Yes, it’s all about my new book, Time Hears No Sound. And my wonderful editor, Judy (from Jaymah Press), will be here at my home tomorrow for a meeting to review the proofreading I did of her draft copy of my manuscript. Another part of the correction process in preparing a polished manuscript before we decide to hand it over to the printers.
The image on the right is my Epilogue poem, which I added to the manuscript yesterday
Polishing Takes Time
Tomorrow the pages will breathe again, their margins whispering corrections, their commas waiting for release.
Around the table, time will sit with us, silent but attentive, as Judy’s careful eyes polish the echoes into a voice that endures.
And when the pages rest, their voices hushed in ink, we will listen together to the silence between words— where time hears no sound, yet carries every echo forward.
The title “Until Eyes Hear Sound” can have different meanings depending on your interpretation. It could be a poetic expression, a metaphor for waiting for something to happen, or a state of deep concentration where one is so focused on one’s inner vision that one becomes oblivious to external sounds. Ivor’s poems do not suggest having the answers, but his words encourage you to think about our environment, as he ponders the purpose of our existence in the universe. If you love poetry that challenges, inspires, and moves you, this book is for you.
According to the author
The cover design, by Kerri Costello, reflects my perceptions of the world that surrounds me. When you look closely at the reflection of the Island in the water, with a bit of imagination, the image appears to be of a guitar.
The book is divided into 10 diverse and imaginative chapters, each accompanied by a creative drawing by Kerri. Themes range from nature and existence, to war and peace, to humour, fantasy, and short forms such as haiku and tanka.
Signed copies available. Order directly via email: ivorrs20@gmail.com (PayPal arrangements can be made)
Author bio
Ivor Steven was formerly an industrial chemist, then a plumber, and is now retired. He has numerous poems published in anthologies and online magazines. He has three self-published books: Tullawalla, Perceptions, and Until Eyes Hear Sound. He is an active member of Geelong Writers Inc. (Australia) and an appointed writer for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA).
Featured Image Above:Springtime in retreat—wings scatter beneath a dismal sky, and midday wears an unnatural hush. Today’s weather speaks in riddles and ice, echoing the questions we dare to ask: Is our dome becoming incompatible?
Incompatible
Among the bushes, we anxiously fly, Sheltering from the world’s sinister sky.
The dismal clouds are in a miserable mood, And full of destructive ice-cubes.
An unnatural darkness has befallen midday — Who has stolen our springtime clearway?
Is climate change responsible? Is our doomed dome liable to become globally incompatible?
Let this song carry the weight of today’s sky—an echo of wings, words, and warnings we cannot ignore.
Featured Image Above: Mid-flight and mildly wrecked—this tiny bird attempts its final rescue, beneath a deep blue sky.”
From dizzy heights to grounded mornings—last night’s revelry left me chasing feathers in the wind. Here’s a tiny bird (Welcome Swallow), a deep blue sky, and a poem that remembers too much red wine.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word ‘Excessive’. You can visit their fabulous site by clicking >> Here. In my poem, I wrote about having an “Excessive” amount of ‘red wine’ at the Event last night …
A Tiny Bird in a Deep Blue Sky
Too many late nights, Too much red wine. I consumed too many savoury bites — Throw me a rescue line That’s not made of grapevines.
My eyes look like Christmas lights; I’m getting too old for these dizzy heights. Oh well, I’ve plenty of time to recover — Until next week’s Writers party hangover.
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
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/
“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.