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,“Beyond My Outpost,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/beyond-my-outpost/
Featured Image Above: Cover art by Kerri Costello — a guitar hidden in the island’s reflection, just as Barbara describes.
Featuring «Until Eyes Hear Sounds» by Ivor Steven
Over the weekend, I received a lovely surprise: LatinosUSA’s Poetry Bookshelf, curated by editor Meelosmom (Barbara), has featured my book Until Eyes Hear Sounds. I’m honoured by the care she took in presenting the poems, the themes, and the story behind the book. It’s always humbling to see my work through someone else’s eyes, and I’m grateful for the thoughtful attention this feature brings.
LatinosUSA’s Poetry Bookshelf, curated by editor Meelosmom (Barbara), has published a full feature on Until Eyes Hear Sounds. The article highlights the book’s imaginative structure, its thematic breadth, and the creative collaboration behind it.
The feature explores the symbolism of the cover design by Kerri Costello, noting how the island’s reflection forms the shape of a guitar with a little imagination. The book is presented as a journey through ten diverse chapters, each paired with one of Kerri’s drawings.
Barbara also reflects on the meaning of the title, suggesting it can be read as a metaphor, a poetic expression, or a state of deep inner focus. She writes that my poems do not claim to have the answers, but instead invite readers to think about the environment, existence, and our place in the universe.
The article includes three poems from the book — Bird on a Ladder, Time Strolls, and Flying Bricks of War — and closes with a short biography of my writing life and creative background.
To read the article at LatinosUSA, please click >> Here
My sincere thanks to Barbara for this beautifully presented feature. Your thoughtful reading of the poems and themes means a great deal to me, and I’m grateful for the care you’ve taken in sharing my work with your readers.
Tonight’s accompanying song is Enya’s “The Humming” — a gentle meditation on the rhythms beneath our everyday world.
Featured Image Above:A quiet stretch of the Moorabool, holding its breath in the summer heat.”
Nancy >> RDP Thursday: river – The Elephant’s Trunk Nancy’s haiku about winter’s thin ice stirred something in me this morning. Her quiet image of a fragile river set my thoughts drifting back home, where our waterways are thinning for a very different reason. Her words nudged me toward the dry, sunburnt world I’ve been watching all summer, and this poem arrived as my response
Wading in Dry Ice
Hardly a drop of rain Has fallen on our sunburnt plains Rivers are slimy drains No fields of grain Nor wading cranes Only dusty stains On the windowpanes
And again Dry ice runs through my veins While the windmill vanes Rotate in vain
“I’ve always felt this song holds the heartbeat of a parched Australian summer. It seemed the right companion for these words.”
A fallen flowering bush caught my eye on the way back from our morning walk — knocked flat by last night’s storm, yet still holding colour. The sight struck a familiar chord, and the words came quickly, shaped by that quiet recognition of what it means to be brought down and still not done.
Yet to be Found
I’m lying on the ground. The overnight storm knocked me down. I’m feeling flat and unsound; my flowers are turning brown. When will I be found?
Do they know, I need to be reset? I’m still bound to this mound – and I’m not dead yet!
Featured Image Above: Was created by Copilot and me.
A Blackbird’s Night
Not everything said understands the light within our heads.
On a Wolf Moon night, what I write, in black and white, is not always right – slumber darkens my sight.
I am no white knight, nor a feathery kite. And despite my comfy campsite,
the world’s warring blight incites me to always fight for what is right in black and white.
Footnote: I’m pleased to report that last week’s plumbing job was completed today. Even though I was tired and it was nearly dark, we still managed to go for our walkie …
Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me. “Time doesn’t tick—it unlocks. Not with rhythm, but with riddles.” And thank you to Beth( https://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/) whose comment on my post, “Time, My Muse,” inspired me to create this poem. “love it! time makes its own rules for sure”
Time Doesn’t Go Tick-Tock
Time is neither tick nor tock; Time cannot be deadlocked. It takes no notice of the weather sock.
Time never throws rocks At either the Eastern Bloc Or the future’s aftershocks.
A glimpse into the strange places time wanders when it looks back.
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.
With two sharp‑eyed magpies and a pale daytime moon looking on, this little poem takes flight as a whimsical protest — a light‑feathered reminder that even the quiet watchers on the fence have something to say about the state of our cluttered world.
Who’sWatching Whom
I’m perched on the fence, wondering about the world’s lack of common sense, and I ask the moon, “Is there no end to this gloom?” “Do not worry, my feathered friend – this is not the end.”
“Soon there will be enough elbowroom for everyone’s nom de plume in the planet’s master bedroom, after Mother Nature has donned her cleaning costume, and swept all of the needless showrooms, backrooms, ballrooms, and boardrooms.”
“And the people should all help groom their own untidy playrooms with those unused yardbrooms.”
And here’s a song that hums along with the magpies’ quiet protest…
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 