The Moon – Ivor.Plumber/Poet

An Aussie Tradition

Some Australian traditions have a way of returning each year as faithfully as the seasons. Melbourne Cup Day is one of them. Inspired by a half-moon drifting across a spring sky and a chance encounter between Frankie and a horse on our evening walk, this poem reflects on a race that briefly captures the nation’s attention.

An Aussie Tradition

The first Tuesday in November,
even the chary moon remembers
it’s Melbourne Cup Day,
a 165-year-old Australian tradition.

The day when the nation
stops for a horse race,
and even non-gamblers come out of hibernation,
up the ante without feeling out of place.

For a few fleeting minutes,
the nation’s heartbeat follows the pounding hooves.
And somewhere above the track,
the old chary moon remembers once again.

As the old chary moon remembers once again, here’s Slim Dusty’s tribute to Australia’s most famous horse race.

Ivor Steven © November 2026

Half Moon, Half Asleep, Half Awake

Moon adrift in cloud.
Pigeon in full flight.
A weary poet somewhere between the two.

Half Moon, Half Asleep, Half Awake

This morning I am sluggishly half asleep.
The chunky, cloudy sky’s
delaying my half-open eyes
from having a closer peep.

Today I am drowsy and half awake
The heavy, humid atmosphere’s
preventing the release
of my other half’s quiet airbrakes.

Outside, among the surreal world’s
shrouds, I nonchalantly await
for my animated cosmetic twirls
to create an awakening earthquake.

No expectations, just a half moon, a passing pigeon. The poem arrived slowly. So did the afternoon. So did this song.

Ivor Steven © October 2026

The Full-moon’s Jealous Sigh

With the full moon brooding over my backyard and Cohen’s noir residue still shadowing the edges of my thoughts, this poem arrived like a quiet confession from the twilight.

The Full-moon’s Jealous Sigh

Phantasmagorically,
beyond the real world’s dirty paws,
I’ve been flying everywhere —
over to a mythical concert
on the other side of my horizon,
above the full moon’s jealous sigh —
where this old mystical poet
was seen zooming across the sky.

Then sadly, my Itmims spacecraft
began running low on stardust fuel
and had to return to my backyard.

Suddenly, my feet were back home,
again stuck on the ground,
and I was dreamily stumbling around,
listening to my muse’s
sonorous music sound,
weeping down from twilight’s white dome.

So I leave this moonlit wander here — I’ll let Cave’s “Weeping Song” carry the last of this twilight ache.

Ivor Steven © September 2026

Tracing the Lines

The late afternoon moon feels like a quiet reminder — tracing its path above while we trace our own below. In its soft light, every line in our hands and every mark on the land carries a story of where we’ve been and where we’re going. This poem rests in that moment of reflection.

Tracing the Lines

There you are,
all of you,
way out there,
full and aware –
tracing the lines
in my hands.

And there are
no new brands
on the land;
every grain of sand
still understands.

There’s a crack
in everything –
in all of you
out there,
feeling open and bare –

“I see you,”
whispers the moon,
tracing the lines
beneath my full glare.

A recently released piece, carrying the same gentle pull of the moon’s slow journey across the sky

Ivor Steven © August 2026

Opaqueness

Last night’s twilight slipped across the sky in muted layers — a quiet blend of fading colour, soft cloud, and the half‑moon’s pale glow behind drifting haze. Standing there with the camera, I felt the day thinning into something slower, dimmer, almost weightless.
From that hush, this small poem emerged — a reflection on how light, taste, and time blur at the edges as evening diffuses into night.

What Do You See 355
For WDYS, Sadje offers us a photo by Lensloji (Pexels) of a murmuration of birds forming a shifting pattern above a city skyline and minaret at sunset.

Opaqueness

Time is colourless,
yet daytime becomes darkness
as evening clouds advertise
twilight’s transient demise.

Time is tasteless,
yet midnight is infused with blackness
except for the half-moon’s translucent
loving spoonful of notilucence.

And in the quiet blur between knowing and not knowing, this song finds its way.

Ivor Steven © August 2026

The Icings on the Cake, or a Sweet Full Moon

When the full moon rises, Frankie and I can’t help but chase its glow. What begins as a playful lift‑off soon becomes a delicious journey through clouds that taste like desserts and skies that shimmer with childhood magic.

“Itmims”
Ivor’s Time Machine In Micro Space

The Icings on the Cake, or a Sweet Full Moon

I’ve time enough to finish my mushy mango.
The full moon is about to put on a show.
Both Frankie and my spacecraft, Itmims,
are howling and revving to go.

I pour the leftover banana juice
into the awaiting craft’s fuel compartment,
then untether the impatient machine,
and Frankie and I quickly jump aboard.
Up, up and away we go,
high above the mist and creamy snow.

We fly toward the cherry pie clouds
and twilight’s strawberry jelly sky,
where, to our consummate delight,
we spy the full moon’s white Knight
glowing brighter than grandma’s
world-famous passionfruit pavlova

Ivor Steven © August 2026

The Moon’s Daytime Matinee

There are moments in the afternoon when the sky invites us to sense more than we see — when a pale moon lingers above our familiar fixtures and asks us to listen with our eyes.
Perhaps, One Day, we’ll pause long enough to notice our daytime luminary’s quiet offerings.

Over at Weekly Prompts, it’s time for the “One Day Prompt.” To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here

The Moon’s Daytime Matinee

Mid-afternoon,
and the half moon
is lingering
in the middle of the sky,
glowing like a luminary’s lantern.

There for everyone
to listen with their tired eyes
and peruse the moon’s
visionary daytime matinee.

Perhaps,
at the same moment,
the audience will absorb
the extra light waves
from the ancient orb’s
timeless wisdom.

And as the afternoon drifts on, the moon leaves its quiet note behind, a reminder that even in daylight, wonder still finds a way to shine.

Ivor Steven © July 2026

The Unknown (a Haiku)

Please Note: All the attached images are photo montages that I have created, and then they were enhanced by Copilot.

A lone spirit lifts through the moon‑washed clouds, moving toward whatever waits beyond the unknown.

The Unknown (a Haiku)

Through the clouds I fly
I’m a spirit of the night
The unknown is mine

The spirit keeps drifting, following the quiet pull of the unknown.

Below the Coconut Palms

In the cool, silvery hush between daytime calm and midnight cloud‑glow, tonight’s full moon drifts above, coinciding with the poem’s own shifting rhythms below.

Below the Coconut Palms

The world’s a sphere of disparity,
like the incongruity
between the becalmed daytime moon
and the shiny orb’s cloudy midnight party —
savouring dark-side ice cream with a silver spoon
and sipping on milky star-dust until noon.

While down here on planet Earth,
between Perth and Fort Worth,
I perceive nothing is calm
below the empty coconut palms.

Where wanderlust meets wonder — let this song carry you to the far places your heart remembers.

Two Heavenly Lights

“In this place of darkness and malediction we can but stand in awe and remember its stateless, faceless and nameless victims. Close your eyes and look: endless nocturnal processions are converging here, and here it is always night. Here heaven and earth are on fire.” — Elie Wiesel

A reminder that even in a world shadowed by sorrow, the night still offers its quieter lights — small, celestial gestures that help us keep looking up.

Two Heavenly Lights

I’m a sucker for a crescent moon,
and there below his silver spoon

on this cloudy wintry night
I espied another bright light —

a vision unexpectedly imbued,
sidling toward the glowing moon.

Venus, elegantly blushing with attractiveness,
and the moon beaming with handsomeness —

two twinkling heavenly lights
coyly conversing through the veil of night.