Imperfectness (a Tanka)

My imperfections

Are perfectly camouflaged

Underneath the trees

Where moon shadows protect me

From the world’s imperfectness

Tullawalla is Available From

Jaymah Press:

Ivor Steven: email,

Amazon: search via, ‘Tullawalla by Ivor Steven’

Perceptions is Now Available via:

Jaymah Press:

Lulu Books:

OR: email me directly for a signed copy –

Ivor Steven (c). December 2022

A Universe Above The Sky

Walking in the rain

Wearing water-logged boots

I am dodging millipedes

And hopping over puddles

With the footpath crickets

I see a universe above the sky

As the liquid clouds

Drop their weight

Upon my empty hands

Filling them with verses

Of memories and rhymes

Ivor Steven (c) April 2022

Concrete Void

Originally posted on my site, 27th November 2017.
Yeah .. my concete void has finally been filled ..

Concrete Void

I’m becoming impatient,

Here waiting,

Waiting for a concrete lid.

Too many stop signs,

And lifetime bans.

I’m a good man,

So I’ve been told.

But there’s a chasm,

And the concrete’s,

Yet to fill the void.

……..To my readers that knew about my new verandah, “now nine months old”, and sadly it has been without the patio/floor area being concreted for all that time..  Yippee, today the mission has been accomplished. Thanks to my newly appointed concreter “Damian Maloney”, Yep, he’s on my recommended list. And Lizzy The Lizard Of Wizardry, was curiously looking on…..


Ivor Steven (c) April 2022

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

A few days ago(29th Nov 2017), I had started writing a poem about Penny Farthing Bicycles, prompted by an article in the Geelong Advertiser newspaper, the arrival in Geelong of eight members of the Melbourne Bicycle Club in March 1880, as per featured picture above, courtesy of the Geelong Heritage Centre Collection. Then I was chatting with my friend Jane of Janebasilblog, she had just sent me the song and lyrics of the Mary Hopkin hit, “Those Were The Days”, from 1968, and I mentioned The Kinks were one of my fav’s from that era, and of course their song “Lola”. After our chat, I starting thinking [which is dangerous for me] about writing a crazy, combined, mixed up poem… The piece below is the result of those thoughts, and to my older readers, you’ll notice all the phrases written in Italic, are song titles taken from The Kinks album “The Kinks Collection”. So apologies to Ray Davies for using his song titles in such a manner.

“Where Have All The Good Times Gone”

I remember the olden times

Of pennies and farthings

Pounds and pence

When money made no sense

Mary Hopkins sang

“Those Were The Days”

And the Kinks song “Lola”

Was the best number one ever

Many a lazy Sunny Afternoon

Spent down near Waterloo Sunset

Where we would all dance

All Of The Day And All Of The Night

My Friends would all dress-up

Like Dedicated Followers Of Fashion

Unlike that lonely Plastic Man

Who faked the Death Of A Clown

Way back then, You Really Got Me

You fired me up, here in Victoria

Thousands of Days forgotten in the burn-out

Charred in a cloud of Big Black Smoke

But now, I’m Tired Of Waiting For You

Wondering, Where Have All The Good Times Gone

Ivor Steven (c)

Originally Posted, 29th November 2017.  4.00pm

Eleven Shades of Ocean Sunrises

My Pacific cruise was coming to an end in April 2018 and this was the last poem that I wrote during my cruise, as I recalled photographing the “Eleven Sunrises” of the cruise.

Eleven Shades of Ocean Sunrises

the ocean’s sunrise

my daily prize

evoked my gaze

like a glitzy floor-dance

Mother natures

star performer

her razzle and dazzle

upon morning sea drizzle

reflections of colour

her horizon of vigour

purity defined

a royal skyline

endless over time

eleven days she was mine

Originally posted by Ivor Steven (c) April 2018

A Seventy-Year-Old Mind, is up at Coffee House Writers Magazine

Hello dear readers and followers, as you may know, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a fortnightly basis, and my poem “A Seventy-Year-Old Mind”, is in this weeks edition of Coffee House Writers Magazine. … please click on the link below and visit my poem, at Coffee House Writers >>

A Seventy-Year-Old Mind

I cry like a newborn baby
I have the naive curiosity of a child
Over the years I have learnt to listen
And the wisdom gained
Lives on
Inside my seventy-year-old mind

I would like to think
I am honest and kind like my dad
And his calm gentle guidance
Lives on
Inside my seventy-year-old mind

I Know I have inherited the strengths
Of resilience and persistence
From my orderly and energetic mum
And her smiling persuasive ways
Live on
Inside my seventy-year-old mind

Compassion was gifted to me
By my gracious and courageous wife
She gave her halo of love to everyone
Who were fortunate enough to meet her
And she lives on
Inside my seventy-year-old mind

I do not know you, Mister Putin
But I heard today
You will be seventy soon
But our world will live on and on
Have you the courage to change your ways?
Inside your seventy-year-old mind

Ivor Steven (c) April 2022

Tiredness Leaves Me Wordless

Today’s poem is from August 2018, and the words reflect how I’m feeling this week

Tiredness Leaves Me Wordless

I’m wordless at the moment

My thoughts are in postponement

I hear Leonard’s songs

All night long

Lyrics full of love

Day lilies and doves

Today I hold her empty glove

My one truelove

Ivor Steven (c)  August 2018

Big Black Oil Cap

Hello dear readers, here is another repost of an older poem, this one is from December 2017

Big Black Oil Cap

Not the town’s greatest car lover

An automobile, an object like any other

Petrol guzzlers

Noisy muzzlers

Inanimate metal and plastic, costing plenty of dough

Pity, they do need some care though

Spoilt and fed like a hungry teenager

Cooling water in the radiator

Screw the shiny brass cap back on

Fresh air in the tyres

Screw the little rubber caps back on

Dear-as-poison petrol in the tank

Screw the safety fuel cap back on

Lubricating oil in the engine-head

This is where absent-mindedness overtook instead

Forgot to screw the Big Black Oil Cap back on

Drove to the Big City the next day

Not realizing I’d gone badly awry

Travelled home in a steamy-hot car

Back onto the driveway tar

Oil dripping over the front bumper-bar

Opened the bonnet. Aaaahhh!

The engine is like a whale’s spout

Spurting boiling, slimy oil all about

And there’s that Big Black Oil Cap

Alone on the garage bench

Like a magician’s gleaming black hat

Ivor Steven (c) March 2022