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
These images caught my eye today — the sun climbing higher, the trees reaching upward, and the birds carving Bach’s Cello music through the air. They became the foundation of the poem below.
Sun, Trees, and Birds
Like a stab in the dark, Where do I start
Is the sun my spark, Or the trees in the shady park
Talking to the larks Is my trademark
There below the sun’s warm arc, And above the trees’ ritual bark
I hear the birds’ melodious hark, Nature’s own cellist playing Bach
Featured Image Above:The image is a photomontage of my computer desk, a Pandora Box, and my imaginary space craft, ‘ITMIMS’ (Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space)
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,“Email Overload,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> Email Overload – Coffee House Writers
There are moments when a song gathers everyone in the room into one breath.Watching “Spirit Bird” live in Brussels, I felt that pull — a reminder that we’ve walked this path before, laughed and cried before, stood on this same wounded ground before. And still, the spirit rises.
Morning’s silent wings keep tracing the same old stories.
“Spirit Bird”
Yes, we’ve seen it all before “Give it time, and we wonder why, do what we can, laugh, and we cry And we sleep in your dust because we’ve seen this all before.” … The finale lyrics from Xavier Rudd’s emotional song “Spirit Bird.”
