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
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
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
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
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?
Ivor Steven © March 2026
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.
Ivor Steven © March 2026
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
Ivor Steven © February 2026
Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me. The trials and tribulations of the aging process — where questions deepen, and the hills keep rising.
After flooding my kitchen last night (again), I found myself wondering where simple mistakes end, and something more unsettling begins. This poem grew out of that quiet, uneasy space — the place where aging, memory, and meaning start to blur at the edges.
What’s the Difference
What’s the gap
Between insanity and humanity
Is there a difference
Between oblivion and infinity
What’s the gap
Between failure and fruition
Is there a difference
Between carelessness and forgetfulness
What’s the gap
Between here and there
Is there a difference
Between thoughtlessness and memory loss
What’s the gap
Between now and then
Is there a difference
Between Alzheimer’s and Dementia
Some days, the questions echo louder than the answers.
Ivor Steven © February 2026
Featured Image Above: wae created by Copilot and me.
At the edge of dusk, every path feels like a crossroad.”
The Elusive Crossroad
Beyond the evening’s projecting twilight zone,
I’m looking for this planet’s bright side of the moon.
I observe a strange stratosphere
That does not belong here, nor there.
Between now and the universe’s next episode,
I perceive a mirage of cosmic cathodes,
Faithlessly obscuring eternity’s elusive crossroad.
Ivor Steven © January 2026
Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word “Squish”
To visit their fabulous site, please click >>Here … and I think everything about censorship is awfully “Squishy.”
Nancy’s story on The Elephant’s Trunk [https://theelephantstrunk.org/2026/01/20/rdp-tuesday-disapprove/ ] stirred an old frustration in me — how easily free expression can be twisted, muted, or dismissed. I left a brief comment there, but the idea continued to nag at me throughout the afternoon. Sitting in a quiet corner of the café, I found myself shaping those few lines into something fuller, a small protest poem about the weight of censorship and the stubborn resilience of words. This is where that moment led.
When Words Wear Chains
Words wearing chains,
Pages awash in teary rain;
Quills feel the pain,
Like wisdom without veins
Inside lifeless brains.
How to explain
The inhumane
Of censorship’s careering train,
While the reigning regimes
Sip on foreign champagne.
Ivor Steven © January 2026
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 