Category: Life & Nature

An Old Snail Shell (a Tank)


Over at Weekly Prompts, this weekend is their monthly Colour Challenge, and they selected the colour BROWN. To visit their fabulous site, please click HERE.

A big thank you to, Nancy for being the source of my inspiration for this poem

https://theelephantstrunk.org/2025/08/01/the-shells-2/



An Old Snail Shell (a Tanka)

Rusty and earthen,
I supported her burden.
I was no Spartan,
And asked for no one’s pardon-
I’m a bygone guardian.






Beluga Lagoon, The Snail, Lyrics

Pain, no really for me
Some will suffer far more than I will but then we’ll all be still some day
A snail, I’m a snail on the sea
And so slowly I sink to the deep as I try to remember peace

Lions and tigers and beggars and bears
They all live today and they all will decay
The world and the folk and the things you could see
And I swim in the gloom in a room where I struggle to breathe

Where I struggle to breathe
Where I struggle to breathе

Streetlights, gold on cold
Like a beacon
In my sort of soul
Grows so old now the cold
Kills my bonеs
Kills my bones
Kills my bones
Kills my bones
Kills my bones

Graveyards make me calm
I don’t know why
Deepest kind of dreaming
Caribbean coastline
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water
Clear blue water



Ivor Steven (c) August 2025

“I Hear Words”, is in this week’s Coffee House Writers Magazine edition.


Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “I Hear Words” is in this week’s edition. …
Please Note: Today’s poem is one of my verses, composed of comments I posted on some of my fellow WordPress writers’ articles during the month. In stanza order, they are.
* Mark, >> NEVER BE HERE – Havoc and Consequence
* Nancy, >> https://theelephantstrunk.org/
* David, >>  W/reck, or: W/reckless – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
* Eugi, >> https://amanpan.com/2025/07/09/let-the-sunshine-in/
* Paul, >>  The Way – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon | parallax


To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article.
>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/i-hear-words/






Ivor Steven (c) July 2025

A Fire That Burns in the Cold





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?”





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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


Ivor Steven © July 2025

Black and Grey (a Tu-aiku)


Over at Weekly Prompts, it’s the last weekend of the month, and it’s time for the One Day Prompt. To visit their fabulous site, please click HERE




Black and Grey (a Tu-aiku)

The sky’s black and grey
And the heavy weeping clouds
Know it is their day

Between the raindrops
Cold air makes open eyes cry
And sealed lips turn blue





Ivor Steven (c) July 2025

Beyond Mount Kosciuszko





Beyond Mount Kosciuszko



The timeless winter breeze
Is slowly defrosting me.

Quietly, through the misty silhouettes,
And from behind the fairy bushes,
I shall tentatively spread my wings
To find out if my shadows
Can fly high above the local meadows.

Once I am airborne,
I should be able to see Melbourne,
And from there – who knows how far
My dreams will go?

Beyond Mount Kosciuszko,
Across the Pacific Ocean,
Toward Vancouver and Nanaimo.





Ivor Steven (c) July 2025

Throwback Friday, I Feel The Sky


Today’s Throwback Friday poem is from October 2021. The poem also appears in my third book, Until Eyes Hear Sound, Chapter 8, Poetry in Slow Motion.


I Feel the Sky

I am creating a verse from beyond my cage
Here, surrounded by the essence of a new age
Spring blossom floating on a sea of loose pages
Soaring on the wings of yesterday’s paper darts

I was finding words in unusual places
On dirty microwave plates
Under shaggy-pile carpets
Between last night’s lonely sheets
And walking down empty streets

Inside the Box Office Cafe, I sit
Observing the world below my feet
An old wooden floor of weathered planks
And table bases made from engine cranks

On the open verandah I can feel the sky
And I write on these blank lines
About today’s invisible freedom, before my ink runs dry






.


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


Ivor Steven © July 2025

A Story Untold





A Story Untold


Winter has been blatantly bold.
My wings are crusty and cold.
However, they are not feeling too old
To fly away from the fold,
And land upon a distant threshold

My safety scaffold
Has been put on hold.
Then, I wisely paroled
My Traveller’s blindfold,
And, as foretold,
Today, I became re-enrolled
To resume my story untold.





Ivor Steven (c) July 2025

A Green, Blue, and Grey Dome




A Green, Blue, and Grey Dome


From the womb to the tomb,
And beyond the classroom to Khartoum,
I have been wearing a bridegroom’s
Worn-out costume.

Life’s blooms and heirlooms
Remain undeveloped in the shed’s darkroom,
Waiting for an awakening sonic boom
– Or, I could resume,
Using yesterday’s yard broom
To spruce up the vacant sun-room.





Ivor Steven (c) July 2025

Drifting Bassinets

Drifting Bassinets


On my knees, by the sea
Looking beyond our sentinel trees
I hear their whistling palms
Forlornly echoing abandoned alarms

Through their leaves’ silhouettes
I see a becalmed ocean of wavelets
Caressing a boat full of suffragettes
Fleeing the dusty sky of Mariupol sunsets
Clutching their war-torn bassinets






Ivor Steven (c) July 2025