Poetry/Australia – Page 14 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Throwback Friday, Winter Sun

Today’s Throwback Friday poem is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears in Chapter 2, Nature: An Unbiased Timekeeper

Winter Sun

What my careless eyes perceived
My unprepared senses
Soon, I found out that they had been deceived
The day appeared sunny enough for a stroll
And I ventured into the afternoon cold
Ten steps out, a glacial wind took hold

The blustery arctic blast
Snapped every limb within grasp
My breath turned into icy glass
My ears were stabbed by frigid darts
My cheeks were slapped by gloves of frozen brass
And the winter sun failed to warm my heart

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

“Trojan Cloud”, is in this week’s Coffee House Writers Magazine edition.

Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Trojan Cloud” is in this week’s edition.
To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article.
>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/trojan-cloud/

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 © November 2025

Time Flies

Featured Image Above: Yesterday’s silhouette. A crow arcs through the sky— fractured wings, tattered heartstrings. Time flies, but never asks permission.

Time Flies

I need to escape the fray,
and fly away from yesterday.
Time does not feel the undertow;
Time is hungry like a crow.

But how far can I go with fractured wings
and tattered heartstrings?
Time does not need a manager —
Time carries no passengers.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Frankie the Salesman

“Frankie the Salesman, master of the lucky-dip and poetry protocol. Cavalier by nature, befriending by heart.”

Frankie the Salesman

Here we are, under the glass-roofed part
Of the covered Centrepoint Arcade.
The spring sun is decorating our book stall,
And my salesman is in charge of poetry protocol.

The ‘Take a Poem Home Lucky-dip’ is again very popular
My furry assistant has been willingly jocular,
And appropriately, befriendingly cavalier.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

A World Briefly Unbroken

Featured Image Above: Yesterday’s café visit lingered in my thoughts… and became this poem. A world briefly unbroken.

The first 8 images are from my walking track this morning, and the last 3 images are from my sister’s walking track in Smythsdale.

A World Briefly Unbroken

Through the gate we go,
To find today’s silhouettes and shadows,
And to replay nature’s unspoiled show.

Spring has finally awoken;
Blue sky has ceased being a hidden token,
And this mad world of poisonous potions
Briefly hovers before our eyes, unbroken

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Throwback Friday, Flying Through Time

Today’s Throwback Friday poem is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It opens Chapter 3, Time: Hears No Commands—a section that explores the quiet rebellion of nature and spirit against the ticking of the clock.

Flying Through Time

Flying below the clouds
or
Zooming above the bay
or
Swooping across the paddocks

My wings
are oblivious
to the climb
And do not hear
the sound of time

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

Ivor Steven (c) January 2025

My Legislator

My Legislator

Sun shines through the pines.
Wattlebirds in the wattletrees.
More crows than magpies.
Butterflies and dragonflies.
Rabbits digging for carrots.

Manuscripts under the eucalypts,
Writers lighting campfires.

Poetry — no need for a legislator.
Nature is my translator.

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Who Was In My Bed?

Who was In My Bed?

I always make my bed in the morning
As soon as I get up.
Surprise, surprise!
When I arrived home from outing
To the Geelong Short Play Festival show
There: my bed covers, we’re all ruffled up!
“Who had been sleeping in my bed?”

When I left my house
There was only one guy inside
To look after the place
While I was out having a good time
Yep! … you guessed it
That, guilty-looking, “Frankie”

Ivor Steven (c) November 2025

Drowning in Words

“Surfacing from the sea of edits — Frankie keeps watch while I wrestle the waves of words.”

Drowning in Words

Emerging from a sea of black and white,
Normal fonts floating to the right,
Italic letters cascading to the left —
Manuscript time has been my head chef.

The last race on the card is over.
Proofreading is suffering from overexposure.
My foggy mind is resting under the cloud cover,
And I’m recuperating on a bed of clover.

“Proofreading fatigue meets sonic flood — Amanda Palmer’s ‘Drowning in the Sound’ echoes the emotional undertow of my own ‘Drowning in Words.’”

Throwback Friday, Lost and Found – or – There, Here, and Where?

Throwback Friday: Shadows Revisited. First shared in January 2025, this poem now finds its place as the opening to my upcoming collection, Time Hears No Sound.

The final proofreading of my upcoming poetry collection, Time Hears No Sound, is nearly complete. This weekend marks the last quiet read-through before I send it off to my editor and publisher (Judy). Meanwhile, my talented cover designer (Kerri) is crafting the book’s visual soul. There’s still a journey ahead, but everything is unfolding beautifully. Thank you for walking beside me.

Lost and Found – or – There, Here, and Where?

There
Lying on solid ground,
my shallow shadow wears no face
And utters no sound.

Here
My outline bears no carapace.

Where
On a graveside mound,
I see my darkness —
waiting to be found.