A Mid-morning Affair


Listen while reading: Sigur Rós – Vaka (Untitled 1).



A Mid-morning Affair

Out beyond the doorway
Facing the great southern sky
I look up sideways to the east
And the mid-morning sun
Discovers my squinting eyes
Then I turn to the west
Where the mid-morning moon
Shyly locates my awakened stare

Here I stand, fair and square
Between the sun’s golden flare
And the moon’s untold affair

I wonder about the world’s current despair
Or should I declare
“Why is the world in such disrepair”







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

Throwback Friday, Flying Among The Clouds

Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in March 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It opens Chapter 6, Travel and Life: Time Flies (Travel)




Flying Among the Clouds



I’m flying high
Cruising among the clouds
Fly with me
And the rest of my flock
Up here
There’s no need for a clock

Time gives no commands
Cruising among the clouds
Silently overseeing the crowd

Time always flies
At the same standard pace
There, in that space
Between daytime’s silvery moon
And twilight’s glittery sun






.


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

Time Hears No Numbers


This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:
1. Sara >> Random Numbers | purplepeninportland
2. Dwight >> https://rothpoetry.wordpress.com/2025/11/25/aging-without-numbers
3. Ivor >> a personal reflection.



Time Hears No Numbers

There is a number attached to everything,
Tracking them down is overwhelming;
Tallying the total is mind-boggling.

I perceive, with a twinkle
in my blurry eye,
an extra wrinkle
on my milky thigh.
But I do not cry
at the number of crinkles
that falsely belie
the sounds of my
life’s happy jingles.

The number of memories shall not diminish
until time decrees, “you’re finished.”




Accompanied by Sleeping At Last’s “Saturn” performed live with the Symphony Orchestra, this poem listens for the echoes beyond numbers—where memory, music, and existence intertwine.



Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

I’m 0n the Brink, I think


Note: All images on my poetry site today are reproduced with the kind permission of Derrick Knight, whose post Sun-Burnished inspired the following piece.
https://derrickjknight.com/2025/12/06/sun-burnished/



I’m on the Brink, I Think


The trees’ reflections upon
winter’s rippling pond
do not waver, nor move along.

The upside-down precinct
Is Nature’s picturesque ink.

Afloat on the cold water,
the images do not sink,
and never appear to shrink.

Here I am, on the brink
of creation’s universal link,
Wondering why
there are so many kinks
in our ability to think.






Ivor Steven (c) December 2025


Finding My Twilight Zone

Sometimes, the moon finds us before we find ourselves.




Finding My Twilight Zone

Above the evensong’s
crimson horizon,
The silvery crescent moon
monastically glows alone,
Atop twilight’s purple zone.

Blessed and fortuitously gratified,
I surreptitiously return home,
Feeling miraculously satisfied.



A silvery crescent glows alone above twilight’s purple hush—accompanied by Nightwish’s “Sleeping Sun,” this moment finds its voice.




Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

A Becalmed Right Hand


A moonlit vigil by the water’s edge—where nature holds our hand, and time listens in.


A Becalmed Right Hand


Blue tranquility inundates the land;
Mother Nature is holding our becalmed right hand

While the moon watchfully scans
the horizon’s aquatic grandstand.

And here we solemnly stand,
on the edge of evening-tide’s unveiled sand,

Waiting for grandfather time to understand
the World’s Pacifist Band is badly undermanned.






Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

Throwback Friday, A Fire That Burns in the Cold


Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears in Chapter 5, Dreaming: A Poet’s Favourite Pastime


A Fire That Burns in the Cold


From behind the trees,
And out of the grasses,
We cannot stop the fire
-That burning desire-
From soaring higher,
Higher than the entire
Starry, starry choir.

So, best we inquire
To the Almighty Supplier:
“Will there be a ceasefire
at the top of your golden spire?”






Ivor Steven (c) December 2025