What began as two simple responses — one to the city’s hard truths, one to the fading light — has merged into a single reflection on how we move through darkness and bridge life’s rolling undertow.
It’s sad how some people can sink so low. It’s sad how the onlookers come and go. It’s sad how Skid Row groans and crows. It’s sad how urban rainbows lose their glow, and drown in life’s rolling undertow
Nearing the looming edge of night, is there a hidden bridge between life’s fading light and that last, unbroken ridge?
And somewhere in the half‑light, we keep searching for the bridge to span life’s rolling undertow.
Today’s Throwback poem was written in May 2024. For reasons I can’t quite explain, this reflective piece never found its way into my new book Time Hears No Sound. Maybe this insightful poem will nudge me toward beginning a new manuscript for my fifth book.
Cold Feet
I wandered outside; the evening air was damp and cold, and the moon was sharing the dappled midnight sky with dark, satiny clouds.
Forlornly, I looked up and quizzically asked the moon, “I have failed. My words were drowned in the hail. I’m poor and unbound; all I have is muddy ground. Who listens, anyhow? Where do I go now?”
“Do not fret, my friend As Confucius said, It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. And that old Japanese Proverb: Fall down seven times, stand up eight. “
I wandered back inside. The desk lantern was still burning. I reopened my torn notebook and began writing again.
For the nights when the cold settles in, but the words still find their way.
I’m delighted to share that Haiku for Soulmates has made a stunning debut — reaching #1 Amazon Bestseller in the US,Japan, and the UK. What an extraordinary achievement for everyone involved.
Gabriela Marie Milton, our editor, offers these beautiful words from her heart:
Gadriela: (the Editor) A few words from her heart:
“Haiku for Soulmates is a breathtaking collision of ancient tradition and the boundless, relentless auroras of the modern spirit. Today, the world becomes a little smaller and infinitely more beautiful. As an editor and publisher, my heart overflows; witnessing this vision transition from a dream into a living, breathing masterpiece is a profoundly emotional moment. This is not just an anthology—it is a global sanctuary, a cinematic tapestry woven from the heartbeats of 200 extraordinary contributors. From the sacred silence of its Japanese birthplace to the vibrant, shimmering horizons of voices spanning the globe, these pages hum with a rare, vertical excellence. We have captured the lightning of human connection and pressed it into ink. To my brilliant contributors: you are the light that makes this aurora possible. To the world: I invite you to step into this gallery of the soul and lose yourself in the brilliance of the brief, the bold, and the transcendent.”
The journey begins now. Explore the anthology at the link below.
This morning arrived with a soft, icy hush — the kind of cold that settles on rooftops and lingers in the breath, even as the moon looks like an ice cube
The Cold Facts (a Haiku)
An icy morning Wind-chill down to two degrees The moon looks cold too!
Let this winter‑blue tune drift beneath the cold morning moon.
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.
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.
In the hush before daylight kisses everything, the setting moon and a lone flyer share the sky’s peaceful journey.
This morning’s moon lingered above Geelong’s blue sky — a quiet witness to words exchanged between kindred writers. Today’s poem gathers those fragments, reshaped from comments left on their pages, into one flowing verse before the morning moon sets. In stanza order, they are:
Beware – of crossing gravel paths. They say – ants wearing army boots Are on the move, – crushing breadcrumbs – and breaking straws. Micro power — – the mighty insects have their own claws and laws. – and know how to gnaw and undermine desert wars
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 