My love is Icarus, screaming on molten wings, searing clouds with body heat; an elevator ride straight down to my beckoning crypt. The ground is a winsome friend, cajoling me as I approach. The flames are streamers as I hit … Continue reading Icarus. A poem.
When I’m walking the dog around town (not my own black dog*, mind you, although he is always with me), I often pass by monuments that look pretty cool. Naturally, I want to take a picture of them. Here are … Continue reading Upstart Photographer #6 – Dogs and Monuments
Junifer Vasilikov limped closer. In the moonlight we could make out a ghastly, bloody smear covering her features. Her hands were empty. “My mother was killed by a vacuum cleaner,” she said, wearily. Aisha leapt to her feet, knife at … Continue reading The Sale. Part 18.
The loving and the longing soaked into heart and soul. Sponges wrung at a moment’s notice, all captured in a bucket and mopped across the entirety of my empty little world. Here loving words are written on lonely pages in … Continue reading Longing. A poem.
Here’s a flash fiction I wrote a while back. It wasn’t seen by many at the time, so I’ve decided to re-blog it in the hope that more may get the chance to read it. https://stevestillstanding.com/2017/06/24/sucker-punch-a-short-tale/ Hope you like it. … Continue reading Sucker Punch. A short tale, revisited.
When the bone wails in time to my beating, breaking heart, and the blood curdles along with my myopic tears. I will reach for thee and mark my emboldened flesh in your honour. I will scour my skin indelicately so … Continue reading Cut. A poem.
The climb down was a blur of motion and fear. The air was musty, mouldy and laced with the smell of our sweat-soaked and angst-ridden bodies. At the bottom of the ladder, we stood before the exit panel to the … Continue reading The Sale. Part 17.
No longer angry, now the sum of abject humiliation and shame. I stand before you in mute testimony; judgement rests upon me, a crow upon a broken scarecrow. All I can do is drink in this desolate ambiance, and lower … Continue reading Judgement. A poem.
Here in my existential and physical womb, among my countless random thoughts and semi-branded column headers, I’ve decided to present yet more amateurish attempts at photography. I’ve stuck with black and white this week, even though it can be a … Continue reading Upstart Photographer #5. More B&W’s.
Rain swaddles the land in an embrace of dewy tears. Thunder racks like winded sobs from the chest of the earth, punctuated by lightning strands sewing clouds together. Here in my womb, I lie and listen. My tears fall in … Continue reading The Rain and the Heart. A poem.
I’m waiting at the Legal Aid office to get some advice about my upcoming property settlement. Needless to say it’s a dull experience, punctuated by the typing on my iPhone, the shuffle of papers, the muffled choke of a straining … Continue reading Waiting, wanting, waning.
Linked by thoughts known and unknown; blinkered and guileless, liberated, yet uncertain. Your hand brushed mine and every inhibition was washed away by a rain of dream-soaked inebriation: You had me at “hello”. Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, … Continue reading Hello. A poem.
Cormac McCarthy is a damn fine writer. He’s also a very disturbing one. Child of God is one of his older books (1973), and tells the story of Lester Ballard, a lonely and erstwhile Tennessee hick who loses his home … Continue reading Child of God. A book review.
Would that I could rend this universe asunder to bring you that much closer to me. So near our timid outstretched fingertips could touch, so near we could taste each other’s stuttering exhaled breath and our carbon dioxide could mingle … Continue reading In Between. A poem.
I am ALIVE. I see all that is and was, every incongruous and congruous method and selection, tied and untied from destiny’s disaffected strings. I am ALIVE. I have dwelled in the shadow of death’s supple embrace, where carbon monoxide … Continue reading Alive. A poem.
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