Cut. A poem.

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 that I might feel again,
so that I might wallow in my
weariness and paint the sink
the bold colour of my distress.

Every scar will scream my story
behind a thin, linen veil
and come out to play
whenever I need your full
and desperate attention.

This is my needlepoint fairy tale,
umbilically wending its way along
my forearm and inner thigh.
Onwards, the fabulist spins
my yarn of truth and rage
and misbegotten sights and sighs.

This is my gift to you from me.

This silken cut that slices deep
and constantly reminds me
of your joyous regret.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Judgement. A poem.

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 my head in acceptance.

Every bitter face and whisper
slices me like pages
from a torturer’s manual;
every hoarse regret
is but a desiccated frog
in my parched and weary throat.

Every glance pierces
my pin cushion back,
and each contemptuous
and barbed arrow
finds its place, nestled
amongst its brothers and sisters.

As I walk towards my fate
and my deliverance,
I am unimpeachable.
I am ready.
I am willing.

I am
here.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

The Rain and the Heart. A poem.

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 time
to the incessant, hammering drumbeat
that subsumes everything
but my yearning for you.

Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Hello. A poem.

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, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

In Between. A poem.

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
like salient
bacteria.

Every rapid-fire conversation
and reluctant discussion
disguised as
commentary
or immersive peer review,
hiding behind saturnine
walls
of bifurcated emotion.
How similar we are
(and yet how antithetic).

Still, the space between
remains
undiminished,
no matter how much I long for it.
Is that a glimpse of
the real you,
I see?
Is that visceral desire you
harbour for
me?

Dream on, my friend,
in the infinite space left
in between.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Alive. 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
bonds easily with erythrocytes,
in a long-term family reunion.
I have turned away in regret
and post-haste surprise.

I am

ALIVE.

Today and tomorrow and today.
I guess I’ll have to
keep it that way.

I am Alive.

Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Love/Hate. A poem.

LOVE
The reason why I do
everything I do

The reason why everything
I touch is ruined
The reason why I’m
always left the fool
The reason why I always
come back to you
The reason why I’m
always left the fool
The reason why everything
I touch is ruined
The reason why I do
everything I do

HATE

 .

Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Rancid. A poem.

All my rancid surprise,
broken and doubtful,
flayed thoughts drifting
behind sullen and tired eyes.

So many unspoken wishes
given lonesome flight
from these effluent cliffs
of anger and despair;
all the improbable,
impossible angst,
the seething pain
that my aimless tossing
and turning will allow.

I linger on the edge.
my toes sense the drop
and yearn to dance.

The sheets are a roiling sea
where my hope drowns deep,
the pillow, an almond-bitter cloud
that suffocates my dreams.

.

Steve is an sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Anew. A poem.

I reach with spider lines of filigree
fanning out to touch the universe
and in your winsome eyes I see
the love at length I will traverse.

Across the stars, to circumvent
stormy nebulae within your heart,
your storied pain, I will prevent;
navigate and birth a brand new start.

.

Steve is a literal starving artist.
Please keep the dream of poetry alive by supporting his worthy cause.

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

Down again. A poem.

Down, again,
and the anxious riptide in my brain
wills and drags me to sullen depths,
where the ocean bed is pock marked
with tears and fears and
ample insomniac nights.

Down, again,
and every fading couple in the street
with supple smiles and ignorant eyes
just make me want to waste awhile,
and shrink into a microcosm of truth,
a vast and endearingly unsubtle void.

Down, again,
and the shelter of my artless womb
is where I find myself wholly entombed
in bitter isolation and self-immolation,
to smother my feckless heart and cheer
as I watch it gasp and choke.

Down, again,
and every word upon the doubtful page,
each cluttered and endearing artifice
brings relief through its catharsis
and brings me slowly
back to dreary life.

Down, again, until I’m not.
Until next time,
my lonely, lovely
black dog refrain.

.

Steve is a literal starving artist.
Please keep the dream of poetry alive by supporting his worthy cause.

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

My River. A poem.

My river:
your familiar effulgence,
wrapping my distress
in your gracious tributaries.
Changing my name to chance
whilst fate looks on,
somewhat perturbed
but unmoved all the same.

My river:
sweeping me through
your conquering rapids,
beating my insensitive brow,
slashing my effluent heart,
shaking my corpulent bones,
until I rest again on your
ever patient shore
and you take me again.

.

Steve is a literal starving artist.
Please keep the dream of poetry alive by supporting his worthy cause.

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

Edgar Allan Poe and the First Exegesis

Edgar Allan Poe is considered one of the foremost exponents of the Gothic horror genre and is also well known for his poetry. His poem The Raven, published in 1845, was his most famous and successful work, and his short stories include The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Fall of the House of Usher and The Pit and the Pendulum. Despite his years of success as a writer, poet, critic and editor, he died broke and was buried in a pauper’s grave, the location unknown to this day.poe

Poe’s essay The Philosophy of Composition, published in 1846, is considered the first literary-oriented exegesis. Poe uses the exposed rear of a theatre stage as a cogent metaphor to allow readers to glance into the workings of a writer’s mind. Poe’s variegating theatrical metaphors about a piece’s personal literary history are valid: “the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, constitute the properties of the literary histrio.”

The exegesis is a way for writers to explain their process, to intuitively describe the spark of personal creation, to enlighten readers regarding the meanderings of draft and re-draft. As Poe puts it, a look “at the true purposes seized only at the last moment, at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view, at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable”.

Poe was a dedicated and brilliant writer, and his work continues to yield treasures to both those familiar with his work and the uninitiated. I am a fan, as this post will no doubt attest.

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Edgar Allan Poe

Cheers

Steve 😊

Another post from a uni subject I completed many months ago. I thought it was a useful, if brief, introduction to the concept of the exegesis, which new and aspiring writers might find interesting.

Still Standing. A poem.

Still standing.
Waiting.

Where are you?
When are you?

Your bus is long, long overdue,
but I will wait, anyway,
wondering if my timetable
is completely out of date.
Hoping my ticket to ride
is still valid, not expired.

Still standing.
Waiting for you.

Poets are facing extinction.
Please keep the dream of poetry alive by supporting this worthy cause.

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

Beached. A poem.

Here, amongst a billion tiny souls
crunching below my feet,
sticking between my toes,
a first kiss of many.

Furtive, restless, heated,
fingers and palms hitchhiking
over a bountiful landscape.
A tsunami flowing through the fields,
disrupting your trains of thought
and once rational mind.

As the sun sinks lower and evening falls;
like time, we shall come to pass on these dunes.
Here, amongst a billion tiny souls
that crunch between our feet
and the small of your back.

Would you like to read more poetry and prevent Steve from starving at the same time?

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information,
click here.

Upstart Photographer #2. And complementary poems, to boot.

Some more photos from my ongoing amateur photographic journey. These ones are many months old. About time they saw the light in some unfiltered, unaffected glory. Or some semblance of glory, anyway.

I’ve written some short poems to accompany them. I don’t know why; probably to make this post seem less boring.

church (cropped) - stevestillstanding
Church. A poem.
Towering, cascading walls and spires.
Dreams of saints and gorgons
all in one.

fort (cropped) - stevestillstanding
Fort. A poem.
You stand alone, forlorn,
neglected by time and tide.

Once you surveyed
the ocean with needy eyes,
lost in paranoid bliss.

Today, you mourn your loss
amongst rust, cracks and loneliness.

view (cropped) - stevestillstanding
View. A poem.
The view from here, looking up and down:
shades of today and yesterday,
visions of sun dresses and flowered hair,
offset by cell phone and emoji conversation.
 
The wind brings glad tidings
and I whisper thanks in return.

window (cropped) - stevestillstanding
Windows. A poem.
Just outside, a better world?
Perhaps the glass has
skewed your vision
enough to imagine roses.
 
Until next time,
 
Cheers

Steve 😊

Would you like to read more poetry and prevent Steve from starving at the same time?

Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information, click here.

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