Poems – Page 3 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

An Aerial Pantomime

Clouds became a stage today—birds in flight performing their aerial pantomime

An Aerial Pantomime

The big black crows,
come and go as they please,
lancing through the low clouds,
like stingrays in a sandy sea.

Pretty wattlebirds are swift,
flashy, and never shy,
flaunting their showy plumes
among the naked grey clouds.

And the day’s aerial pantomime
Would not be complete
without a black-and-white minstrel show
from the troop’s majestic magpie.

“The skies sang today; this video is their chorus.”

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

The Meadow and the Red Rose

The Meadow and the Red Rose

There’s a golden hush where field mustard sways,
spring’s quiet rebellion against the grey.

White butterflies flutter over the yellow meadow,
spreading pollen and love like a dissipating rainbow.

Morning glory unfurls a mauve lawn —
brief as breath, bold as dawn.

In time, the shepherd’s clock closes gently,
whenever the weather bells chime hourly.

Meanwhile, my front garden’s red rose sentinel
Stoically stands guard over my daily spectacle.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

“E” Day Tomorrow, and, Polishing Takes Time

“E” Day Tomorrow

Yes, it’s all about my new book, Time Hears No Sound. And my wonderful editor, Judy (from Jaymah Press), will be here at my home tomorrow for a meeting to review the proofreading I did of her draft copy of my manuscript. Another part of the correction process in preparing a polished manuscript before we decide to hand it over to the printers.

The image on the right is my Epilogue poem, which I added to the manuscript yesterday

Polishing Takes Time

Tomorrow the pages will breathe again,
their margins whispering corrections,
their commas waiting for release.

Around the table,
time will sit with us,
silent but attentive,
as Judy’s careful eyes
polish the echoes
into a voice that endures.

And when the pages rest,
their voices hushed in ink,
we will listen together
to the silence between words—
where time hears no sound,
yet carries every echo forward.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Incompatible

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.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

A Tiny Bird in a Deep Blue Sky

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.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Petrified Air

Even in poisoned skies, the crows persist. A silhouette of survival — sharp, black, and unyielding.

Petrified Air

Is that coal dust
in my eye?
Or have the dark clouds
begun to cry —
About our polluted sky?

How shall crows fly
inside our petrified air supply?

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Throwback Friday, Winter Sun

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

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

What’ll I Do With My Wattlebird Photos?

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.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

What a Holi-mess; or, Reality Strikes

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.

In Stanza Order, they are:
1 – Gigi >> First snowfall today…. | Rethinking Life
2 – David >> Hol-i-daze, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
3 – David >> Escape route, or: (Patented) – The Skeptic’s Kaddish
4 – Gigi >> The moon… | Rethinking Life
5 – Beth >> ‘and I think my spaceship knows which way to go.’- david bowie | I didn’t have my glasses on….
6 – Art >> https://storiesbizarre.wordpress.com/2025/11/13/attacked-by-cracked-bats-jack
7 – Violet >> The Bloom and the Bone | Thru Violet’s Lentz

What a Holi-mess; or, Reality Strikes

Oh no,
Not snow,
Oh woe —
My toes,
And nose.

What a holi-mess!
Nimbleness,
Lost the address;
Finesse,
Regressed.
Nothing left to digest —
Time to confess,
And reassess.

And all of the secret escape tunnels
Have become my device’s collection funnels.

Nothing really matters;
None of the moon’s detractors
Can stop my loving captures
Of the moon’s perpetual chapters.

It is hard not to frown,
Inside out or upside down;
But which way around
Should the “King” wear his crown?

Reality strikes —
They were jacksnipes,
Flying in for a swipe
Of my peace pipe.

Time hears no sound,
And in the silence of time,
The echo inside my isolation,
was indeed the sound
Of my own heartbeat.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

“Trojan Cloud”, is in this week’s Coffee House Writers Magazine edition.

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/