Is The Plumber A Poet, Or Is The Poet A Plumber

Weekly Prompts Photo Challenge  

Unusual Shape

Squares And Rounds

Do you see what I see

There’s a kennel on the shed

‘Twas a little dogs favourite bed

20180625_153048 (1)

Do you see what I see

There’s a five foot hole in the ground

Plumbing pipes all around


Do you see what I see

There are stormwater pipes under the house

An old plumbers been a dirty mouse

Do you see what I see

There are downpipe boxes and bends

A craftsman joined the ends

Shapes are up

shapes are down

Squares and rounds


The plumber’s had a busy week

The poet’s feeling tired and meek

Far too sore to even speak


Ivor Steven (c)  2018


A Single Weeping Tree (A Villanelle)

This is my first attempt at writing a Villanelle style of poem. As a beginner, I took the easy way out and restructured one of my old poems, and actually I’ve wanted to revise this old classic of mine, the poem was originally called “This Lost Shadow”, and dear Shefali of  writtenframes  ,inspired/prompted me to try to write one. I’m not sure if I’ve got the Villanelle style technically ok, so please, I’m open to any suggestions and corrections to my effort here.


I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree

Why am I so sleepy, am I ageing too quickly

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold


I’m so physically worn and mentally at sea

Why am I so anxious and lonely

I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree


I’m writing a song about my return to the fold

Why am I so sore, have I lost my plea

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold


I’m a furnace log, burning up with glee

I’m a sinking ship, all about to flee

I’m writing this song about a single weeping tree


I’m an overburdened camel, not to be told

I’m an empty desert, a void, far as the eye can see

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold


I’m a broken branch, withering and dying, oh so slowly

I’m this lost shadow, wandering this barren land furtively

I’m singing this song about a single weeping tree

I’m writing that book for a soul gone cold


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Thank you to dear Shefali for her wonderful encouragement and invaluable assistance, and if you would like to have a try at a Villanelle here’s a very good “How To” link,              A link to help you :



Let Us Not Be Silent

Let us not turn a blind eye

Clear the dark clouds from our sky

Extract our heads from the sand

Join our national brass band

Blow loudly on your trumpets

Let us stop being pawns and puppets

We’re not the sheep of their lands

We can be the blanket for our lambs

A collective sheet, protective and grand


Let us not be silent and bland

Clear the stage, make a stand

The worlds suffering children need us

Before they’re herded onto the bus

Like lambs to the slaughter

Imagine, our sons and daughters

Laying on concrete, alone and caged

Crying, weeping, could it be our ice-age

We’re distraught and outraged

Compassion, love, is paramount on centre-stage


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Quote #2, “Together We Can Help”

“Fellow Writers, We Have The Power, We Have A Voice, We Have A Pen, Collectively, We’re Able To Help, Help The Children Of The World, Stop Them Crying For Help.”

Together We Can Help


Let us all help

It’s Time

Time to have a say

Voice your feelings

Tell your stories

Use your pen

Speak from your soul

Talk about their little feet

Feel their mammas heartbeat

Give your all

Walk tall

We need to help

Children is my prompt

Lets do the stomp

It’s your call

One and all

Don’t let the children crawl

Save them before they fall


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

We Are Not Worthy, Nor Grand

The Sandbox Writing Challenge 2018 — Exercise 23


maya writing.1

What message just for you
is hidden in this ancient writing?

We Are Not Worthy Nor Grand


The Time-travelers have been and gone

Transcending the stars and beyond

Leaving us the message carved in stone

Obvious warnings, pointing the bone

“You are not worthy, nor grand

to care for Mother Earth’s beautiful land”

Decrying our human-kinds faults

Locking our world’s children in vaults

Poisoning our plants, rivers, and seas

Contaminating the air we breathe

Burning our forests

Vehicle fumes

Nuclear bombs

Rulers greed

Before we even feed

Our fellow-man

Slaughter upon slaughter

Like we’re lambs

Guns and bullets

Millions for every bloody stand

Like dead seeds in our hands

Not giving life, only death and sand

We are not worthy, nor grand

It’s time, to make a stand

Who’s going to lead our band


“It’s Time”,

Ivor Steven (c)  2018


Tit Bits #12

The sun shone between me and oblivion

Blinding my way to the horizon

I let my fading moon call on Poseidon

We bravely fought our wars

Now I’m an old soldier out of uniform

Love has wounded and scarred me

I’ve no battle hat for my head

Only an empty camp bed

The nights are cold

I do turn bold

No caresses to hold

Nor unfold

There’s always something to find

Out there in nothing

Appearing to be nothing

Out there waiting to be found

I’ll keep dancing to the beat

Happy I’m still on my feet


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Come Healing

The lyrics of this song “Come Healing” are so beautifully poignant for all of us who are in the process of healing, and attached here my poem Mango Smoothie, was also about healing.            

Come Healing

O gather up the brokenness
And bring it to me now
The fragrance of those promises
You never dared to vow

The splinters that you carry
The cross you left behind
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind

And let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

Behold the gates of mercy
In arbitrary space
And none of us deserving
The cruelty or the grace

O solitude of longing
Where love has been confined
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind

O see the darkness yielding
That tore the light apart
Come healing of the reason
Come healing of the heart

O troubled dust concealing
An undivided love
The heart beneath is teaching
To the broken heart above

Let the heavens falter
Let the earth proclaim
Come healing of the altar
Come healing of the name

O longing of the branches
To lift the little bud
O longing of the arteries
To purify the blood

And let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

O let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

My finale stanza from my poem “Mango Smoothie”, the words are all part of my healing process, and I’m now feeling quite comfortable within myself on these days of reflection.

I’m a healer who’s lost

Gravitated by her sorrow

How do I catch a falling arrow

And mend her broken cross


Ivor Steven (c)  2018


This is a very old poem of mine, and the poem’s words appeared in my dream-time last night, so I’ve dragged the verse out of my archives, and I’ve rewritten it in present tense. The original title was “With All Her Might”, but I think “Brave” suits Her better now. xx

She had a glorious smile everyday

Despite her painful stay

She tried with all her might

Oh, what a brave fight


She relied on us all, to fill her days

Caring for her different ways

She helped with all her might

Oh, what a courageous sight


She rested, unable to relate

Comfy in her sorry state

She sighed with all her might

Oh, what a sombre plight


She never complained about her fate

Carried our worry weight

She defied destiny with all her might

Oh, what an endless night



Ivor Steven (c)  2018



Tit Bits #11

My efforts to beat failures go amiss

Someone keeps moving the goal-posts into the mist

I’m misunderstanding what I need to know

I understand what I already Know

I’m misunderstanding why they throw the stones

I understand the hurt of being hit by sharp stones

There’s a loud cheer from the crowd

But who’s listening to my silence now

Silence is deafening

My heart missed a beat

Waiting times are beckoning

My message replete

Telling myself it’s fine to have empty days

I smile to myself, at my misty eyes

They’re welcome emotions now-days

Swelling my heart in forgiving ways


Ivor Steven (c)  2018

Freckles And Dark Hair

Weekly Prompts – Your second chance to be creative

This weeks word prompt, Hybrid


I’m of mixed origin

Am I a hybrid

An off-spring of my parents

Dad was a red-head with freckles

From Tasmania, a convicts great-grandson

Mum had dark hair and olive skin

A German and Scottish background

She was born in Penang Malaysia

They were worlds apart

The great war shaped their paths

Time and peace brought them together

I’m their hybrid, freckles and dark hair


Ivor Steven (c)  2018