Philosophical – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

The Poet’s Secret Notebook

Before dawn settled, and after a sleepless night, these small doorways into a wandering mind found their way into my bedside notebook…

An unexpected sign on our walk home — a cheerful echo to the morning’s wandering thoughts

The Poet’s Secret Notebook

Turn the poet’s page
Feel his restless rage

Open secret doors
Hunger for more

Repair broken windows
Learn from nature’s crows

Your windows are not mirrors
Reflections are not the jurors’

Follow your dreams
Do not listen to machines

From secret pages to shifting strings, may the music carry the last of these wandering thoughts into your dreams

Ivor Steven © June 2026

The Forest, a Fantasy Land

The Little Cloud Studio window display at the Creative Geelong Makers Hub stirred a memory of Emily Dickinson’s quiet devotion to nature — this piece is my own small letter back to the world, written from a forest of imagination.

“This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me —
The simple News that Nature told —
With tender Majesty, Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see —
For love of Her — Sweet — countrymen —
Judge tenderly — of Me.”

Emily Dickinson

The Forest, a Fantasy Land

Come join me in the forest’s fantasy land;
I know of a picture-perfect place
where the dappled sunlight
silently filters through the trees.

There’s a picnic table built for two.
I’ll bring a food hamper
and Emily Dickerson’s
magical book of poems.

Within the bower’s peace and quiet,
if you listen closely, nature’s gentle breeze
softly rustles through the ferns and leaves;
and then you’ll hear the green toadstools
from the forest floor’s mossy logs
humming a familiar tune.

Today’s music drifts from the heart of the forest — Enya’s “The Memory of the Trees.”

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Between the Moon and Clouds

Twilight gathered around me, the moon above and the land below — and this mural, a reminder of the ancient, living connection our First Nations people hold with Country.

Between the Moon
and Clouds

They say the world is changing,
but the moon cannot stop frowning,
while nature is unerringly hurting,
beneath our fettered feet.

Between the worried moon
and the settling clouds,
I perceive a loud rumbling sigh
from beyond the deep blue sky.

In one ferocious breath, Thor decries,
“Beware of the ground’s ringleader’s lies
about the Earth’s visible demise,
and hear the crust’s cries
with your own eyes.”

In the silence between day and night, the sky held its breath, and I paused on earth’s shimmering crust, letting the music rise where words could not.

Ivor Steven © June 2026

Stamped and Dispatched

Gigi, wrote these words

“all of those things
divide us
separate us
they are labels
and we are not merchandise”

Below, is my poetic reply

Gigi >> This is what is done to all of us… | Rethinking Life

Stamped and Dispatched

once upon a time
a poet without rhyme
looked up from the waiting line —
the sky whispered its warning:
you were never meant to wear a label,
nor born to be one‑of‑a‑kind

Ivor Steven © May 2026

It’s Sad

What began as two simple responses — one to the city’s hard truths, one to the fading light — has merged into a single reflection on how we move through darkness and bridge life’s rolling undertow.

The first stanza is Nancy’s, and the second is David’s.
Nancy … Asphalt Jungle – The Elephant’s Trunk
David … We stand, or: Our bodies tilt – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱

It’s Sad

It’s sad how some people can sink so low.
It’s sad how the onlookers come and go.
It’s sad how Skid Row groans and crows.
It’s sad how urban rainbows lose their glow,
and drown in life’s rolling undertow

Nearing the looming edge of night,
is there a hidden bridge
between life’s fading light
and that last, unbroken ridge?

And somewhere in the half‑light, we keep searching for the bridge to span life’s rolling undertow.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

The World’s Spiritual Watchtower

The World’s Spiritual Watchtower

I’m fused to this planet,
and my synthetic walking shoes
are wearing thin on the granite.

I’m confused and sadly bemused
by humanity’s wayward news.

I gaze up at our radiant sun
and wonder about the solar power
that goes unused by the tonne.

I see birds cruising on the wind
angling their wings
toward the sun’s golden rind,
as if spellbound
by the mystical rising.

A glowing, cosmic sunflower
quietly expanding outwards
and shining upwards
to become the world’s
spiritual watchtower

A watchtower of sound to meet the poem’s rising light

Ivor Steven © March 2026

From Beyond Nowhere

A lucky snapshot: a bird crossing an invisible line between sun and sky, caught in the quiet shimmer of possibility.

From Beyond Nowhere

Below the invisible line,
Between the sun and time,
It is impossible to know
That what we perceive
Are the stars’ definitive stare,
Or, whether the outer glow
Is the universe’s cosmic snow
From beyond nowhere.

Ivor Steven © March 2026

Where It All Began

Some mornings begin in silence, before memory fully wakes, and the hush before daylight becomes a bridge between darkness and light

And, For Sadje’s #Whatdoyousee #331 – 9 March 2026 – My ‘Poem’ closely represented Sadje’s first Image.

To visit Sadje’s fabulous site, please click >> Here

Where It All Began

It was only six-twenty.
I could not remember
how my bowl became empty.

What is this strange condition?
Then I shifted the position
of my inner opposition
by refining the leftover light
from within the dark of night –
when silence suspends time –
into the musical sounds of rhyme.

Am I too late to catch the worm,
or beyond time’s sonic boom?
Is there still more to learn?

Who Shines On Me?

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me
The moon rises quietly, guiding my cross-eyed downside away from the world’s wide landslide.

Who Shines On Me?

Who is he, who is she,
who shines on me
so forlornly?

There, from the other side
of the sky’s great divide,
where eveningtide
cannot be denied.

Then the twilight moon guided
my cross-eyed downside
away from the world’s wide
and worsening landslide.

For the quiet places where the moon lifts us beyond what we think we see.

The Ravens Warning (a Tanka)

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

“Ravens fly through the iron‑gate sky, carrying warnings only the attentive will hear.”

The Ravens Warning (a Tanka)

Stealthily they fly,
below the iron‑gate sky—
loud and steely‑eyed.
Ravens warn all passersby:
beware of that sly bad guy.

Under an iron‑gate sky, her voice rises like a warning carried on dark wings