Emotions – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Memory Lane

A quiet moment in the grass this morning — just me, my camera, and a lone mushroom in the light to guide me down memory lane — a soft umbrella for tired legs and fading recollections. This poem is the path I followed beneath its shelter.

I don’t often do this, but before the poem, I’ve added a song that’s always offered me a quiet kind of shelter. Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm feels like the right companion for this morning’s walk and the memories that followed.

Memory Lane

I’m slowly drifting back
along a familiar winding track.

My old legs feel like used lard —
I can’t travel another yard;
the climb has been long and hard.

Please, can you give me shelter
here, under your mushroom’s umbrella?

Let my weariness rest for a few moments
while my memory lane’s missing residents
struggle to recall who’s the President.

And as the day drifts on, this song carries my missing dreams down along memory lane.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

Nancy’s, Lai “Singed” challenged me to try the form myself. I’d never written a Lai before, but her poem inspired this first attempt — a small reply shaped from her spark.
Nancy: Singed – The Elephant’s Trunk

A traditional lai is a short French poetic form built on a pattern of nine lines, arranged in three stanzas. Each stanza follows this structure:

Lines 1–2: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 3: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 4–5: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 6: 2 syllables, repeated refrain
Lines 7–8: 5 syllables, same end rhyme
Line 9: 2 syllables, repeated refrain

The rhyme scheme is: a a b / a a b / a a b

The refrain (“truth hurts”) repeats at the end of each stanza, giving the lai its heartbeat.

And for Sadje’s WDYS >> What do you see # 347- 29 June, 2026 – Keep it alive

Truth Hurts (a lai poem)

I’m an awkward dill
with a broken quill —
truth hurts.

I don’t swallow krill,
nor kill for the thrill —
truth hurts.

I can’t light the grill,
my flame has no will —
truth hurts.

From fog to fire – a quiet truth above, a wild awakening below

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Behold

Feature Image Above: A pale, gold sun, a held breath, a path unfolding —and a quiet truth still finds its way through.

Early yesterday morning, I read Gigi’s fierce and tender poem, and something in her words stirred an old ache of my own. What began as a quick response grew into this small reckoning — a quiet look at age, longing, and the goals that slip beyond our grasp.

Gigi >> FYI… | Rethinking Life

Behold

As I grow old
the heart goes cold,
so I am told.

I’ve never been bold,
nor has life been gold.
Dreams remain deep in my soul —
and now, as the mind unfolds,
they’re my only stronghold.

I’m yet to be paroled,
and the resolve of my goal
has been lost and sold.

And so I leave these lines here, drifting toward Cohen’s voice, where the narrowing of life becomes its own kind of truth.

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Willing (a Haiku)

G’day readers. It has been an emotional weekend — my mother’s birthday yesterday, my wife’s funeral day, and Mother’s Day today here in Australia. This haiku is a small tribute to the gracious and courageous women who shaped me, and to the strength their lives still give me as I move forward.

Willing (a Haiku)

Still willing to fly
Black sky and an arctic wind
Nothing holds me back

For the women who taught me to rise, even on the coldest of days.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Not Good, But I’m Ok (a Tanka)

On this Good Friday morning, a lone bird drifts beneath the sun — a small, steady shape moving through a world that still carries its wounds. Watching it, I felt the familiar pull of memory, the long years of care, love, and quiet endurance that shaped my life. This Tanka rose from that moment, from that tear in the sky, and the music below holds the same fragile ache — a home built from devotion, loss, and the tenderness that remains.

Not Good, But I’m Ok (a Tanka)

I fly beneath you
On this Good Friday morning,
And I spy a tear
In the corner of your eye —
Is our World a sinful stye?

Ivor Steven © April 2026

Yet to be Found

A fallen flowering bush caught my eye on the way back from our morning walk — knocked flat by last night’s storm, yet still holding colour. The sight struck a familiar chord, and the words came quickly, shaped by that quiet recognition of what it means to be brought down and still not done.

Yet to be Found

I’m lying on the ground.
The overnight storm knocked me down.
I’m feeling flat and unsound;
my flowers are turning brown.
When will I be found?

Do they know, I need to be reset?
I’m still bound to this mound –
and I’m not dead yet!

Ivor Steven © February 2026

Invisible Me (a Senryu)

Featured Image Above: “Our beginning, timeless as a dream.”

Invisible Me (a Senryu)

How to be yourself?
When your life is within an
unreachable dream

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

“Tonight, Hold Your Curtain Open”, is in this week’s edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine.

Hello dear readers and followers, I am a writer for “Coffee House Writers magazine” (USA), on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “Tonight, Hold Your Curtain Open”, is in this week’s edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. …
To Read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine.
>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/tonight-hold-your-curtain-open/