Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word ‘Journal.’ To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here
“This morning’s muse — wings caught mid-thought.”
My Journal’s Wings
High above my poetic eye I fly, where the early birds gracefully glide by across the bright morning sky.
And in my journal, I pause to ask why birds become the muses of my word supply— as if their wings remind me that thought itself is a kind of flight, and every line I write is another way of learning how to rise.
“The soul has illusions as the bird has wings.” — Victor Hugo
“One Day,” when I photographed a wedge-tailed eagle gliding across a clear Victorian sky. Its silhouette stirred something ancient — a whisper of myth, a search for meaning. This ‘Telestitch’ poem was written in response to Coffee House Writers’ monthly poetry assignment, and for the Weekly Prompts “One Day” Monthly Challenge. To visit their fabulous site, click >> Here
Eagle(a Telestitch)
The wistful wedge-tailed eagle, Soars toward the mystical Southern Aurora, Searching for the anomaly’s hidden beginning, Hoping to find the missing Holy Grail. All the horizon’s dreams dissolve into the sky’s finale.
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.
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?
Over at Weekly Prompts, this weekend is their monthly Colour Challenge, and they selected the colour BROWN. To visit their fabulous site, please click HERE.
A big thank you to, Nancy for being the source of my inspiration for this poem
Rusty and earthen, I supported her burden. I was no Spartan, And asked for no one’s pardon- I’m a bygone guardian.
Beluga Lagoon, The Snail, Lyrics
Pain, no really for me Some will suffer far more than I will but then we’ll all be still some day A snail, I’m a snail on the sea And so slowly I sink to the deep as I try to remember peace
Lions and tigers and beggars and bears They all live today and they all will decay The world and the folk and the things you could see And I swim in the gloom in a room where I struggle to breathe
Where I struggle to breathe Where I struggle to breathе
Streetlights, gold on cold Like a beacon In my sort of soul Grows so old now the cold Kills my bonеs Kills my bones Kills my bones Kills my bones Kills my bones
Graveyards make me calm I don’t know why Deepest kind of dreaming Caribbean coastline Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water Clear blue water
Apologies to my followers and readers for not blogging much this weekend. Sorry, it has been a hectic weekend for me and I have run out of “Time” … Market Day, Saturday, and my Dome Poetry meeting on Sunday … I’ll have no breath left to blow out the candles!!
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is Back-to-Front. To visit their fabulous site, please click HERE
“Tock-tick”, or “47 is 74”
I am seventy-four today And as I am growing older I am hearing time ticking Back-to-front Sounding more like “tock-tick” Instead of a steady “tick-tock”
Once upon a time For every moment There was a second Now, in one moment There are two seconds! And the old hands On my rusty sundial Cannot find time’s Elusive shadow
Alas, I have searched Inside out and upside down For the key to time’s New age design “A backless clock Without any front”
Over at Weekly Prompts, it’s the last weekend of the month, and it’s time for the One Day Prompt. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here
Water and Sand
I am a nomadic island A minute rock of water and sand An unstable molecular lotion In the universe’s vast ocean
I am one unsinkable living gland At the mercy of nature’s timeless hands
And over at Weekly Prompts, it’s the last weekend of the month and time for their One Day Prompt! To visit their fabulous site, please click on > Here
A Technical Knockout
When you’re down and out feeling like a dry river-bed trout flipping around after an endless drought And you’re in the vacant corner of another losing bout There’ll be one day, without doubt you’ll have nothing left to shout about
Please, I beg, one last Guinness stout before I get kicked in the spout by Trump’s next lockout roundabout
After the ruthless rout, when I blacked out I was told by a local layabout “there was no doubt, the decision was a Technical Knockout”
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 