Today’s Throwback Friday poem(originally written in July 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book,Time Hears No Sound. It appears in Chapter 5, Dreaming: A Poet’s Favourite Pastime
A Fire That Burns in the Cold
From behind the trees, And out of the grasses, We cannot stop the fire -That burning desire- From soaring higher, Higher than the entire Starry, starry choir.
So, best we inquire To the Almighty Supplier: “Will there be a ceasefire at the top of your golden spire?”
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Climbing the Stairs”is in this week’s edition. To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article. >>https://coffeehousewriters.com/climbing-the-stairs/
“The soul has illusions as the bird has wings.” — Victor Hugo
“One Day,” when I photographed a wedge-tailed eagle gliding across a clear Victorian sky. Its silhouette stirred something ancient — a whisper of myth, a search for meaning. This ‘Telestitch’ poem was written in response to Coffee House Writers’ monthly poetry assignment, and for the Weekly Prompts “One Day” Monthly Challenge. To visit their fabulous site, click >> Here
Eagle(a Telestitch)
The wistful wedge-tailed eagle, Soars toward the mystical Southern Aurora, Searching for the anomaly’s hidden beginning, Hoping to find the missing Holy Grail. All the horizon’s dreams dissolve into the sky’s finale.
Today’s Throwback Friday poem(originally written in July 2023) is drawn from my upcoming book,Time Hears No Sound. It opens Chapter 4, The Universe: Infinity Times Infinity
Misplaced in Space
there is inner space and there is outer space I like to travel in both places life is not race my database is my bookcase
I am yet to embrace the coalface face to face and this human race has misplaced the meaning of grace and lost the paper chase to the corporate greed of cyberspace
tonight, I’m flying down to inner-space aboard my “Itmims” spacecraft to find a redeemable place inside humanities headspace
The title “Until Eyes Hear Sound” can have different meanings depending on your interpretation. It could be a poetic expression, a metaphor for waiting for something to happen, or a state of deep concentration where one is so focused on one’s inner vision that one becomes oblivious to external sounds. Ivor’s poems do not suggest having the answers, but his words encourage you to think about our environment, as he ponders the purpose of our existence in the universe. If you love poetry that challenges, inspires, and moves you, this book is for you.
According to the author
The cover design, by Kerri Costello, reflects my perceptions of the world that surrounds me. When you look closely at the reflection of the Island in the water, with a bit of imagination, the image appears to be of a guitar.
The book is divided into 10 diverse and imaginative chapters, each accompanied by a creative drawing by Kerri. Themes range from nature and existence, to war and peace, to humour, fantasy, and short forms such as haiku and tanka.
Signed copies available. Order directly via email: ivorrs20@gmail.com (PayPal arrangements can be made)
Author bio
Ivor Steven was formerly an industrial chemist, then a plumber, and is now retired. He has numerous poems published in anthologies and online magazines. He has three self-published books: Tullawalla, Perceptions, and Until Eyes Hear Sound. He is an active member of Geelong Writers Inc. (Australia) and an appointed writer for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA).
Featured Image Above:Springtime in retreat—wings scatter beneath a dismal sky, and midday wears an unnatural hush. Today’s weather speaks in riddles and ice, echoing the questions we dare to ask: Is our dome becoming incompatible?
Incompatible
Among the bushes, we anxiously fly, Sheltering from the world’s sinister sky.
The dismal clouds are in a miserable mood, And full of destructive ice-cubes.
An unnatural darkness has befallen midday — Who has stolen our springtime clearway?
Is climate change responsible? Is our doomed dome liable to become globally incompatible?
Let this song carry the weight of today’s sky—an echo of wings, words, and warnings we cannot ignore.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 