Featured Image Above: Created by Copilot and me. Where light breaks through, and wings find their path.
The Earth and the Sky
“Good morning, Earth,”
Said the solar sky
To my little piece of the universe,
Where I see our illustrious Sun
Illuminating the waning Half-moon.
And there, below the umbrella of cosmic light,
the birds are embracing their empyrean life.
A moment that stunned me into stillness — sky, bird, and song all speaking the same truth.
Ivor Steven © February 2026
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.
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: Created by Copilot and me.
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’s Watching 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 Steven © February 2026
Alex Steven (Dad), February 5th 1924 – July 3rd 2015
A Weary Old Plumber, I’m Thinking of You
(Happy Birthday, Dad)
One hundred and two years ago
When dark became day
And the sun shone on you
Did the gods of the world know
How lucky they were
That your sphere of love
Was all-encompassing
Ivor Steven © February 2026
Sorry to my readers and followers for my lack of blogging this week … The old plumber/poet traded his quill in for his old rusty spanner and dirty hammer …
Drawing Above: done for me by Rose in 2017 – https://poetrummager.org/
Back On The Tools. (adapted from “An Old-time Plumber”)
I’ll be seventy-five in July
Could I actually do the task?
Am I physically strong enough?
Am I mentally sharp and able enough
To endure four to five days of hard work?
Surprise, surprise – I have survived the first three days.
The job is nearing completion, and the client is suitably pleased,
And I am home beside the fan, enjoying a cold glass of beer.
Although when I finished, it was nearly dinner time,
And my back was stiff as red-gum bark –
But a job stamped by my old-time quality trademark.
Before I can wrap up the job and rest on the weekend,
I’m waiting for a made-to-order cover panel
Which, unfortunately, will conceal all of my handiwork.
Ivor Steven © February 2026
While waiting for my CHW article to appear last night, I found myself knee‑deep in “lucky envelopes” for the book‑stall dip — a poet’s version of factory work, complete with midnight muttering and a very patient supervisor. Somewhere between the folding and the stacking, this little whimsy arrived.
The Poet’s Lucky Envelope Humdrum
A poem a day is my way;
print five copies of each without delay.
Do not overflow the out tray –
place the copies in relay,
the next five crossways …
and so on – it’s child’s play.
Fold each foolscap page in half,
then fold again, into quarters.
Any fool can do it!
Open an envelope,
shove in the folded page
(No need for that frustrated rage).
Start a row of five;
put the next five on top …
and so on – it’s child’s play
’til midnight ends the day.
And for the soundtrack to this late‑night humdrum, here’s Leonard Cohen and U2 with Tower of Song — a perfect companion for a poet quietly working under the watchful eye of Frankie.
Ivor Steven © February 2026
Two scenes from the same evening — twilight blazing in the west and moonlight rising in the east. Nature offered both, and the music speaks for itself. Which one draws you in?
Lioness Eyes
Who’s winning the mesmerising
photographic contest –
twilight’s effervescent scarlet sky,
illuminating the horizon in the west
or the moon’s royal blue panorama
edifying the evening clouds in the east?
Both scenarios are beautifully picturesque,
and choosing my favourite phosphorescence
is beyond my universe’s tinted opalescence.
Ivor Steven © February 2026
A quiet moment in the afternoon sun, with shadows drifting and Lisa O’Neill’s “Sparkle” humming at the edges…
Micropoetry is an ultra-short form of poetry, typically under 25 words or 140 characters, blending creative brevity with precise language, sharp imagery, and emotional depth, while allowing diverse interpretations.
Wandering Romeos (a Micro Poem)
Like falling snow…
Shadows come and go.
Some have sharp claws –
Others have soft paws.
My shadow’s afterglow…
Is a château
For any wandering Romeo.
Ivor Steven © January 2026
FREE PDF COPY >>> Links Below
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you may know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at #31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead.
However, the booklet format is a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce, and as the saying goes, “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La”, the name of my little Villa, and it is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”.
I now have “2245” Poems filed in these booklet formats!!
(On my bookshelf, I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
“Like all my booklets, this one is here to be read at your leisure — no rush, no expectation, just an open page waiting when you are.”
Click >>Here. for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of “Shangri La, Volume 18, Between Here and the Edge.”
OR … Shangri La, Vol 18, Between Here and the Edge.pdf
Between Here and the Edge
I’m no ancient mariner
with a sextant to chart the sky
The moon was falling into bed,
the sun rising ahead,
both at the same height,
as if I were the hinge between them.
Here I stand on their earthbound bridge
at the centre of my own universe,
unsure of my footing near the edge –
am I fading into the advancing ground,
or drifting back toward an old wedding pledge.
Ivor Steven © January 2026
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 