Tag: Photos

Rustic Smythesdale

Some places invite you to step sideways into another world. Smythesdale is one of them. This poem wanders from the paddocks into a quiet, cosmic holiday — best read with M83’s Un Nouveau Soleil rising gently underneath.

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Rustic Smythesdale

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Here, where the country paddocks
beam at you through the bedroom window,
grazing kangaroos curiously look your way
and front-yard elephants laze in the shade
of the friendly eucalyptus tree.

I’m untethering my Itmims space craft,
and there’s an aurora lighthouse
to guide the ship around the Cape Of Good Hope
on toward the great passage in the sky.
I’m not saying goodbye, but having a holiday
in the western zone of my rural universe.

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Bhttps://youtu.be/36mlX318Q3w?si=OJ47PPfWNKAsJGNt

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Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

The Weather Report

This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:

Stanza 1. Derrick, >> Not Going Out Much – derrickjknight
Stanza 2. Nancy, >> Novembre – The Elephant’s Trunk
Stanza 3. David, >>  This, too, shall pass, or: A rengay – The Skeptic’s Kaddish 🇮🇱
Stanza 4. Beth, >> darkness just begun. | I didn’t have my glasses on….

The Weather Report

The weather report comes and goes,
whether we feel like it or not.
Nature’s unchained window frames
shall always remain,
unclaimed and untamed.

I miss your November sunshine,
Just before Christmas time.
I miss your gorgeous November style –
all year round, your everlasting smile.

With the season’s colourful changes,
Nature’s crayons pepper the ranges.
Her tablecloth’s scattered mess
Becomes her ancient doll’s festive dress.

A spectacular sunset,
and they are all stellar,
in their own special way –
by single-handedly
signifying the end
of another successful day.







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

Throwback Friday, Are All the Doors Closed?

“Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.”
— John Lennon


“When doors close, and wars roar, let peace be the key we choose to turn.”

Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in March 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the third poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time


Are All the Doors Closed?

Scores of uncultured doors
Closed pores of the old stores
Hiding drawers of past accords
The forgotten ardours of wise mentors

Now, just condescending decors
to the new wars
Like cantankerous dinosaurs
with itchy bedsores









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Until Eyes Hear Sound

Lulu Books >>  Until Eyes Hear Sound (lulu.com)



Perceptions:

Amazon >>  Perceptions : Steven, Ivor, Knight, Derrick: Amazon.com.au: Books
Lulu Books >>  Perceptions (lulu.com)


Tullawalla:

Amazon >> Tullawalla A Meeting Place Where My Empty Hands are Full of Memories and Rhymes : Steven, Ivor: Amazon.com.au: Books


OR: >> You may email me directly for a signed copy at
ivorrs20@gmail.com … and I can send you a PayPal account,
for the Book, plus Postage.


Ivor Steven ©  December 2025

Christmas Eve, Frankie Goes To Ballarat

The day before Christmas, and as usual, we are traveling to Ballarat for the week to enjoy the festive season with our brother and sister. My brother kindly drove down from Ballarat to pick us up.

Frankie is packed and ready to go … Frankie is in the back seat on the way to Ballarat


Frankie quickly makes himself at home in the bedroom and on the lounge with my brother, Lawrie


Then, after dinner, we go for a pleasant walk up Black Hill.


At the end of the day, Frankie is due for a good night’s sleep







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

A Christmas Lament, or, Lazy and Crazy






A Christmas Lament, or, Lazy and Crazy

Maybe my weariness is making me lazy,
But to save myself from going crazy
With obscure objects
And animated artifacts,
I’ve reluctantly decided
To send my annual Christmas cards
In a digital format—
An emailed photostat.
Hopefully, everyone will understand
That Father Time is now in command.







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025

The Magpie’s Letter


“The quiet grace of a magical magpie who knows the season has turned.”




The Magpie’s Letter


Oh, Dear Santa Claus,
I’m wearing my old dancing slippers,
But my weary claws
Are stuck in the bushes.

‘Tis Sunday morning before Christmas,
So, best I release myself
And rejoice in your festive business.
Say hi to all the fairies and elves,
Then pin my flying stockings
Upon Ivor’s empty mantle shelf






Ivor Steven ©  December 2025

A Shadow From Above, or, In Retrospect

“A shadow becomes starlight—dreams tethered, then set free.”

“There’s a thin line that separates courage from stupidity. And that line is only visible in retrospect.” ~Benjamin Franklin.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Retrospect. To visit their fabulous site, click >> Here




A Shadow From Above, or, In Retrospect


I sensed a shadow fall from above,
Then I saw the image of a dove,
Transgress along my causeway.

Am I being led stealthily astray,
Or am I to follow my dreams into the hay?

Traverse my future’s highway,
Escape this meandering essay.
Loosen my tethering tourniquet.

I shall fly beyond the Milky Way –
In my ITMIMS open sleigh.
Where shadows dissolve into light,
And dreams take eternal flight.



* ITMIMS – Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space







Ivor Steven (c) December 2025