical, a little exasperated, and perfectly tuned to the mood of this piece.
THIS SAT FEB 21st 132 Lt Malop St Centrepoint Arcade. Geelong 10.00 am – 3.00 pm
Completely protected from the weather under the glass atrium …
Creative Geelong’s next art market on Feb 21 st, will be fashion-focused in conjunction with Melbourne’s Fashion Festival. Along with our wonderful, usual makers, there are over 30 tables.
Handmade, vintage, repurposed, or just clothes and accessories you’ve moved on from, there’s bound to be something for everyone.
MAY’D Shop, Untether Gallery, open studios, and vintage with Yesterday’s Vintage & Pearle Brawne. Check out the COGG food market in the mall to ….
A song stitched with the same handmade spirit as Market Day
I’m delighted to share that the wonderful Ortensia has featured me in her February edition of “A Chat Among Bloggers.” It was a joy to sit down with her and talk about writing, life, and the little threads that weave our stories together. My warm thanks to her for the invitation and for the care she brings to this beautiful series.
Ortensia opened the interview with these kind words: “Good day everyone, it’s ST. Valentine’s weekend and I have the perfect guest for our February chat among bloggers: Ivor… I have been following dear Ivor for years, and he never fails to bring me joy and warmth with his verses so… Sit back, relax and enjoy the chat.” (Read the full interview on her site — link below)
Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me. The trials and tribulations of the aging process — where questions deepen, and the hills keep rising.
After flooding my kitchen last night (again), I found myself wondering where simple mistakes end, and something more unsettling begins. This poem grew out of that quiet, uneasy space — the place where aging, memory, and meaning start to blur at the edges.
What’s the Difference
What’s the gap Between insanity and humanity Is there a difference Between oblivion and infinity
What’s the gap Between failure and fruition Is there a difference Between carelessness and forgetfulness
What’s the gap Between here and there Is there a difference Between thoughtlessness and memory loss
What’s the gap Between now and then Is there a difference Between Alzheimer’s and Dementia
Some days, the questions echo louder than the answers.
While waiting for my CHW article to appear last night, I found myself knee‑deep in “lucky envelopes” for the book‑stall dip — a poet’s version of factory work, complete with midnight muttering and a very patient supervisor. Somewhere between the folding and the stacking, this little whimsy arrived.
The Poet’s Lucky Envelope Humdrum
A poem a day is my way; print five copies of each without delay. Do not overflow the out tray – place the copies in relay, the next five crossways … and so on – it’s child’s play.
Fold each foolscap page in half, then fold again, into quarters. Any fool can do it! Open an envelope, shove in the folded page (No need for that frustrated rage). Start a row of five; put the next five on top … and so on – it’s child’s play ’til midnight ends the day.
And for the soundtrack to this late‑night humdrum, here’s Leonard Cohen and U2 with Tower of Song — a perfect companion for a poet quietly working under the watchful eye of Frankie.
Government – Corporate piracy – Rife everywhere in our binary society. Ironically, our privacy is *actively* The policy of every dynasty’s refinery. Corruption: slavery, bribery, impiety. And privately, I worry about the impropriety, The calamity’s spidery finality.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 