A Combined Poem – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

The Pot’s Still Simmering

Featured Image Above: wae created by Copilot and me.

Over at Sadje’s WDYS #325, I think my poem is appropriate for both of her prompt images. To visit her fabulous site please click >> Here.

This poem grew out of three short pieces I wrote in response to posts by fellow WordPress writers—Beth, Mark, and Dwight. Each anecdote carried its own spark, but together they formed a thread I couldn’t ignore. I’ve woven them here into one poem, a reflection on nature, emotion, and the creative fire that keeps us writing.
In stanza order, they are:
Beth – https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/2026/01/24/the-magic
Mark – https://havocandconsequence.wordpress.com/2026/01/24/smashed-like-a-deity
Dwight – In Pursuit of Passion | Roth Poetry

The Pot’s Still Simmering

Once upon a time, while the moon was sweeping
Just after the ice age had ceased creeping
And when the world’s sky had finished wistfully weeping
Mother Nature always had time for her housekeeping
And would never leave “love” under the snow, sleeping

I’ve always found it difficult
to simply wash away the salty tears
The residual droplets seemed
to have crystallized upon my soul’s fears

While the pot
remains simmering
and the irons are still hot,
a passion for writing
is this poet’s lot

Ivor Steven © January 2026

A Pantomime, or, A Playwright

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

This poem grew from four comment‑poems I left on two fellow poets’ pages — David’s words sparking the first and third stanzas, Nancy’s the second and fourth. When I brought those fragments together, they unfolded into a small theatrical wandering: a pantomime of thresholds, ascents, and the strange choreography of time.
In Stanza Order:
1. David; The line moves, or: By inertia – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 
2. Nancy; Thresholds – The Elephant’s Trunk
3. David; My years slowly, or: I walk – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 
4. Nancy; Ascension – The Elephant’s Trunk

A Pantomime, or, A Playwright

Sublime is time;
heeds no rhyme,
beyond our imaginary climb.
Somewhere we await a final line –
or is life just a pantomime?

Oh, I see doorways,
stairways,
and causeways
These days
I’m living in a hazy daze –
or am I wandering in a maze
of poetic cliches
and unfinished essays?

Do we climb the incline
to our ordained shrine?
Or is the causeway a surreal design,
a decline into a magnetic mine?

Under a dome of flawless white,
being elevated toward the uncorrupted light –
the beginning of a poet’s last moonlit playwright

From Lisa O’Neill’s Black Sheep — “Do you want a story before you sleep?” A fitting echo for this small pantomime of doorways and moonlit climbs.

If you wish to read Lisa O’Neill’s outstanding “Black Sheep” lyrics, click on this Link >> https://genius.com/Lisa-oneill-black-sheep-lyrics

Ivor Steven © January 2026

An Albatross and the Saboteurs

Featured Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

This poem grew from a series of poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they were inspired by:

David >> Back to the soil, or: Stretching forth – The Skeptic’s Kaddish
Eugi >> Wordless Wednesday – Poesy Perspectives
Susi >> Erred – I Write Her
VJ >> Turning (tanka) – One Woman’s Quest

An Albatross and the Saboteurs

Underneath all the mounds,
we are all bound together
by the same ground,
whether we are lost or found.

The packaging is losing its gloss,
but the contents are not lost –
still spirited like an albatross.

Bluffers and shovers
Swoop like overprotective plovers,
act like “Big Brother,”
ring the buzzer,
usher out the duffers,
and snuffer the crushers.

Oh, so many detours
and hidden contours.
Who are these saboteurs?

Lisa O’Neill’s music has a way of grounding us in what matters. This song, in particular, feels like a quiet reckoning—an honest look at the world and the winds that shape it.

Lisa O’Neill, The Wind Doesn’t Blow This Far Right, Lyrics

[Verse 1]
I’ve lately been thinking of an old friend
Who I haven’t seen in a while
Last night I dreamed that the same friend
Passed without sayin’ goodbye

[Verse 2]
Oh, to be wild like the roses
Oh, to be red with delight
My blood is red out of fury
The wind doesn’t blow this far right

[Verse 3]
Some terrors are born out of nature
Some terrors are born overnight
Some terrors are born out of leaders
With their eye on a different prize

[Verse 4]
The thing is, some leaders are players
And players sometimes can be clowns
And clowns then sometimes can be dangerous
When they’re there and yet they can’t be found

[Verse 5]
The Big Mac, the big man, the big bomb
The power of money and lies
The power of fear in the people
The wind doesn’t blow this far right

[Verse 6]
Some terrors are born out of nature
Some terrors are born overnight
Some terrors are born out of leaders
With their eye on a different prize

[Verse 7]
Oh, to be wild like the roses
Oh, to be red with delight
My blood is red out of fury
The wind doesn’t blow this far right

[Verse 8]
Drill, baby, drill
Don’t, baby, don’t
Don’t you hear the winds, feel the fires as they burn?
Beautiful planet, beautiful home
Drill, baby, drill
Don’t, baby, don’t

[Verse 9]
Kill, baby, kill
Don’t, baby, don’t
Don’t you hear the kids as you blindly bulldoze on?
Beautiful children, starved to the bone
Kill, baby, kill
Don’t, baby, don’t
Kill, baby, kill
Don’t, baby, don’t

Ivor Steven © January 2026

A New Year’s Day Conversation, with Brian

This morning, Brian and I had an interesting conversation related to my poem, “A Rocketeer’s Poetry Career.” You may visit Brian’s fabulous Photographic site by clicking on this link >> https://bushboy.blog/

A New Year’s Day Conversation, with Brian

“There is a time
to put away your sword,
and pick up a pen,
Isn’t there, Ivor?”

“My old quill
is still full of ink, Brian”

“and blood on your sword?”

“There is always blood
After the thud
Of a muddy flood”

Ah, this swords a dud,
So dull, draws no blood
Only, this bloody mud

Ivor Steven © January 2026

The Weather Report

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

Thinking About Everything

Feature Image Above: Frankie and I, mid-poem at our local café—where thoughts drift between nothing and something, and companionship keeps everything afloat.

Attached Images: Three of my bird photos from today: Wattlebird, Magpie, and Mudlark.

This poem grew from three spontaneous reflections I left on fellow bloggers’ posts—each a response to a moment that stirred something in me. Though written separately, the stanzas now speak to one another, forming a quiet meditation on uncertainty, resilience, and the weight of responsibility. Sometimes, everything lives in the spaces between.
The three bloggers in stanza order.
1st Stanza >> Okay, Socrates | Rethinking Life
2nd Stanza >> Tempted By A Demon – I Write Her
3rd Stanza >> Four in a row – Keep it alive

Thinking About Everything

In between nothing,
and something —
where is everything?

Hold onto a limb,
when the body forgets how to swim,
and the mind’s in a spin.

Holding onto self-discipline
can be hard to maintain —
especially for politicians,
who hold all the reins
in the hard rain.

This live rendition carries a breath of vulnerability and grace—perfect for reflecting on the spaces between nothing, something, and everything. It’s the kind of song that lingers, like a paw resting gently on your arm.

Ivor Steven (c) October 2025

A Malay Kris and a Cracked Brick Wall

Today’s poem is one of my verses, composed of comments/anecdotes I posted on some of my fellow WordPress writers’ articles during the month. In stanza order, they are.

1 – Nancy, Order Of The Snake – The Elephant’s Trunk
2 – Beth, expression. | I didn’t have my glasses on….
3 – Bart, Monday Poetry Prompt: Under the Cushions | Living Poetry
4 – Violet, Untouched by Regret | Thru Violet’s Lentz
5 – Ivor, A response to Nancy’s comment, https://ivorplumberpoet.press/2025/08/14/surprise-surprise-a-tanka/
6 – David, Breaking hours, or: Yet it flows – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱

A Malay Kris and a Cracked Brick Wall

I’ll twist and dismiss
your kiss and hiss.
Then, with my Malay kris,
I’ll swish you up like this.

Little cracks
and threads of black
are nature’s imperfections-
waiting for filaments of imagination.

Under my luxurious woollen cushion
lies an old copy of The Australian Bulletin.
Also, from Great-grand-dad’s mystical Galleon,
there’s a hand-woven chiffon for his Spanish woman.

Regrets are like silhouettes-
they linger above your shoulders
like worn-out epaulettes
and burnt-out candle holders,
as shadowy images after sunset.

Line after line,
Time clutters my mind.
Will I be fine in time?

The sands of time
will forever fall through the hourglass,
and the shadows of time
always moves across the sundial.
Gravity continues to wear us down
and sunlight will always crack our mounds.

Ivor Steven (c) August 2025

Throwback Friday, The Odds and Ends, I Send

Today’s Throwback Friday is from February 2023. The poem was created from anecdotes that I had written and sent to my fellow bloggers’ sites, as replies to their articles/poems.
In order of stanza appearance below,
– V.J. > https://vjknutson.org/
– Kate > https://aroused.blog/
– Beth > https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/

The Odds and Ends, I send

Our head reaches for the clouds
But our heart forgets to speak aloud

We are all little fish in a big sea
Swimming below the atmosphere
Created by nature’s life-giving trees

Not all rocks
Are not just rocks
Some old rocks
When you study their socks
And listen to their knees knock
They “Have rocked around the clock”

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

Let the Rivers Flow (a Combined Poem)

Today’s poem is one of my verses made up of comments I posted on some of my fellow WordPress writers’ articles during the month … In stanza order, they are:
* Paul, The Moment – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon | parallax
* Carol, Some people say I’m off my trolley – Therapy Bits
* David, The shape, or: Letting go – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
* David, https://skepticskaddish.com/2025/06/27/mouthfuls-of-silence-or-sign-language/

Let the Rivers Flow (a Combined Poem)

The tides of time are forever changing
Going beyond our depth can be frightening
But testing the unknown waters can be rewarding

We are all off our trolley
We all like our Lollies
We all forget the brolly
Life is a hectic folly
So, best we stay jolly
And always chat to Polly

If things don’t change
Things will remain the same
Let the cascades fall
May the rivers always flow
Forever changing our lives
With the current’s undertow

Sometimes I wonder
If I am drowning in the sound
Of words that are on the tip of my tongue
And their lifeline has melted
Into the silent recesses of my mind

Ivor Steven (c) June 2025