Philosophical – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Evil Nuclei

Featured Image Above: Originally my blurry photo, which was then sharpened and enhanced by Copilot

High above the clouds, a lone dragonfly pauses to contemplate a world seemingly intent on creating its own troubles. Sometimes a fortunate photograph becomes a poem. In this case, a blurred dragonfly inspired an unsettling phrase and the lines that followed.

Evil Nuclei

I’m a lone dragonfly
in a vast, bedazzling sky
wondering why
there are no other guys
up here passing by.

Wait, down there,
between Dubai and Versailles,
I see a swarm of evil nuclei
flying toward the forests of Paraguay,
in search of a shady alibi.

As the dragonfly drifts across a bedazzling sky, Moby’s Porcelain lingers among the clouds.

Ivor Steven © October 2026

Successfully Unsuccessful

Does a bird measure the success of its flight, or simply fly? After a moderately successful day at the market, I carried that question home. Sometime during the night, it became a poem.

Successfully Unsuccessful

Am I unsuccessfully successful
or
Successfully unsuccessful?

What is successful?
Why be successful?
Who defines success?

Is being successful?
simply being successful
at being unsuccessful?
or
being a failure at being unsuccessful?

Is Corporate greed being successful?
or
self-righteousness being unsuccessful?

What is successful?
Who defines success?

As the magpie continues its flight…
The poem ends here. The questions do not.

Ivor Steven © October 2026

Sky High

We pass pigeons every day without a second thought — small grey silhouettes tracing quiet arcs above us. And the sky, too, becomes something we stop seeing, even though it’s always there, patient and unbought. Yet in a single moment, when wings cut across the clouds, we’re reminded that these ordinary companions are never truly ordinary. They’re right in front of our eyes, offering a shy kind of wonder we forget to claim.

Sky High

The pigeons flew by
no one said hi

The people openly cry
and still ask why

I
quietly sigh —
life is their lie.

The patient sky
remains our allay

Not something to buy,
but a shy high
that never dies

After a day spent watching pigeons cross an open sky and shaping this poem, and following an exciting evening on the radio airwaves, I happened upon this performance before turning in for the night. It seemed a perfect fit. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Ivor Steven © October 2026

A Pigeon’s Lament (Micro-fiction)

Every now and then, a story slips quietly from the page and begins a journey of its own. A Pigeon’s Lament started as a brief piece of micro-fiction, yet it has since been accepted by Geelong Cereal and will soon be making its way onto community radio. Before this little pigeon heads out across the airwaves, here’s the tale that started it all.

Author’s Note: I’m delighted to share that Geelong Cereal has accepted A Pigeon’s Lament for publication. I’ll also be reading the piece live on Pulse Community Radio 94.7 FM on Friday evening.

A Pigeon’s Lament (Micro-fiction)

Sitting alone atop this broken wooden fence, I stare into the blinding sun that floods the great blue yonder, wondering if the horror has finally gone. Are we carrier pigeons free to ride the airwaves again, or has the world turned us into couriers of foreboding danger rather than bearers of faithful hope?

So the pigeon waits, watching the horizon and wondering whether the horror has finally gone. This beautiful song provided both a title and a mood for its solitary vigil.

Ivor Steven © October 2026

Steve the Snail’s Bookcase

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

Tracing the Lines

The late afternoon moon feels like a quiet reminder — tracing its path above while we trace our own below. In its soft light, every line in our hands and every mark on the land carries a story of where we’ve been and where we’re going. This poem rests in that moment of reflection.

Tracing the Lines

There you are,
all of you,
way out there,
full and aware –
tracing the lines
in my hands.

And there are
no new brands
on the land;
every grain of sand
still understands.

There’s a crack
in everything –
in all of you
out there,
feeling open and bare –

“I see you,”
whispers the moon,
tracing the lines
beneath my full glare.

A recently released piece, carrying the same gentle pull of the moon’s slow journey across the sky

Ivor Steven © August 2026

Into the Blue

In this solitary silhouette, I felt the sky fold back into its deeper self — a quiet reminder that infinity is not a distant realm but a shift in perception. Darkness becomes brightness when seen in reverse, and even the faintest glow can reveal the universe’s hidden architecture. These three captures from my afternoon walk opened that doorway, and as I sat with them at the café, the poem below arrived in a small explosion of insight — a moment where inverted light found its voice.

Into the Blue

I’m unravelling my way
From out of the grey
And back into the blue
For an unobstructed view
Of the unfettered universe
Where I can observe light in reverse

I perceive the panorama of infinity’s darkness
To be a cosmic aurora of brightness —
Not a mere perception of blackness
But a transparent glow of hopefulness

Two visions of blue — one rising from the depths, one bursting into joy — each reflecting a different facet of the journey from grey to light. Together they complete the sky the poem began.

“And so the sky sings twice.”

This Morning, or This Anxious Man

This poem grew from two separate comments I left on Nancy’s site, written almost four weeks apart. Different days, different moods — yet when I revisited them, they seemed to lean toward one another and form a cohesive whole.
Stanzas 1 and 2 came from La Casa Azzurra – The Elephant’s Trunk
and stanzas 3, 4, and 5 from What’s Left Behind – The Elephant’s Trunk

Fresh shoes for familiar paths — proof enough that this man plans on walking a little further yet.

Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend challenge is the word “Anxiety”. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here

This Morning, or This Anxious Man

I woke up this morning,
which is always a good thing —
with blue surrounding my head,
quietly filtering through the blinds
from dawn’s levitating, bright blue sky.

I do not need to ask why
the tranquil colour blue
serendipitously keeps me flying high.

I am who I am.
I’m an old man,
and I do the best I can.

My dreamworld plan
is out of my hands.

I remember how it all began,
and here I am —
between Cannes and scans,
still walking this land.

For the fragments that find each other, the blue mornings, the old roads, and the man who keeps trusting the day ahead.

Pigeons of the World (a Tanka)

This afternoon’s sky gifted me a flock of silhouettes — pigeons rising and circling through the light as if carrying the world’s weight on their wings. Their quiet resilience inspired the Tanka below, a small reflection on the lives caught beneath the shadows of conflict.

Pigeons of the World (a Tanka)

Here under the sun
I am not the only one
Being overrun
By the world’s greedy hired guns
Who’s minding our war torn sons?

And still the sky remembers what we forget — even the pigeons know the rise and fall of empires.

The Moon’s Daytime Matinee

There are moments in the afternoon when the sky invites us to sense more than we see — when a pale moon lingers above our familiar fixtures and asks us to listen with our eyes.
Perhaps, One Day, we’ll pause long enough to notice our daytime luminary’s quiet offerings.

Over at Weekly Prompts, it’s time for the “One Day Prompt.” To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here

The Moon’s Daytime Matinee

Mid-afternoon,
and the half moon
is lingering
in the middle of the sky,
glowing like a luminary’s lantern.

There for everyone
to listen with their tired eyes
and peruse the moon’s
visionary daytime matinee.

Perhaps,
at the same moment,
the audience will absorb
the extra light waves
from the ancient orb’s
timeless wisdom.

And as the afternoon drifts on, the moon leaves its quiet note behind, a reminder that even in daylight, wonder still finds a way to shine.