A rainbow rose out of the valley this morning, and I imagined a bird hovering above it — watching the land quiver and the world slowly find its light. This poem grew from that quiet moment.
Above Rainbow Valley
Hovering above the tall, showy rainbow, I watch the quivering land below graciously and warmly shake hands with the phenomenon’s vertical strands.
Then I hear the valley’s enchanted trees majestically applaud with collective glee about such a surreal, peaceful sight — as the faltering world finally sees the light.
This poem found its evening companion in Matt Corby’s “All Fired Up” — a gentle echo from Rainbow Valley.
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.
In the cool, silvery hush between daytime calm and midnight cloud‑glow, tonight’s full moon drifts above, coinciding with the poem’s own shifting rhythms below.
Below the Coconut Palms
The world’s a sphere of disparity, like the incongruity between the becalmed daytime moon and the shiny orb’s cloudy midnight party — savouring dark-side ice cream with a silver spoon and sipping on milky star-dust until noon.
While down here on planet Earth, between Perth and Fort Worth, I perceive nothing is calm below the empty coconut palms.
Where wanderlust meets wonder — let this song carry you to the far places your heart remembers.
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.
This afternoon’s quiet wait at the café, with Violet’s poem still echoing in my thoughts, stirred a darker reflection beneath the softening sky. These images and lines emerged as the light shifted and the world felt both beautiful and fragile.
Violet’s thoughtful little poem was the spark that set these lines in motion. Violet >> Nibbles | Thru Violet’s Lentz
The Impending Implosion
Corruption and corrosion Decimating nature’s frontlines Ongoing repetitive ugly explosions Nagging away at the senses of mankind Ultimately, there’ll be a cataclysmic implosion
And in the hush between notes, the world feels both fragile and fiercely alive.
I am extremely proud and humbled by the acceptance of four of my poems by the amazing Susi Bocks, Editor‑in‑Chief at The Short of It. They are “hot off the press” and released for publication today.
A sky full of turning light — a fitting doorway into my four poems published today on The Short of It. >> Ivor Steven – I Write Her
Two quiet moments from my own walks — small reminders of how light and flight keep finding their way into my words.
Ivor Steven
PUBLISHED ON June6
Scaling Time
Beyond time Is there another world to find? When time returns Will there be a different mountain to climb?
Inside out
Fortresses and walls. Inside, we cringe and crawl.
Outside, we see only winter and fall. Beyond the bricks -who heeds our call?
The Writers
Tired eyes lose sight Ink flows at night
But still they write Ink becomes their light
A Moment In Time
Between the descending sun, And the hessian horizon, There is a shimmering twilight zone — Instinctively waiting at the bottom Of the doorway’s causeway, For that designated time When every definitive moment Emerges into a second.
And now, let the light carry these moments a little further — inside it all, the music finds the same quiet pulse that shaped these poems
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem,“Living in the Shade,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
This week’s piece was shaped quietly at my café table, with late‑day light drifting across the floor and Portugal. The Man’s live performance of “Shade” echoing through my headphones — a fitting companion for a poem about those left waiting in the dimmer corners of our world.
Let this song cast its own soft light across the shadows we carry.
A small mushroom on the winter ground caught my eye today, leaning toward a thin slice of sun and reminding me how even the smallest things reach for warmth.
Reaching for the Sun(a Haiku)
Sitting on cold ground Reaching for the winter sun Spores falling earthward
When the warmth leans in let the music rise with the winter light.