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
In the hazy mid‑morning light, the moon lingers above the trees as if carrying a memory too heavy to hold.
Descending
Descending through the treetops
the moon appears to stop —
pausing for a moment,
looking despondent.
Naturally, I ask
“Why such a gloomy face?”
“Only a millennium ago
the earth was a jungle of trees,
but now I perceive
only a fallow globe of woe.”
The moon moves on, whispering its sorrow to anyone willing to listen.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
This morning arrived with a soft, icy hush — the kind of cold that settles on rooftops and lingers in the breath, even as the moon looks like an ice cube
The Cold Facts (a Haiku)
An icy morning
Wind-chill down to two degrees
The moon looks cold too!
Let this winter‑blue tune drift beneath the cold morning moon.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
These two haiku grew from different moments — the first shaped by the quiet colours in my own sky, the second written in response to Colleen’s moon‑lit Quadrille (link below). Together they trace a small passage from daylight’s pastel calm to the deeper bloom of night.
Link: Colleen’s post — The Moon flower, Quadrille, dVerse – Tanka Tuesday
Nature’s Canvas (two Haiku)
The white canvas clouds
Hover in front of the sun
Nature’s pastel sky
In darkness she blooms
The other side of the moon
Above her white tomb
For the moments we hold, and the ones that slip beyond us.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
Featured Image Above: A silly old black angel, flapping through another strange day on Earth.
This morning I sent this comment to Gigi’s post — her unbelievable story truly blew me away. Her words sparked something in me, and from that spark I shaped this composite poem. Here’s the original piece that set everything in motion: “A very silly short story…” by Rethinking Life. And Gigi’s reply afterwards said it all: “Ivor, that was wonderful. Can’t thank you enough.”
>> A very silly short story… | Rethinking Life
I’m a Silly Old Black Angel
Beauty is a thing everywhere,
but the definition changes constantly
according to place and species.
Maybe I’m supposed to bring peace to earth,
but no one can do that.
This place is all crazy,
and there’s no argument
against the truth — right!
Life on Earth is so unfair,
and I think I’m supposed to
do something about that too,
but I’ve no idea.
Everything seems so unjust.
I’ll think about it later
What if there is no later?
I suppose then, it won’t matter.
But does anything matter?
“No,” I thought.
And then all of my words,
just kind of flew away.
A quiet place to land, while the world keeps turning beneath my wings.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
In the hush before daylight kisses everything, the setting moon and a lone flyer share the sky’s peaceful journey.
This morning’s moon lingered above Geelong’s blue sky — a quiet witness to words exchanged between kindred writers. Today’s poem gathers those fragments, reshaped from comments left on their pages, into one flowing verse before the morning moon sets.
In stanza order, they are:
Stanza #1, David >> Enemies, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
Stanza #2, Sara >> mountain rising | purplepeninportland
Stanza #3, David >> One leg stand , or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish
Stanza #4, Kelley >> Listening to Johnny Cash – Piano Girl
Before the Morning Moon Sets
Beware
– of crossing gravel paths.
They say
– ants wearing army boots
Are on the move,
– crushing breadcrumbs
– and breaking straws.
Micro power —
– the mighty insects have their own claws and laws.
– and know how to gnaw and undermine desert wars
Blackness hears our lies.
Mountains pierce the sky.
Sunlight kisses our eyes.
The seam becomes a stream.
The stream trickles into the river.
All rivers journey to the sea,
where all hearts rest peacefully.
Memories do not fade;
they are sparkling pieces of jade.
Let the music widen the horizon a little further, where light, peace, and memory become the quiet journey beyond the world’s grandeur.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me.
After a quiet visit and a long walk back to earth, these words arrived with the evening light.
And for Sadje’s: What do you see #339- 4th May, 2026. I chose this Photo
To visit her fabulous site, please click >> Here
The Creamy Side of the Moon
Here I stand with my wedding spoon
on the creamy side of the moon
I’ll be home sometime soon
Probably midafternoon
I’ve been visiting her crystal tomb
on the tawny side of the moon
Then, my friendly and sympathetic flock
will guide my spirit back
Later, after I’ve emptied my backpack
and downed a glass of cognac
Frankie will lead me back
along our earthly walking track
For the moments that linger between moonlight and the gathering birds, let this song carry you the rest of the way down to earth.
Ivor Steven © May 2026
The evening sky unfolded in soft Neapolitan colours, and with it came memories, tenderness, and the quiet echo of a vow once spoken.
Neapolitan Sky
Twilight’s sentimental pink sky
Triggered old memories behind my eyes
While the horizon’s creamy eiderdown
Composedly kept me calmly bound
Then dusk’s velvety edge
Reminded me of our pledge
From the moment our togetherness found its start
We whispered our promise — “’Til death do us part”
“All rivers journey to the sea,
so let your heart rest peacefully —
I know she’s now free.” … Ivor Steven © May 2026
Ivor Steven © May 2026
These four couplets unfold like stepping stones — small pauses across the quiet waters of loss. Each one holds a moment of recognition, a shift in understanding, a breath before the next step. Paired with Leonard Cohen’s “Teachers,” the poem traces the lessons we never received, and the ones we learn only by walking toward them
Life’s Missing Teacher
I never found a teacher,
who taught me how to grieve.
The unforeseen creature
was difficult to perceive.
After unplugging her extension cord,
time was always near.
While wandering toward
the edge of life’s weathered pier.
.
Ivor Steven © May 3rd 2026
These images caught my eye today — the sun climbing higher, the trees reaching upward, and the birds carving Bach’s Cello music through the air. They became the foundation of the poem below.
Sun, Trees, and Birds
Like a stab in the dark,
Where do I start
Is the sun my spark,
Or the trees in the shady park
Talking to the larks
Is my trademark
There below the sun’s warm arc,
And above the trees’ ritual bark
I hear the birds’ melodious hark,
Nature’s own cellist playing Bach
Ivor Steven © May 2026
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 