Poetry/Australia – Page 2 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Our Buckled Bloc

On our buckled bloc, innocence stands alone on thinning ground.

Our Buckled Bloc

Have we lost the plot?
Here, on our buckled bloc.

The planet is still spinning,
but the environment is shrinking.

The polar bears are dying;
isolated, Nature is only surviving
and is visibly crying.

The land is scarred and blistered,
the oceans unwisely polluted,
and even the air we breathe is tainted.

Here’s a song to wander with through the world we’ve weathered.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Wattlebirds Are No Log-jammers

After wrestling with the usual tangle of messages and mischief‑makers, I stepped onto the track for a breath of real air. The wattlebirds were already there, perched and unbothered, reminding me that the sky has no time for scammers or phishers — and neither should I.

Wattlebirds Are No Log-jammers

After wading through my pool of emails,
the clean-up I had planned did fail.
Anyhow, it was time for my morning walk
among nature’s wattlebirds and hawks.
Despite the cool, misty rain
The refreshing breeze will clear my foggy brain

Not far along the wet, winding track,
I see a wattlebird having a peaceful nap,
perched high up in the tree’s branches,
oblivious to humanity’s modern advances.

Beautiful wattlebirds are not log-jammers,
river phishers, or honey scammers
They are free to do as they please
and can fly away from any tight squeeze.

A small reminder that the sky is always wider than the noise.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Beyond the Pink Horizon

In the hush of twilight, a pink glow threaded the treeline — a hint of the hidden realm where fairies hover above the causeway, chorusing something tender and otherworldly

Beyond the Pink Horizon

Deep behind the trees’ silhouettes
and beyond the horizon’s pink curtain,
in that ambiguous twilight zone
there lies an earthly paradise —
a glimmering crimson kingdom
where our magical, luminous fairies hide.

And I wonder: where is the missing archway
into this purple-haze never never land,
or is it simply reality’s mysterious causeway
calling me through the transient light.

Through the transient glow, the fairies’ lullaby drifts across the horizon.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Never a Dull Moment

After a week of words and wandering, we finally rest. I apologise for my slow blogging replies — time has been sprinting while this old poet hobbles behind.

I’ll be reading my poems “Drumsticks” and “Dear, Danny” at the next Dome Poetry meeting — a relaxed afternoon of Postcards and Poetry at The Courthouse Museum.

Never a Dull Moment

I’m enjoying an extra-busy weekend —
Creative Geelong market on Saturday,
Dome Poetry meeting Sunday morning,
where I recited my poem
“The Portrait That Found Me.”

I also presented two poems
“Drumsticks” and “Dear, Danny,”
which I’ll be reading at the next meeting
At The Courthouse Museum, Drysdale,
For an afternoon of Postcards and Poetry.

So as you can see,
I’ve written lots more poems during the week —
over and above my normal daily output.
Needless to say, I’m exhaustipated again.

And here at the Box Cafe on Sunday afternoon,
we are having a much-needed rest and relaxation

A quiet promise before the song begins: the three poems from today’s journey will soon be finding their place here.

Ivor Steven © May 2026

Nature’s Iris (a Tanka)

As the sky softened into twilight, the colours opened my poetic picture book, and Ben Howard’s “Old Pine” drifted through the moment with the same quiet warmth.

The Weekend Challenge on Weekly Prompts is the word “Hell.” To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here … my Tanka today is a long way up beyond “Hell.”

Nature’s Iris (a Tanka)

A crimson twilight
And a seductive sunset
Is nature’s iris
Unfolding my picture book
Where my quiet poems rest

Ivor Steven © May 2026

It’s Sad

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

Throwback Friday, Cold Feet

Today’s Throwback poem was written in May 2024. For reasons I can’t quite explain, this reflective piece never found its way into my new book Time Hears No Sound. Maybe this insightful poem will nudge me toward beginning a new manuscript for my fifth book.

Cold Feet

I wandered outside;
the evening air
was damp and cold,
and the moon was sharing
the dappled midnight sky
with dark, satiny clouds.

Forlornly, I looked up
and quizzically asked the moon,
“I have failed.
My words were drowned in the hail.
I’m poor and unbound;
all I have is muddy ground.
Who listens, anyhow?
Where do I go now?”

“Do not fret, my friend
As Confucius said,
It does not matter how slowly you go
as long as you do not stop.
And that old Japanese Proverb:
Fall down seven times, stand up eight. “

I wandered back inside.
The desk lantern was still burning.
I reopened my torn notebook
and began writing again.

For the nights when the cold settles in, but the words still find their way.

Until Eyes Hear Sound

Amazon >> Amazon.com : 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.

Descending

In the hazy mid‑morning light, the moon lingers above the trees as if carrying a memory too heavy to hold.

Descending

Descending through the treetops
the moon appears to stop —
pausing for a moment,
looking despondent.

Naturally, I ask
“Why such a gloomy face?”

“Only a millennium ago
the earth was a jungle of trees,
but now I perceive
only a fallow globe of woe.”

The moon moves on, whispering its sorrow to anyone willing to listen.

Drowning in Blue (a Tanka)

“Some days the clear sky feels heavier than the clouds we can’t see. Today, the blue above me felt deeper than it looked.”

Drowning in Blue (a Tanka)

Exhaustipated
And discombobulated
Or maybe just tired
Of feeling like I’m drowning
In this endless wash of blue.

A song that drifts in the same blue.

Magazine features my new poem, “An Interview With Time.”

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, “An Interview With Time,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
>> An Interview With Time – Coffee House Writers

I’ve written about Time in many poems before, and a few of those familiar lines resurfaced as I shaped this one. It felt natural to bring them together here — especially on a day when Time was willing to cooperate and stand still for a moment.

In the stillness where Time stands present, let the music hold the vow that words can only touch.