The Crow and the Mistletoe
I’m away with the fairies,
Savouring Christmas cherries.
Here, floating above,
Dreaming, I was a dove.
But I’m only an old crow,
A torn and weary beau,
Who has forgotten how to hover below
The archway’s mistletoe.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
The Moon and the Tycoon
Late afternoon
The crows are in tune
Even without the moon
Nature’s towering, white dunes
Are the birds, cushioned saloon
There
Beyond the tycoon’s
Loud trumpets and bassoons
Where
The unknighted buffoon
Uses his innate silver spoon
To lampoon the tribunals
“Devon Church’s Fall Like Lightning — a soundtrack for protest and reflection.”
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Featured Image Above: Moon adrift in daylight— a quiet reminder to deck the hallways of time, not just December.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Always Deck the Hallways” is in this week’s edition.
“A festive stroll through words and wonder—Always Deck the Hallways brings poetry to the season.”
To read the poem, please click the link below to visit my Coffee House Writers Magazine article.
>> https://coffeehousewriters.com/always-deck-the-hallways/
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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
Featured Image Above: created by Bing Co-pilot and me.
Blotting Paper
Sleep has not rejuvenated
my weary bones,
nor repaired the clogged gears
in my rusty brain.
Now, the regeneration process
is up to the nature of daylight –
to reignite the candle
in the inky alcove of my soul.
Where, the sodden blotting paper
has become my night-time traitor
Listen while reading: Sigur Rós – Vaka (Untitled 1).
A Mid-morning Affair
Out beyond the doorway
Facing the great southern sky
I look up sideways to the east
And the mid-morning sun
Discovers my squinting eyes
Then I turn to the west
Where the mid-morning moon
Shyly locates my awakened stare
Here I stand, fair and square
Between the sun’s golden flare
And the moon’s untold affair
I wonder about the world’s current despair
Or should I declare
“Why is the world in such disrepair”
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in March 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It opens Chapter 6, Travel and Life: Time Flies (Travel)
Flying Among the Clouds
I’m flying high
Cruising among the clouds
Fly with me
And the rest of my flock
Up here
There’s no need for a clock
Time gives no commands
Cruising among the clouds
Silently overseeing the crowd
Time always flies
At the same standard pace
There, in that space
Between daytime’s silvery moon
And twilight’s glittery sun
.
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
This poem grew from poetic anecdotes I first shared as comments on fellow bloggers’ posts. In stanza order, they are:
1. Sara >> Random Numbers | purplepeninportland
2. Dwight >> https://rothpoetry.wordpress.com/2025/11/25/aging-without-numbers
3. Ivor >> a personal reflection.
Time Hears No Numbers
There is a number attached to everything,
Tracking them down is overwhelming;
Tallying the total is mind-boggling.
I perceive, with a twinkle
in my blurry eye,
an extra wrinkle
on my milky thigh.
But I do not cry
at the number of crinkles
that falsely belie
the sounds of my
life’s happy jingles.
The number of memories shall not diminish
until time decrees, “you’re finished.”
Accompanied by Sleeping At Last’s “Saturn” performed live with the Symphony Orchestra, this poem listens for the echoes beyond numbers—where memory, music, and existence intertwine.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Note: All images on my poetry site today are reproduced with the kind permission of Derrick Knight, whose post Sun-Burnished inspired the following piece.
https://derrickjknight.com/2025/12/06/sun-burnished/
I’m on the Brink, I Think
The trees’ reflections upon
winter’s rippling pond
do not waver, nor move along.
The upside-down precinct
Is Nature’s picturesque ink.
Afloat on the cold water,
the images do not sink,
and never appear to shrink.
Here I am, on the brink
of creation’s universal link,
Wondering why
there are so many kinks
in our ability to think.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears in Chapter 5, Dreaming: A Poet’s Favourite Pastime
A Fire That Burns in the Cold
From behind the trees,
And out of the grasses,
We cannot stop the fire
-That burning desire-
From soaring higher,
Higher than the entire
Starry, starry choir.
So, best we inquire
To the Almighty Supplier:
“Will there be a ceasefire
at the top of your golden spire?”
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
The Snail and the Butterfly
Midmorning; the day is breathing,
and Steve the snail is cruising.
I espy where he has been,
and I innately know who he wants to see.
Betty, the pretty butterfly,
is fluttering down from the trees.
A rendezvous with Steve is nigh.
Like Sigur Rós, breathing life into a quiet town, Steve and Betty meet in the stillness of morning.
Ivor Steven (c) December 2025
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 