G’day readers. It has been an emotional weekend — my mother’s birthday yesterday, my wife’s funeral day, and Mother’s Day today here in Australia. This haiku is a small tribute to the gracious and courageous women who shaped me, and to the strength their lives still give me as I move forward.
Willing (a Haiku)
Still willing to fly Black sky and an arctic wind Nothing holds me back
For the women who taught me to rise, even on the coldest of days.
These two haiku grew from different moments — the first shaped by the quiet colours in my own sky, the second written in response to Colleen’s moon‑lit Quadrille (link below). Together they trace a small passage from daylight’s pastel calm to the deeper bloom of night. Link:Colleen’s post —The Moon flower, Quadrille, dVerse – Tanka Tuesday
Nature’s Canvas (two Haiku)
The white canvas clouds Hover in front of the sun Nature’s pastel sky
In darkness she blooms The other side of the moon Above her white tomb
For the moments we hold, and the ones that slip beyond us.
Featured Image Above:A silly old black angel, flapping through another strange day on Earth.
This morning I sent this comment to Gigi’s post — her unbelievable story truly blew me away. Her words sparked something in me, and from that spark I shaped this composite poem. Here’s the original piece that set everything in motion: “A very silly short story…” by Rethinking Life. And Gigi’s reply afterwards said it all: “Ivor, that was wonderful. Can’t thank you enough.” >> A very silly short story… | Rethinking Life
I’m a Silly Old Black Angel
Beauty is a thing everywhere, but the definition changes constantly according to place and species.
Maybe I’m supposed to bring peace to earth, but no one can do that. This place is all crazy, and there’s no argument against the truth — right!
Life on Earth is so unfair, and I think I’m supposed to do something about that too, but I’ve no idea. Everything seems so unjust.
I’ll think about it later What if there is no later? I suppose then, it won’t matter. But does anything matter? “No,” I thought.
And then all of my words, just kind of flew away.
A quiet place to land, while the world keeps turning beneath my wings.
In the hush before daylight kisses everything, the setting moon and a lone flyer share the sky’s peaceful journey.
This morning’s moon lingered above Geelong’s blue sky — a quiet witness to words exchanged between kindred writers. Today’s poem gathers those fragments, reshaped from comments left on their pages, into one flowing verse before the morning moon sets. In stanza order, they are:
Beware – of crossing gravel paths. They say – ants wearing army boots Are on the move, – crushing breadcrumbs – and breaking straws. Micro power — – the mighty insects have their own claws and laws. – and know how to gnaw and undermine desert wars
These four couplets unfold like stepping stones — small pauses across the quiet waters of loss. Each one holds a moment of recognition, a shift in understanding, a breath before the next step. Paired with Leonard Cohen’s “Teachers,” the poem traces the lessons we never received, and the ones we learn only by walking toward them
Life’s Missing Teacher
I never found a teacher, who taught me how to grieve.
The unforeseen creature was difficult to perceive.
After unplugging her extension cord, time was always near.
While wandering toward the edge of life’s weathered pier.
These images caught my eye today — the sun climbing higher, the trees reaching upward, and the birds carving Bach’s Cello music through the air. They became the foundation of the poem below.
Sun, Trees, and Birds
Like a stab in the dark, Where do I start
Is the sun my spark, Or the trees in the shady park
Talking to the larks Is my trademark
There below the sun’s warm arc, And above the trees’ ritual bark
I hear the birds’ melodious hark, Nature’s own cellist playing Bach
Today’s Throwback poem was written before I started my website and is from June 2012, not long after Carole passed away (14 years ago, May 3rd). For reasons I can’t quite explain, this nostalgic piece never found its way into any of my three books. Maybe this unheralded poem will finally nudge me toward completing my fourth.
Where’s That Dream
I have seen the universe through to the stars beyond There is a deep darkness; she is gone. She is gone I saw her smile crack from the pain There was a sorrow, she caught it tomorrow
I have seen the moon through the burning sun Where is that planet she is walking on? I saw her eyes crying tears of sand Where is that beach she is lying on?
I have seen the ocean through the broken coral Where is that ship she is sailing on? I saw her body serene and frail Where are the ashes she is covered in?
I have seen the earth open, swallowing the multitude whole Where is that chasm she is falling through? I saw her gentle soul disappear out of sight Where is that secret haven she is flying to?
I have seen the land go through violent storms Where are the winds of time she is spread upon? I saw her heart, her love, for all of you and me Where is that dream she has left us to find?
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 