“Loose Gold Nooses” — a collage creation by Ivor, blending a silhouetted bird in flight with a golden sunrise, echoing the haiku’s quiet tension and beauty.
Loose Gold Nooses (a Senryu)
There are excuses
For being tied in nooses
Of thin gold feathers
Let the final song unwind the day’s knots, where the gold loosens, the nooses fall away, and the night opens its hands.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.
As twilight settles across the shelves, Steve pauses for thought atop his old bookcase…
Steve the Snail’s Bookcase
I’m sitting in a secret place
on top of this old bookcase —
I’m not a nutcase,
but wistfully wondering about that space
between the sun’s twilight zone
and the world’s traversing horizon.
Is that the mysterious place
beyond third base,
the dark coalface,
that I’m yet to embrace —
my final footrace?
But wait — before I vanish into space
without a trace,
I need to don my carapace
and tighten these slivery bootlaces.
Steve’s gentle reminder drifts in: put your hat and shoes on, and enjoy life while you’re able.
As Steve settles into the hush of twilight, this song drifts in beside him…
Ivor Steven © September 2026
Four small lives in motion, each holding a different truth about today… and the uncertain tomorrow.
Bees, Birds, Beetles, and Butterflies
The bee’s knees
are busily pollinating
today’s flowers,
for tomorrow.
The bird’s eyes
are warily overseeing
today’s world,
mindful about tomorrow.
The beetle’s legs
are curiously wandering
toward today’s horizon,
still searching for tomorrow.
The butterfly’s wings
are wistfully fluttering,
knowing today’s sunny sky
won’t shine on them tomorrow.
Let the song settle over the small creatures of today, reminding us of how tender tomorrow truly is.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
This morning’s wattlebird carried a question across the sky — a fleeting shimmer of light and wonder. Inspired by that moment, I found myself chasing the same golden touch through words and image, letting the Dream’s warmth echo the poem’s quiet hope.
Will I Be the One? (a Tanka)
There’s a wattlebird
Flying past the golden sun
And then I wondered
Who will be the chosen one
to receive the Midas touch?
And as the wattlebird slips past the golden sun, this song carries the same gentle light forward.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
It was “our” 50th Anniversary yesterday, the 10th of September. Whispering Flowers was written back in early 2019, during my recovery from two strokes — a time when every small journey felt tender and deliberate.
Today, the flowers have been delivered, and we’ve spent the afternoon in the sunshine, sharing an anniversary lunch at the café and a glass of red, letting the memories settle gently around us.
Whispering Flowers (Tullawalla, page 41)
Carole and I, 45 years ago, before her MS developed.
At the cemetery with flowers for Carole, and then to the Cafe for lunch and a toast to Carole.
Whispering Flowers (Revised)
I went shopping this morning,
To buy her flowers
For our anniversary day.
A bus trip to the local florist,
then I boarded another bus to the cemetery —
my first time on a bus carrying flowers.
Bouquet in hand, on I hopped,
You could’ve heard a pin drop.
Over the silence, I heard solemn whispers.
The men on the bus courteously nodded,
And the ladies knowingly smiled.
Gratified, I dipped my cap in acknowledgement.
Then I started to sense the day’s emotions arise,
and with my honesty glowing,
I felt proudly special.
And as Scarborough Fair drifts through the afternoon light, I carry her memory faithfully, where flowers and remembrance quietly meet.
Ivor Steven © September 11th 2026
Fifty years feels both distant and close, a milestone carried quietly through my days.
Some memories soften, some sharpen, but one truth remains — I still see her in the small moments, in the quiet spaces, in the light that lingers.
Today, I honour that presence the only way I know how: with a few simple lines.
I See You Now, Fifty Years, Today
A day I celebrate every day —
every day, walking my narrow path,
I see you now.
Every day, looking into our misty mirror,
I see you now.
Fifty years, today —
every night, in my dreams,
I see you now.
Every night, in the stars.
I see you now.
I am here,
you are where you are.
One day, my dear,
I’ll join you in the stars.
A song that echoes the way I still see her — in dreams, in stars, in the quiet of today.
Ivor Steven © September 10th 2026
Fifty years arrives like a soft, golden hush — a moment where memory steps forward, hand in hand with the present. As tomorrow’s anniversary draws near, I found myself looking toward the sky, letting its warm light guide me back through the years. This Tanka is the quiet breath before the day itself, a small reflection of the love still shimmering in every sunset.
Tomorrow’s Our 50th Anniversary (a Tanka)
Sunset’s pure-gold sky
And I’m inwardly smiling.
She’s flamboyantly
channeling me — a bright clue:
tomorrow’s our golden day.
And tomorrow, as the golden sky leans close, her light will rise through me once more.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
I nearly deleted this photo — a pole in the way, a couple of wires cluttering the frame — until the birds decided to rescue it. They swooped in, sketched their own storyline across the sky, and left me wondering who was really directing the scene. While they painted truth up there, I stayed down here trying to catch whatever tale fluttered past. This little poem followed soon after, curious, a bit cheeky, and happily poles apart.
Poles Apart
We’re poles apart
before we even start.
You guys up there,
me down here —
I don’t know where.
Truth flutters freely in the air.
Meanwhile, down here,
fiction is both oblong and square.
Wise cracks don’t need stairs.
Poetic knack has dare and flair,
and down here
storybooks fly anywhere
without a compere,
traveling from deckchair to airchair.
And as the birds drift off into their own truth, this tune keeps the sky talking.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
From yesterday’s crow encounter, a poem emerged — a moment on the country’s edge, a sentinel shaping the sky’s peaceful realignment.
Out of the Blue
Upon the country’s outpost I stand,
a sentinel, overseeing this grand land.
I pause, breathe the whistling wind,
and unfurl my black feathered skin.
My wings flare out toward the light —
the world’s warring blight
is nowhere in sight.
Tranquility is my chosen line —
one sweep, the silent, sunlit sky is mine,
and out of the blue, nature’s shrine
peacefully realigns.
“A final breath of blue sky carrying the crow’s peaceful realignment into sound.”
Ivor Steven © September 2026
A quiet morning reply to Bart’s Fraiku, my worn lenses lifting me toward today’s blurry blue sky.
Bart >> Fraiku: For Your Eyes | Bartholomew Barker, Poet
My Vision (a Senryu)
In front of my eyes
Beyond dust-covered lenses
I pause to see more
And the vision carried on beyond the frame.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 