Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Flying Through the Sun-veiled Clouds

While capturing the sun‑veiled clouds yesterday, a passing group of pigeons slipped into my frame — a quiet, serendipitous moment that inspired the poem taking flight below.

Flying Through the Sun-veiled Clouds

My weary wings are cold and old,
yet despite my life’s controlled leasehold —
I have a sense of being almost paroled and sold.

I’m boldly journeying
above the rolling cloud-deck,
toward the transcendental edge
of that unfolding hole in the sky
where the golden seam of light
will once again resurrect
my silhouette’s pluckiness
to continue flying
through the great beyond.

And so I rise, though frayed and worn,
my fading shadow, albeit weather‑torn,
still seeks the glow where new skies are born.

As the cold day folds away, I’ll let the music carry the final light of the day.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Sandcastles

This poem grew out of three small conversations across the WordPress community — first with Mark, then with Violet, and finally with Susi. Each reply carried its own quiet image, and when I gathered them together, they seemed to drift toward the same shoreline, as if the words had swum through the ocean and landed on one beach.
In stanza order, they are.
1. Mark: WHAT WE BECAME – Havoc and Consequence
2. Violet: Freedom – Revisited | Thru Violet’s Lentz
3. Susi: The Gate To Hell – I Write Her

Sandcastles

Sandcastles built during low tide
are not supplied with an upside,
nor a legible exit guide.

Freedom never comes
in garbage bags full of crumbs.
Freedom calls and goes,
wearing the same old clothes.

Through the cracks’ depths,
the light’s resurfacing stealth
gives us reassuring strength.

Funny how a few quick replies can turn into a whole poem. These little moments across WordPress drift together, and before I know it, they’ve built something on the shore. Sandcastles is just today’s example.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Throwback Friday, A Finite in the Infinite

This whimsical, philosophical poem was written in November 2020.
“This universe is the wreckage of the infinite on the shore of the finite”
… Swami Vivekananda

A Finite in the Infinite

Curiosity opens my eyes at first light,
I venture beyond my cocoon of fright,
And begin to see the world’s perceived fears —
Wingless, I crawl away from the sea of tears.

Tired of romancing the stone,
I threw a rock into the ocean,
Hit the great white ghost in the head,
And fed the hungry seagulls more bread.

This is no time to throw the towel in;
I just heard the bell for round two ring.
The power of the universe glows at night,
And I am but a finite in the infinite.

And in the quiet drift between the finite and the infinite, a song reminds us what it means to be alive.

Until Eyes Hear Sound

Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 © July 2026

The Unknown (a Haiku)

Please Note: All the attached images are photo montages that I have created, and then they were enhanced by Copilot.

A lone spirit lifts through the moon‑washed clouds, moving toward whatever waits beyond the unknown.

The Unknown (a Haiku)

Through the clouds I fly
I’m a spirit of the night
The unknown is mine

The spirit keeps drifting, following the quiet pull of the unknown.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

An Interesting Flower

One small flower caught my eye on our walk, and of course Frankie had to follow me in — just to make sure I wasn’t finding something better than him.

An Interesting Flower

We were meandering back
along our beaten walking track
when like an undercover spy
I saw a flower with my inquisitive eye
As I ventured into the shrubbery
there, right behind me, was Frankie
“What’s Dad found in there –
is it something tasty for me?”

Well Frankie, I’ve since discovered,
the flower was an African Iris,
they are drought-resistant and like
those sandy banks near our track.

Frankie approved the flower — and he definitely approves this track to finish the walk.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Coffee House Writers Magazine features my new poem, “Is My Horizon Unreachable?”

Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem, “Is My Horizon Unreachable?” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> Is My Horizon Unreachable? – Coffee House Writers

Some moments arrive with a kind of stillness that asks you to look a little longer. Today, the sky was crossed with dark, wiry lines and the slow sweep of wings, each moment carrying its own quiet message. As I followed those shapes toward the brightening horizon, a poem began to form — unplanned, but insistent — rising out of the light which was beyond my reach.

Beyond the last pylon, let the music carry you the rest of the way toward that unreachable light.

Until Eyes Hear Sound

Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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 © July 2026

Blue Jay Ballet

And so the final arc of my rainbow trilogy rests here, carrying me gently into tomorrow.

Sunday arrives with a softer kind of clarity — rainbow light lingering after the night’s dream‑relay, a lone bird rising through the blue, and the moon keeping quiet watch above it all. After drifting between yesterday, tomorrow, and today, I find myself settling into the calm of the morning, letting its gentle hope unfold in its own time.

Blue Jay Ballet

Dreamtime is a relay
where thoughts have no say;
they inwardly sway
between yesterday,
tomorrow, and today –
they don’t go away.

Old windows don’t fray,
new doors are on delay
in different ways

Life’s calmness
paddles across the bay
Life’s quietness
shares my causeway
Life’s loneliness
is here to stay –
come what may

A gentle reminder that tomorrow still waits in the light — and so the sky carries me forward, come what may.

Beyond the Rainbow Bridge

Feature Image Above: is a photo montage in which I have glued a ‘cut-out’ bird onto my amazing photo of the rainbow bridge between the trees.

A cold, draining day still offered one quiet wonder —
a rainbow rising through the mist, inviting me to look beyond the familiar and follow a single thought into the blue.

Beyond the Rainbow Bridge

Here on the land’s highest ridge,
between the tall towering trees,
I’m inquisitively flying toward
an enchanting rainbow bridge —
which is mystically spanning
our world’s misty atmosphere.

There above, in the deep blue sky,
beyond the mesmerising arch,
I hear the sun’s advisory sigh —
“Let the grandeur of the universe
be your guiding matriarch”

And for those who wish to wander a little further, here’s a song that carries the same quiet, sky‑bound grace.

Black and White

Over at Weekly Prompts, the Colour Challenge for July is Black & White. Please visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> Here

Black and White

A calmness follows
The healing of night
As the dark moon
Sinks from sight
Leaving no shadow
Upon this blight

Arise lonely soul
Into the stillness of light
The heart throbs again
As blackness turns white

Above Rainbow Valley

A rainbow rose out of the valley this morning, and I imagined a bird hovering above it — watching the land quiver and the world slowly find its light. This poem grew from that quiet moment.

Above Rainbow Valley

Hovering above the tall, showy rainbow,
I watch the quivering land below
graciously and warmly shake hands
with the phenomenon’s vertical strands.

Then I hear the valley’s enchanted trees
majestically applaud with collective glee
about such a surreal, peaceful sight —
as the faltering world finally sees the light.

This poem found its evening companion in Matt Corby’s “All Fired Up” — a gentle echo from Rainbow Valley.