“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
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
Twelve months ago, while visiting my cousins on Vancouver Island, I tapped out a small poem on my iPhone — a moment shaped by cedar shadows, cold tides, and old family echoes. Today’s Throwback Friday returns to that quiet day, and to the fallen ancestors the island seemed to remember.
Fallen Ancestors
Above
I saw time drift across the sky.
Below
I heard a grey, waterlogged tree cry,
“Is this the graveyard where my
fallen ancestors have been left to die?”
There
“Against the sea wall’s merciless granite crown,
surrounded by cold water crashing around…
Please
“Take my hand, guide me down,
so I can cover them with my green nightgown.”
A quiet echo of the sea’s old memory — as the tide carries its stories forward, this song keeps a heart in the water.
.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
In the soft glow of a haloed sun, a seagull and his friends traced a tale across the sky — and one of them decided to share a little wisdom as he climbed into the light, shaping today’s poem.
Cyril the Seagull
Cyril is no ordinary seagull,
he’s neither plain nor dull.
I’ve been watching him and his friends,
soaring through the clouds’ sunny trends.
When he swooped in close enough,
I asked him off-the-cuff:
“Why are you considered to be
so commonly homespun?”
He puffed his wings like a bumblebee
and proudly flew off toward the sun.
Cyril whispered as he climbed:
Like humans, we also populate the world
However, I’m free to fly and enjoy
nature’s phoenix sky uncurled.
And as Cyril lifts into the light, this timeless song rises with him — a quiet reminder to simply be.
Ivor Steven © August 2026
Spring arrived today with a quiet kind of joy — a bird lifting into the morning light, gulls gliding above the bay, and a flowering tree catching the sun just right. On my walk to the café, these small moments gathered around me, each one adding its own note to the season’s first song. By the time I sat down with my coffee, a Tanka had already begun to bloom — shaped by the warm promise of the new season.
Spring is Singing (a Tanka)
Daylight’s kissing earth,
Its warm glow hugs everything,
And the midday sun
Thaws my once‑wavering wings —
Now nature’s choir is singing
As spring begins to rise, a tender melody of warmth and light to accompany the season’s first song.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
