The road gone…but not forgotten.

It’s been a few years since I disappeared in a puddle of self-limiting self-destruction.

It seems my years of wallowing and despondency are coming to a close. That’s not to say my depression has gone away. My favourite black dog is right beside me as always, although his ever-present bark is lessened somewhat by the muzzle. I guess I’ve arrived at a place where I can safely say I’ve shed some (but not all) of my ridiculously cumbersome baggage. At least I’m not bowed from the heavy lifting. Stronger, perhaps.

So does this mean I can get on with my life? I’m afraid the spectres and banshees at my heels will never go away, but I can live with them a little better than before. Perhaps, with time, they’ll fade. Hopefully, not altogether, though–I need to be reminded of my mistakes. Life is all about consequences and learning from them, after all.

Wow, that’s a lot of clichés. Maybe next time I write a confusing and enigmatic post, I’ll try to avoid them.


Steve  🙂

The Poetry Writing Process

Okay, a few people asked me this. I thought I’d oblige with a post.

I write the majority of my drafts on my iPhone, while I’m walking, watching TV, or sitting on the toilet (my compositional repository of choice). My writing very much depends on my mood and what has impacted me that day. I generally write better material when I’m depressed or in a dark state of mind.

As to process, I set up a draft on my iPhone, which is either edited or ‘done in one’ (a first draft not requiring edits). Generally, most of my drafts stay on my phone until I revisit them a few days or weeks later. My editing process includes reading the piece aloud, adding enjambment, line breaks, punctuation, altering words or lines as needed. I edit whenever I return to my notes on iPhone. Sometimes, I edit older poems after writing a new one. This also depends on the amount of time I have, location and mood.

Sometimes editing can change the meaning of one or more lines, which can subtly change the context of the overall poem. Sometimes it’s just a change in the words used to convey a metaphor or simile. Very occasionally the poem is scrapped and I start over with something completely different. Generally, I find something that I like in everything I write, even if it’s only a scrap of cloth. That scrap can be shaped into an everyday shirt or a tux, depending on my mindset.

My favourite poet is T.S. Eliot. I find a wistfulness and solemnity in his imagery and love the way he uses language to alternately hide and expose meaning within his poems. My favourite poem of his is The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock; it moves me with the way it flows and insinuates its way into my emotions. He’s the sort of poet I aspire be; if my poetry was only a fraction of the quality of his, I would be happy.

Excerpt From The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.


Steve 😊

Solo. A movie review.

No spoilers!

I read the scathing and toxic reception of fandom to Solo, a Star Wars Story, read the critics’ poor reviews and generally dismissed the movie without giving it a chance. I’m happy to report that a friend dragged me to see it, and I was not only pleasantly surprised, I got to see a movie that was as good as, if not better, then Rogue One and The Last Jedi.


Solo stars Alden Ehrenreich as the young version of the character made popular in the first three Star Wars movies by Harrison Ford. He doesn’t quite fulfil the roguishly charismatic promise of Ford, but then, that’s to be expected. He does, however, play the part well (better than reported) and works convincingly with the other stars— scene-stealing Danny Glover as Lando Calrissian, always reliable Woody Harrelson as Beckett, his distrusting mentor, and Emilia Clarke as Kira, young Han’s inscrutable ex-girlfriend.

Solo is a heist movie, and it shows some of the formative moments in Han Solo-history: how he gained his name, met Chewbacca, got the blaster, won the Millennium Falcon, completed the legendary Kessel Run in record time/distance. The action is great, especially the train set-piece. There’s a nice little link (no matter how unlikely it may seem in retrospect) to the formative Rebellion. Solo ably shows the start of Han’s journey from optimistic and unlikely hero to cynical reprobate. There’s also the promise of a sequel with Jabba the Hutt and a cool cameo from a character mired in pre-Disney extended Star Wars universe history (looks like they didn’t scrap everything after all). Let’s hope DVD and streaming sales make it happen.

I really enjoyed Solo. It’s well worth a look and certainly much better than some people might indicate.

Rating: B+  

Far. A poem.

I climbed the path on the mountain of no return,
and viewed the valley, so treacherously far below.
From here everything seemed so far away,
so inconsequential and purposeless.
And there I would sit, through rain and snow,
living an inconsequential and purposeless existence,
looking down on a world that teemed with wonder and nuance,
but was too far away for me to know.


The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Looking for Alaska. A book review.

I promised to review the last of John Green’s books left for me to read (ironically, his first). I finally finished Looking for Alaska, yesterday. You can find the other reviews at the links below this one.

Looking for Alaska, like many of John Green’s books, is a young adult book featuring a number of quirky high-school characters, a love story (unrequited love, in this case), a tragedy and a mystery. Telling you any more would ruin the story, and I want to steer clear of spoilers.

Looking for Alaska

Pudge is a socially-isolated boy who is sent to boarding school in Alabama, where he meets his short but smart roommate ‘the Colonel’, part-time rapper Takumi and the love of his life: sexy, enigmatic, adorable and frustratingly annoying Alaska Young. They get up to all sorts of antics that expand Pudge’s horizons and broaden his understanding of friendship and existence.

Green likes to write from life, and most of these characters appear to be based on himself and his school classmates (right down to Green’s love of famous last words). There are a number of glaring similarities to characters from his other books, and after reading every book he’s written in a short time frame, I find that they suffer from ‘too much of a good thing’ syndrome: while I loved the book overall, the characters were a little passé. Having said all that, if I’d read this book before his others, I might not have felt this way. The ‘mystery’ of the third act was also incredibly obvious and left me wondering how bright these supposedly smart kids actually were.

If you’re a John Green fan you’ll love Looking for Alaska. Or you’ll find it a bit too similar to his other works. Either way, I love Green’s writing and look forward to his next effort.


* For reviews of Green’s other books, click on The Fault in Our Stars, Paper Towns and Turtles All The Way Down, An Abundance of Katherines

Keepsake. A poem.

I hear you,
I see you;
your mirror face
tells no lies
but hides the truth,
like a waxing moon
hiding the sun
from the subtle stars.

I hear you,
I see you,
I hold you;
you are wine
within my mouth,
light within my vision,
tincture at my touch.
My keepsake.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Zeitgeist. A poem.

Zeitgeist                    all             around       


It’s          willing              and            able

     but         I’m     not         sure        if


want                 to                buy             what

it’s                   selling. 

This              spirit           of        the            times

              has             not               enabled                


         the             way               I           thought                it                

would                      should                        could.


guess                    I’ll                  just        wait

  this               one                out.


The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.


Tag. A movie review.

A bunch of friends play tag for 30 years: for the month of May, they attempt to tag each other with the winner reigning supreme until the next year. One of the friends has never been tagged and he is about to retire. Time for the team to take him down! The whole idea of the game is it keeps these childhood friends in touch, even though they live in different cities and states. I guess they haven’t discovered Facebook, yet. That’s the premise of Tag, with the punchline that it’s based on a real tag game that has been going for 30 years. Yep, that’s right, a bunch of old guys actually chase each other around every year in the real world (there’s a nice video montage at the end of the movie showing the real taggers).


The ensemble cast includes Ed Helms, Jeremy Renner, Jon Hamm, Hannibal Buress and Jake Johnson. This movie has a number of slapstick comedy moments, and a few awkward gags that never quite land. Jeremy Renner plays the guy who’s never been tagged, who’s so good that his mind drops into a Sherlock Holmesian-style analytical mode whenever someone attempts to tag him. John Hamm, the ultra-competitive CEO and Jake Johnson, the slacker stoner, are involved in a brief romantic triangle. Aside from that, the story is wafer thin: a number of tag scenarios with Renner escaping the others as they attempt to tag him. There are some laughs, but I guess I would have liked a bit more than pratfalling comedy.

You can forget about any real drama—those moments fall flat as well. The characters are basically far too two-dimensional to give this film any weight. And the female characters are even less developed than the males.

Tag is fun most of the time, but it’s also eminently forgettable. Like many other comedies you will see this year, it promises so much and only just delivers.

Rating: C

On Writing and Editing Poetry

Explain your editing process. What works best for you? Do you take risks? Are you objective? How have you taken the poems through its steps to completion?

The Song Poetic. A poem about writing and editing poems.

The toilet provides solitude,
composure in a setting sometimes peaceful,
sometimes filled with the keen echoes of urgent battle.
It is here that fingers flicker with grace and iniquity
across the silky screen of my smartphone,
where auspicious notes take shape,
mellifluous harbingers of lyrical intent.
In minutes an ode is formed, a symphony is saved,
then forgotten until the next; sometimes minutes, sometimes days.
I return in no short time, or perhaps too short time,
to read and ponder, as you do, to consider
already considered notions of pomp and circumstance.
Sometimes the music is given voice, in all too muted tones,
whispered like dark secrets to a musing world.
Delete that line, change that word,
antonym or synonym, hyperbole or metaphor
magically enchanted with a wistful edge
that would hold a man to ransom (if only he were not so deaf).
What risk lies in changes? The page will not consume itself
in bitter apprehension, or come back to haunt
my sleepless nights, like an insomniac ghost.
The supple net awaits, for me to cast my feeble musings
on the virtual sea, where they be caught
or slip into watery depths, obscured.
Perhaps, all for better, or all for worse,
one man’s love is another man’s curse.

Stephen Thompson 2017

I came, I saw, I edited.

I read my poems out loud once they’re written. I often return to them, sometimes several times, to edit and change lines, words, imagery. Sometimes they’re written and done in one, without any further editing. Sometimes my poems start off being longer, then get whittled down as the twisted bracken and rotting undergrowth is macheted away with the poise of a manic chainsaw juggler. But not often.

The poem above was written in one — I read over it, changed a few words and line breaks, but the length stayed the same, as did the imagery and intent. I read it out loud a few times. It took me, all up, about 15 minutes to complete. Most of my poems take less time, but then they’re generally shorter. Some poems just seem to flow from some undammed river of consciousness.

Editing requires patience as well as objective and subjective vision. I wish I could say I have more patience, but I don’t. I’ve often published poems I’ve looked back on later and said “DOH! I wish I’d edited that.” Sometimes I can be objective and subjective enough to edit succinctly, other times I’m too attached to the poem.

I truly believe that the reader is free to interpret a poem any way they choose, as poems, like songs, affect each of us differently. They wind and wend and burrow their way into each person’s soul, connecting or disconnecting as they see fit.

Editing poems is like editing stories: you step back, re-read it, reshuffle and rewrite, and then hope for the best. But I’m always hoping for chocolate, even if it just turns out to be vanilla.


Steve 😊

Paper Hearts. A poem.

My heart was torn,
tiny pieces shredded
like origami shapes
fluttering on the wind.

Just like every
paper person
in my overcrowded mind,
an overcrowded sea
of paper people,
with shredded paper hearts,
like origami shapes
fluttering on the wind.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Backstab. A poem.

You are the prowling shark
loitering in choppy waters
waiting on a hint of blood
to fuel your hungry needs.

You sniff and search
for snippets to exploit,
building trust with deception
to cover your misdeeds.

You are a betrayer of trust,
a parasitic worm,
embedded in my flesh,
consuming heart and soul.

How many times
will I forgive your trespasses,
only to feel your dagger deep,
the wounds reopened anew.


There are some truly soulless, unethical and underhanded people in this world, who continually take advantage of those who open their lives to them. This poem is for those misanthropes.

We will always forgive those who trespass against us, but it doesn’t mean we can’t vent about it in the meantime.


Steve 🙂

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Arrival. A poem.

I waited
and waited
and hoped

and you arrived.

Without acclaim,
without excess,
but not without baggage
of your own.

Seared with silent wounds
in mirrored grace
and Savoir-Faire.

And all the waiting and the hope,
all the self-hate and the scars,
all the loneliness I had known,

receded like the tide,
trawled by an incumbent moon.

Now you’re here,
your smile a nascent whirlwind
threatening to drag me
kicking and screaming
from this storm cellar.

Threatening to hold me

I’ll try not to let go.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Anvil. Part 15.

The distant sound of automatic gunfire and plasma rounds echo from within the skeletal remains of the Chao Triad building.

In the interceptor, Olsin’s finger pauses over the tether recall button. She notes two murky shapes in the dirty haze behind Granny Chun.

“I think you had better rethink your options,” says Lady Chao as she exits the dust, an HPR Launcher hefted on her shoulder. Assistant Alida crouches trembling behind her, eyes tight, hands over her ears.

Chun raises her pumpgun, eyeing the Anvil’s unconscious form protectively. “Of course, it seems we are at an impasse,” she says.

“You will take me with you in that interceptor,” says Chao. Alida squeaks from behind and Chao rolls her eyes. “I suppose you’d better take my assistant as well.”

“Of course, why should I? Because we were lovers in a past life?”

“Nothing so prosaic. The fleet outside is about to be conveniently distracted. And you have no way of finding the girl without me.”

Chun’s eyes narrow and she lowers her weapon. She glances at the hovering interceptor behind, at the Anvil’s bulky form beside her, and sighs. “Of course, you’ll have to leave the launcher behind. It’s going to be a bit squishy onboard.”

* * *

Captain Hansen hasn’t received word from Commander Shi-Cho since the hangar explosion, but Shi-Cho’s interceptor exited the building and is now hovering outside the damaged bay. He stands behind his pilot, his airborne troop carrier suspended less than a hundred metres away from Shi-Cho’s craft, awaiting further orders. Hansen frowns impatiently as the interceptor holds its position, blocking any views or scans of the hangar’s interior. “Open coms to the Commander’s ship,” he snaps to his pilot.

Suddenly the top of Chao’s headquarters erupts as a nearspace orbiter thrusts itself into the air, rear afterburn decimating the plasteel panels around it. “That’s Chao’s escape shuttle,” says Hansen. On open com: “All ships, intercept and take that orbiter. We want Chao alive!”

* * *

Olsin turns to the side door as Chun climbs in, guiding the Anvil’s tethered body to the floor between the rear benches. Jimmy swears as Lady Chao and Alida clamber in unceremoniously behind them.

“And the trip just got better, yet again,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I suggest we forego the pleasantries and get out of here while Shi-Cho’s fleet chases my orbiter,” says Chao, strapping into her seat. “It won’t take very long before the ruse is uncovered.” She notes Olsin in the pilot chair and frowns. “The mystery of your escape is solved. I’ll discuss this with my ex-guard later.” Chao flexes her durasteel fingers. Olsin gulps and glances back to the control panel.

Chun aims her pumpgun at Chao. Alida quivers in her seat and pretends to be elsewhere. “Of course, just remember you’re my guests,” says Chun. “Play nice.”

“How many more guests are coming along on this little jaunt?” says Jimmy under his breath, scowling and folding his arms.

Olsin’s fingers flicker over the control panel; the multi-turbine engines rotate to the rear and the interceptor shoots away from Chao’s ruined headquarters as Shi-Cho’s fleet pursues the orbiter into the ionosphere.

* * *

Shi-Cho shakes his head as he rises from the rubble. The last thing he remembers was holding the armature’s skull in his fist, closing his fingers around its jaw, awaiting the inevitable cracking of bone and sinew. Then an intense light followed by blackness.

His autorecall plays back the scene: a full power discharge from the enemy armature overwhelmed his parasite flange, the resulting power surge causing a massive EMP disruption that his bioscreens couldn’t block. He went down like a sack of ricemeal.

Shi-Cho glances around as his vision clears. The other armature has disappeared. He stumbles through twisted metal and plasteel debris as his power levels creep back to normal and infrared and ultraviolet ocular sensors take in the surrounds. Internal protein revitalisers repair skin cuts and abrasions. Reformative layering processes rebuild his outer body armour.

Shi-Cho returns to the remains of the hangar, unrecognisable from the ordered launch bay it was previously. His interceptor is gone. So, too, is his fleet. “Damn,” he says.

* * *

Shi-Cho’s interceptor exits the atmosphere and glides silently through the vacuum of the periphery. The turbines close and retros engage across the hull as Olsin manoeuvres the ship into an orbital lock.

“Of course, nice work,” says Chun. Olsin turns her head and grins, then snaps it quickly back as Chao glares.

“Time to earn your passage,” says Chun to Chao.

Chao eyes her long red nails, one of which has broken, and sighs. “You’ll want to avoid the Hoopworld that encircles the planet. As you know Bester owns it—if you so much as place a foot anywhere on it you’ll be seized by his people. You’ll need to find a place to refuel if you want to find the girl.”

Jimmy fiddles with his beard. “And now I’m a wanted man with no options. Just gets better and better.”

Chun checks the Anvil, its body floating gently in zero-g between the passengers in the space between the rear benches. The various glowing power and revitaliser cables connected to its frame twist like snakes. The armature is not breathing, the process simulation having ceased to divert power to internal recovery processors. The left arm is a shallow stump at the shoulder, where subdermal mesh has sealed the wound and covered it with synthi-flesh.

Chao smiles. “It seems your friend has met his match.”

Chun frowns. “Of course, how about you tell us how we can get to our real destination.”

“How do I know you won’t space me before we get there?”

“Because unlike you, I have a sense of personal honour. I give you my word we will not harm you if you help us retrieve Violet.”

“And I assume that you also don’t want my assets to hunt you down like dogs once you have her.”

“Of course; that too.”

“There is a freeport station over darkside, called Flotsam. It’s owned by a dummy corporation that belongs to my Triad consortium. Take me there and we’ll find the girl together. We should have enough fuel to make it. You can refuel there or book passage on an offworlder, if you so choose.”

Chun grimaces. “So, we’re going to a space station you own. Of course, we have to trust you won’t have us killed when we get there.” Jimmy frowns and fingers his beard. Olsin visibly gulps.

Chao smirks. “Well, my love. Life wasn’t meant to be easy.”

To be continued…

Missed earlier instalments? Click here.

What is ANVIL?

ANVIL is a deliberately unplanned, multi-part short story I’m creating week-by-week to challenge myself as a writer (I’ve done this before with The Sale – check it out by clicking here). My intention is to write an episode as often as possible, generally (but not always) ending with a cliff hanger, then work out how to solve the dilemma and continue the story. I have no idea how the story will progress, no idea what it’s about until I get there.

Only you can tell me if it’s successful, or not. I hope you enjoy my continuing experiment.


Steve 🙂

Sand Head. A poem.

I wanted to put my head
deep down in the dust,
but it was too hard to breathe
amongst my crowded thoughts.

I guess the best laid head
was like the worst laid plan:
too many consequences,

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Deadpool 2. A movie review.

No spoilers here!

No doubt you’ve read a thousand times that Ryan Reynolds was born to play fourth wall-breaking, motormouthed mercenary superhero Deadpool, so I won’t repeat it. Oh, I just did. Sorry.

Deadpool 2 is a fun and incredibly violent movie. Yep, it’s not for the kids. It’s funnier than the first, but much of the humour often seems aimed above the average teen audience’s heads. It features the debut of X-force from the comics (umm, think second-tier X-men), lots of pop culture references, music from the 80’s, great visual gags, whiz bang action set pieces and a surprisingly emotional core tying it all together. The Terminator-style storyline is what I’d call “superhero conventional”, but the humour and action lifts it above the average.

Deadpool 2 is lots of fun. You’ll love it if you like superhero movies, Ryan Reynolds, offbeat humour and the 1980s. If you’re averse to blood and violence you may want to give it a miss.

Rating: B+

Meteor. A poem.

You are the meteor
slicing my heavens
to the quick,
scorching my atmosphere
without regret.

And when you hit my ground
cleaving my earthy heart and
spreading its detritus
far and wide,
I’ll willingly accept your carnage
with arms as wide
as oceans.

Because when we are one,
the strata
and fossil record
will tell our story

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Anew. A poem.

All my dreams

returned to dust
whence they sprang,
embittered and tweeted
into the ionosphere.

I am guilty

of a life lived lost,
of times counted down
but launched anew,
in an empyrean embrace.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

The Narrative Poem.

Here’s another response I did for uni. You might want to try it out.


Steve 🙂

Write a narrative poem of no longer than 15 lines about your childhood. Remember the narrative poem is a journey. Take the reader on a journey of your childhood.


Stephen Thompson

This new yard, so voluminous and green, where every potential meets possibility.
Far away from the housing commission ghetto that predicated deeds,
where every child was built on foundations of paternalistic greed.
Here, the air is plain and untinged by the sedentary.
Here, I can run free.
This new school, so quaint and reassuring, where unfamiliarity is as anonymous as mediocrity.
Far away from the amorphous tincture from which my primal learnings seeded,
from where the outcome for every child was branded into flesh.
Here, the opportunities avail themselves, a future not yet set.
Here, I can learn. Free.
This new life, so fundamental and correct, where philosophy waxes agnostically.
Far away from dreams cluttered with rusty cans and shoebox schemes,
from fundamentals like crack whore 101 and burglary.
Here, a path lures me from the box that long confounded me.
Here, I can be truly free.

I grew up in a low rent housing commission area, riddled with drugs, crime and violence. When I was the tender age of eleven, my family moved to another suburb nearby. It was the exact opposite of the one we’d left: quieter, safer, subdued. We didn’t have any more money and we weren’t especially privileged, but the move opened up what seemed like a different world, even though it was geographically only a few kilometres away. A world of nascent opportunity.

Looking back now, hindsight is clearer than the proverbial deer in headlights.


Steve 🙂

Sad Life. A poem.

Is this nothing more
than a sad life?
Materialistic imposition
and perspicacious exposition
all meaning nothing more
than a sad life?

Take this sad life,
open the cage perennially
and set it forever and eternally

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

New Face. A poem.

I am the ripple that turns the tide,
the plaintive cry that shakes the world,
the angry soul that brings the pain,
the lonely man, slowly gone insane.

Every time I turn around
I see my new face
and it haunts me.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Every Blue Thought. A poem.

I prefer black
but I wear a lot of blues
and this ever-lasting weariness
goes from my head
down to my shoes.


aching, grinding, groaning, spattering, spluttering, shadowing, beseeching, bemoaning, bewildering, disturbing, destabilising, escalating, ego-destroying, undermining, undulating, failing, falling


from my head down to my shoes.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

Signal Fire. A poem.

This indolence tosses me
like autumn leaves,
mere whispers in the breeze.
Corkscrewing ever round,
intoxicated by thoughts
that reminisce amongst
far flung ports-of-call.

These empty seas would remit me
unto an isle,
stark, sun-bleached and worn,
smoothed by time and vapid waters.
From here I could scrutinise
the present and the past,
incongruent exhortations
unworthy, ad hoc companions
in perpetuum.

The thought of rescue lies
far beyond these nascent incubi,
continually beseeching me
from beyond the far horizon.
Perhaps I will light a signal fire,
a plethoric plume
to engulf this loneliness
and bring you to my shore.

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

An Exercise in Poetic Styles

Here’s a response I did for Uni. You might like to try the exercise out yourself.


Steve 😊

Write a haiku (formal style) on the theme of water and then write a free verse piece (of no more than 10 lines) on the theme of water. Which style worked best for you? What stumbling blocks did you have to overcome in each?

Water Haiku

Your water cascades
Caressing valleys and hills
I will drink deeply

Stephen Thompson

Deep Water

How deep my heart has sunk,
into depths
(I swim
amongst broken hulls and dead men’s skulls,
coral memories and crustacean verdigris,
viscous cold and furtive shoals
shaping origami headstones,
draped in ocean’s finery.)
How drenched is my heart,
drenched in depths

Stephen Thompson


I enjoy writing Haiku because it can be challenging to find a theme that works in the 5/7/5 syllable structure. Haikus can say so much in so little space and it’s one of the reasons I love them so much.

Free verse is always fun, because I can play around with meter and time, line length, enjambment, etc. without any need to worry about poetic constraints; it’s easier for me to come up with interesting imagery. Often the theme of the poem presents itself as the poem progresses, or a new one is formed when the poem is completed.

I love free verse, but I believe that learning forms with specific poetic structures (such as the villanelle, sestina, pastoral, etc.) force you to be a better poet, because you have to work outside your comfort zone and within a stricter format.


Steve 😊

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