Poetry/Australia – Page 5 – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

A Golden Bowtie

Feature Image : Created by Copilot and me — a wattlebird rising above a soft, cloud‑washed bridge in the sky. I sent my two photos (attached below) to my Copilot app and asked for an image of a wattlebird flying above a bridge in the sky. This is the result: a golden, dreamlike lift.

Today’s poem grew from a poetic anecdote I left on Nancy’s post last week — Suspended: A Sonnet – The Elephant’s Trunk
a moment of sky‑thinking that stayed with me.

A Golden Bowtie

Oh, to safely fly above
that peaceful bridge in the sky.
Like a worldwide dream —
a bowtie’s golden ribbon,
bandaging the stratosphere
together,
from here to Shanghai.

A quiet, drifting companion for the poem’s soft ascent.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

The Dark Side of Sunset

A peaceful sunset can feel like the world exhaling — yet sometimes, in that fading light, a different truth appears. This morning’s sky carried both beauty and unease, and my thoughts followed the sun toward the shadowed side of our turning planet.

The Dark Side of Sunset

I was absentmindedly marching,
away from worldly soul-searching,
when I saw the sun arching
toward the dark side of our planet.

Then I wondered
who’s there on the other side
of this old orb of granite.

And who decides
who lives and who dies
during the bleak, black night,
when the bombs batter
what’s left of the moonlight.

A final reflection on the sun’s descent — and the stark questions it leaves burning in the dark.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Echoes of Goodbye

A gentle twilight settled over yesterday’s sky, its fading colours echoing the soft hush of evening. This poem grew from that quiet moment — a lingering farewell woven through the last light of day.

Echoes Of Goodbye

Daylight is on the soft edge of night.
Today’s sentinel sun
has wistfully said goodbye
to the world’s indigenous blue sky.

Twilight time
melodramatically commandeers
earth’s chromatic horizon.

I stand here, amazed and wondering
how do I explain these encircling,
empyreal surroundings
to the echoes of our final goodbye.

A final whisper of twilight, carried forward in song.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

A Blue Sky Rainbow

The day began with a rosy glow, the kind of gentle morning that seems to lean forward and welcome you in. Chrome‑tinted clouds drifted apart, the wattlebirds stirred their songs, and a brightening sky offered a quiet rainbow as a good‑luck sign. With nature setting such a hopeful tone, it felt only fitting that the Market followed suit — a day of kind faces, steady conversations, and a humble sense of things going right.

A Blue Sky Rainbow

Early Saturday morning
and we are out walking
before heading off to the Market

Dawn’s chrome clouds are clearing
the wakening wattlebirds are warbling
and serendipitously
there’s a rainbow in the sky
blithely waving hello and goodbye

Nature’s welcoming signs are favourable
and on this cozy, rosy day,
hopefully, Ivor’s Poetry Book display
will become humbly profitable

As the sky brightened, the music rose with it, and even the morning’s rainbow seemed to hum along.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

My Sign Is On The Climb

The beams that climbed through last night’s clouds left their mark — a quiet moment held in a soft, rising glow that lingered long enough to shape today’s bohemian rhyme.

Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend Challenge word is Moment/s. To visit their fabulous site please click >> Here.

My Sign Is On The Climb

Life’s arduous and continuous incline
has me staggering beyond my prime.
Here, balancing between the sublime
and the interior of twilight time,
where the pearlised skyline’s
radiant beams are on the climb.

Perhaps I missed tonight’s assuring sign
while writing this bohemian rhyme,
and I didn’t see the clouds talking in mime
while being bedazzled by nature’s pantomime.

And as the sky’s glow drifts upward, today’s rhyme now meets this unforgettable anthem.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Throwback Friday, From the Mountains to the Sea

A year ago, during a visit with my Canadian cousins, I left Vancouver Island for Edmonton and met my Alberta cousin in the small town of Wainwright. Soon after, we set off on a three‑day road trip back to the island, travelling through Jasper and the towering Rocky Mountains — a journey carved into memory.

A Picnic in the Rocky’s

Leaving Salmon Arm

On the outskirts of Vancouver, heading towards the Ferry

The ferry from Vancouver to Sidney (Vancouver Island)

From the Mountains to the Sea

I am gradually drifting down,
From out of the mountains’ smoky shroud,
Toward the seaside playground,
To rejoin a welcoming crowd.

Where, around the magical island,
There will be more stories unfold,
As time quickly filters through my hand;
But these precious moments will be all molded
Into poetic lines, written in charcoal and gold.

My Canadian cousins pointed me toward this Great Big Sea classic — a spirited companion for any journey drifting from mountains to shoreline.

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 invoice
for the Book, plus Postage.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Old Goat Blues (a Limerick)

Nancy’s “Feeding Time” post from last week sparked this limerick. A stray comment of mine turned into a tiny blues riff about Billy, the old goat who can’t keep out of trouble.
Nancy >> Feeding Time – The Elephant’s Trunk

Old Goat Blues (a Limerick)

Billy the silly old goat
Instead of his wild oats
He ate the old leathery shoes
Now he needs a glass of booze
To clear his sole full throat

And because Nancy’s goat set this whole thing in motion, here’s a porch‑blues groove with just enough swagger to keep his hooves tapping.

Steve the Snail’s Bookcase

Feature Image Above: Created by Copilot and me.

As twilight settles across the shelves, Steve pauses for thought atop his old bookcase…

Steve the Snail’s Bookcase

I’m sitting in a secret place
on top of this old bookcase —
I’m not a nutcase,
but wistfully wondering about that space
between the sun’s twilight zone
and the world’s traversing horizon.

Is that the mysterious place
beyond third base,
the dark coalface,
that I’m yet to embrace —
my final footrace?

But wait — before I vanish into space
without a trace,
I need to don my carapace
and tighten these slivery bootlaces.

Steve’s gentle reminder drifts in: put your hat and shoes on, and enjoy life while you’re able.

As Steve settles into the hush of twilight, this song drifts in beside him…

Bees, Birds, Beetles, and Butterflies

Four small lives in motion, each holding a different truth about today… and the uncertain tomorrow.

Bees, Birds, Beetles, and Butterflies

The bee’s knees
are busily pollinating
today’s flowers,
for tomorrow.

The bird’s eyes
are warily overseeing
today’s world,
mindful about tomorrow.

The beetle’s legs
are curiously wandering
toward today’s horizon,
still searching for tomorrow.

The butterfly’s wings
are wistfully fluttering,
knowing today’s sunny sky
won’t shine on them tomorrow.

Let the song settle over the small creatures of today, reminding us of how tender tomorrow truly is.

Throwback Friday, Whispering Flowers

It was “our” 50th Anniversary yesterday, the 10th of September. Whispering Flowers was written back in early 2019, during my recovery from two strokes — a time when every small journey felt tender and deliberate.
Today, the flowers have been delivered, and we’ve spent the afternoon in the sunshine, sharing an anniversary lunch at the café and a glass of red, letting the memories settle gently around us.

Whispering Flowers (Tullawalla, page 41)

Carole and I, 45 years ago, before her MS developed.

At the cemetery with flowers for Carole, and then to the Cafe for lunch and a toast to Carole.

Whispering Flowers (Revised)

I went shopping this morning,
To buy her flowers
For our anniversary day.

A bus trip to the local florist,
then I boarded another bus to the cemetery —
my first time on a bus carrying flowers.

Bouquet in hand, on I hopped,
You could’ve heard a pin drop.

Over the silence, I heard solemn whispers.
The men on the bus courteously nodded,
And the ladies knowingly smiled.

Gratified, I dipped my cap in acknowledgement.
Then I started to sense the day’s emotions arise,
and with my honesty glowing,
I felt proudly special.

And as Scarborough Fair drifts through the afternoon light, I carry her memory faithfully, where flowers and remembrance quietly meet.