From there, upon his pedestal, he lingered longingly on the crowd surrounding him. Dialogue and dialectic, commentary and whimsical surprise, his cult of personality awake and on the rise. But fate is fickle, as is the crowd and it passed … Continue reading The Crowd. A poem.
Fame is a fickle food. By Emily Dickinson Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past … Continue reading Poets Loved: Fame is a fickle food. By Emily Dickinson
Poker-faced, a nascent clarity before my eyes; while behind confusion and regret in tides, that while away the dawdling time. I seek to speak but find no words to fill the vacant mire that fills this space with more pregnant, … Continue reading Castaway. A poem.
Tease this silver filament, an ambit claim on every foot, squeezed and cajoled through calloused hands. Climb this tensile fibre, climb until the heavens bloom and your body retches from the unyielding pressure. When you reach your goal, set free … Continue reading Rope. A poem.
Water flows freely In the garden of delight Washing you in sin What is a haiku? Glad you asked. Click here to find out more. Cheers Steve 🙂 For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely … Continue reading The Garden. A haiku.
This maze we walk, denies a bitter truth. Our fingers trace its periphery and yet still we walk in circles. If escape is what we truly yearn then perhaps there is no maze at all. Or perhaps the maze is … Continue reading This Maze. A poem.
Fire and Ice. By Robert Frost. Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think … Continue reading Poets Loved: Fire and Ice. A poem by Robert Frost.
He who hesitates is lost … Continue reading Seesaw. A short poem.
They say that proof is not incontrovertible and that the essence of truth can be hidden in the words encapsulating it. I say I only need you to touch me and say it, too— your words punctuate and spell out … Continue reading Incontrovertible. A poem.
Much bitter fruit on the path of our ascension is crushed underfoot. What is a haiku? Glad you asked. Click here to find out more. Cheers Steve 🙂 For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely … Continue reading Underfoot. A haiku.
I take photos. I write poems. ‘Nuff said. Cheers Steve 🙂 Tallship. A poem. You have bound me as no ocean ever could— wrapped in chains and woven hemp, fit to shackle Hercules. Here I wait, as the wind cajoles … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Tallship
All your hallowed dreams are burned and charred, or maybe lightly fricasseed; cast aside like the hopeful rope to the refugee always seems to be. (Like vegetables in the pan, never really what you want, but always what you need.) … Continue reading Vegetables. A poem.
The rose-colored glasses slipped away and I saw you as you really are, crowned in wishful thinking and spoilt disparity of thought, overwrought, less than I expected and more than I assumed. I guess I didn’t know what I wanted, … Continue reading Rose-Colored Glasses. A poem.
Hand in hand, across a billion pebbled seeds. A heat frisson murmuring beneath our feet. Foaming cerulean paints the shore in shadow, while white light turns supple skin scarlet and melts concerns away. For more of my poetry, check out … Continue reading Beach Birthday. A poem.
I am found: tears and fears and blind, wandering far from the font of my regrets. The nurtured pain in me enshrined, to forgive and finally to forget. The prisons in which we held ourselves have run their long and … Continue reading You and I. A sonnet.
Laidback DM: SteveStillStanding.com 