A Rocketeer’s Poetry Career
Time is swift, like a deer.
Seven and a half decades of cheer-
And I am still here
To welcome another year.
No longer a brave musketeer,
Nor a faithful volunteer,
I am near the last frontier
Of my uncharted poetry career;
And I no longer fear
Becoming her celestial rocketeer.
Ivor Steven © January 1st 2026
Against all odds, Theo blooms — a New Year’s Eve miracle in Ivor’s courtyard
Theo’s New Year (a Haiku)
I’m a survivor
Yellow blooms on New Year’s Eve
For Ivor’s courtyard
Ivor Steven (c) December 31st 2025
Before we headed “up the country” in verse, here’s the real thing — my sister (on the right) with Suzi and Ando, warming up the crowd on a blazing Sunday afternoon.
Going Up the Country, to Possum Gully Rd
The noon sun is blazing down,
and we’re heading up north,
where mirages hover over the white ground,
and the Kangaroos know it’s already ninety-four.
My Sister is singing in a band on a concrete floor.
They’re aptly named, “Suzi And The Ice Breakers.”
in a galvanised iron, country shed called the Green Door;
and despite the heat, everyone’s dancing like ice-skaters.
There’s a welcoming halftime tea break,
and all the friendly country folk brought a plate –
scones, sponge cakes, and laughter fill the air,
a homespun feast no city crowd could ever compare.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
The Ballarat – Skipton Rail Trail, sunburnt meadows, and tree-shadowed tunnels
Horse drawn cart, and Nimons trestle bridge
The Devils Kitchen is an impressive geological reserve in Piggoreet, 15 minutes from, Smythesdale. The Woady Yaloak River winds its way through a thickly vegetated valley, surrounded by cliffs of spectacular basalt columns.
A Country Trail
How scenarios change over time-
The old unused rural railway line.
From Ballarat to Skipton and back
is now an unspoiled community track.
Gently meandering over sunburnt meadows,
Then dipping through tree-shadowed tunnels aglow.
Along the trails, valleys, and rocky ridges,
Travelers will see horse drawn carts and trestle bridges.
And on the way to Snake Valley and Linton,
Be wary of the gold miners “Devil’s Kitchen.”
A song to wander with along the trail…
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Golden Bracelet
This is not about a mystical sunset,
Nor the birds’ spiritual silhouettes.
I am searching for her golden bracelet –
Or perhaps,
I should be climbing her marble minaret,
Where time is trapped,
And then I could collapse
Into her celestial bassinet.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Some places invite you to step sideways into another world. Smythesdale is one of them. This poem wanders from the paddocks into a quiet, cosmic holiday — best read with M83’s Un Nouveau Soleil rising gently underneath.
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Rustic Smythesdale
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Here, where the country paddocks
beam at you through the bedroom window,
grazing kangaroos curiously look your way
and front-yard elephants laze in the shade
of the friendly eucalyptus tree.
I’m untethering my Itmims space craft,
and there’s an aurora lighthouse
to guide the ship around the Cape Of Good Hope
on toward the great passage in the sky.
I’m not saying goodbye, but having a holiday
in the western zone of my rural universe.
.
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Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:
Stanza 1. Derrick, >> Not Going Out Much – derrickjknight
Stanza 2. Nancy, >> Novembre – The Elephant’s Trunk
Stanza 3. David, >> This, too, shall pass, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
Stanza 4. Beth, >> darkness just begun. | I didn’t have my glasses on….
The Weather Report
The weather report comes and goes,
whether we feel like it or not.
Nature’s unchained window frames
shall always remain,
unclaimed and untamed.
I miss your November sunshine,
Just before Christmas time.
I miss your gorgeous November style –
all year round, your everlasting smile.
With the season’s colourful changes,
Nature’s crayons pepper the ranges.
Her tablecloth’s scattered mess
Becomes her ancient doll’s festive dress.
A spectacular sunset,
and they are all stellar,
in their own special way –
by single-handedly
signifying the end
of another successful day.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
“Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.”
— John Lennon
“When doors close, and wars roar, let peace be the key we choose to turn.”
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in March 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the third poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
Are All the Doors Closed?
Scores of uncultured doors
Closed pores of the old stores
Hiding drawers of past accords
The forgotten ardours of wise mentors
Now, just condescending decors
to the new wars
Like cantankerous dinosaurs
with itchy bedsores
.
Until Eyes Hear Sound
Lulu Books >> Until Eyes Hear Sound (lulu.com)
Perceptions:
Amazon >> Perceptions : Steven, Ivor, Knight, Derrick: Amazon.com.au: Books
Lulu Books >> Perceptions (lulu.com)
Tullawalla:
Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books
OR: >> You may email me directly for a signed copy at
ivorrs20@gmail.com … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.
Ivor Steven © December 2025
A Christmas Lament, or, Lazy and Crazy
Maybe my weariness is making me lazy,
But to save myself from going crazy
With obscure objects
And animated artifacts,
I’ve reluctantly decided
To send my annual Christmas cards
In a digital format—
An emailed photostat.
Hopefully, everyone will understand
That Father Time is now in command.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
“The quiet grace of a magical magpie who knows the season has turned.”
The Magpie’s Letter
Oh, Dear Santa Claus,
I’m wearing my old dancing slippers,
But my weary claws
Are stuck in the bushes.
‘Tis Sunday morning before Christmas,
So, best I release myself
And rejoice in your festive business.
Say hi to all the fairies and elves,
Then pin my flying stockings
Upon Ivor’s empty mantle shelf
Ivor Steven © December 2025
