Last night’s concert is still humming through me this morning — a gentle afterglow of voices, strings, and silhouettes that hasn’t quite settled. I’m too tired to write a full review, but the feeling of it all lingers, shaping this small poem the way a single note can colour an entire sky. With Bird on a Wire echoing softly in my thoughts, the night has lifted into something quiet and edenic, finding its way into these lines.
From wings in the sky to voices on stage — the same rhythm of freedom and grace carries through.
Maree and Ivor just before the concert began.
Edenic Sky
I’m on a poetic high,
up here in my symphonic sky —
like a bird on a wire,
above the bustling dragonflies
buzzing around on standby.
Up here in my rhythmic sky,
away from the politician’s tongue ties
and blind glass eyes —
floating inside last month’s mince pie,
still gloating about the blowflies
hovering over Shanghai’s
under-prepared stir fry.
I’m on a poetic high,
up here in my edenic sky.
And so I’ll leave the morning here, with the last notes of the concert still drifting somewhere just out of reach, colouring the sky in their own quiet way. The bird on the wire, the sepia light, and the poem’s small rise all feel like echoes of that lingering music — a reminder that some nights don’t end; they simply soften into the day.
Ivor Steven © September 2026
