Featured Image Above:Springtime in retreat—wings scatter beneath a dismal sky, and midday wears an unnatural hush. Today’s weather speaks in riddles and ice, echoing the questions we dare to ask: Is our dome becoming incompatible?
Incompatible
Among the bushes, we anxiously fly, Sheltering from the world’s sinister sky.
The dismal clouds are in a miserable mood, And full of destructive ice-cubes.
An unnatural darkness has befallen midday — Who has stolen our springtime clearway?
Is climate change responsible? Is our doomed dome liable to become globally incompatible?
Let this song carry the weight of today’s sky—an echo of wings, words, and warnings we cannot ignore.
Featured Image Above: Mid-flight and mildly wrecked—this tiny bird attempts its final rescue, beneath a deep blue sky.”
From dizzy heights to grounded mornings—last night’s revelry left me chasing feathers in the wind. Here’s a tiny bird (Welcome Swallow), a deep blue sky, and a poem that remembers too much red wine.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word ‘Excessive’. You can visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here. In my poem, I wrote about having an “Excessive” amount of ‘red wine’ at the Event last night …
A Tiny Bird in a Deep Blue Sky
Too many late nights, Too much red wine. I consumed too many savoury bites — Throw me a rescue line That’s not made of grapevines.
My eyes look like Christmas lights; I’m getting too old for these dizzy heights. Oh well, I’ve plenty of time to recover — Until next week’s Writers party hangover.
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears in Chapter 2, Nature: An Unbiased Timekeeper
Winter Sun
What my careless eyes perceived My unprepared senses Soon, I found out that they had been deceived The day appeared sunny enough for a stroll And I ventured into the afternoon cold Ten steps out, a glacial wind took hold
The blustery arctic blast Snapped every limb within grasp My breath turned into icy glass My ears were stabbed by frigid darts My cheeks were slapped by gloves of frozen brass And the winter sun failed to warm my heart
I didn’t set out to chase wattlebirds — they found me, mid-flight, mid-thought. These photos are fragments of that encounter: wings flared, feathers streaked, sky split open. What’ll I do with them? Share them, I suppose — with wonder.
And there’s more …
So what’ll I do with my wattlebird photos? I’ll let them speak — of flight and freedom, of fleeting beauty and quiet persistence. In each frame, a story hovers: not just of the bird, but of the moment I paused to notice. May these images carry a little of that stillness to you, too.
This poem grew from seven spontaneous comments I left on fellow bloggers’ posts. Each stanza carries its own spark — playful, whimsical, or contemplative — yet together they weave a journey from comic mishap to quiet reflection. “What a Holi-mess; or, Reality Strikes” is both anecdotal and introspective, a collage of moments stitched into verse.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Trojan Cloud”is in this week’s edition. To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/trojan-cloud/
Featuered Image Above; Theo, tethered but tenacious — reaching for the light once more.
** Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Epic. To visit their wonderful site, please click >> Here.
Back in early June, readers might remember my poem about “Theo” the tomato tree — a bold little sprout defying the odds. I’m pleased to announce that Theo has survived an arduous winter. Today, beneath the mulch and morning mist, there are tender signs of regrowth. >> https://ivorplumberpoet.press/2025/06/09/bold-and-defiant/.
Like good Doctor Who Theo’s regenerated Will he produce fruit?
“Frankie the Salesman, master of the lucky-dip and poetry protocol. Cavalier by nature, befriending by heart.”
Frankie the Salesman
Here we are, under the glass-roofed part Of the covered Centrepoint Arcade. The spring sun is decorating our book stall, And my salesman is in charge of poetry protocol.
The ‘Take a Poem Home Lucky-dip’ is again very popular My furry assistant has been willingly jocular, And appropriately, befriendingly cavalier.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 