Epith. By Carol Muske-Dukes. Here’s the little dressmaker on her knees at your feet, mouth full of pins: fixing you in the dummy’s image. Your belled satin shivers like a goblet of fizzled brut– You wanted it late in life, … Continue reading Poets Loved: Epith. By Carol Muske-Dukes.
I take photos. I write poems. Chalk and cheese. Not. Cheers Steve 🙂 Rock. A poem. Rock of ages, how do you stand so firm and undeniable, when every dog has its day with you? For more of my poetry, … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Rock
Why the sadness, the music tugging at heartstrings in pizzicato fashion, stretching my angst beyond reproach? Why the darkness, flowing in a syrup-like tsunami, to swallow my horizons and the shoulder I’ve hung my head upon? This rhythm and rhyme … Continue reading The Music in Me. A poem.
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.
Minor spoilers! Glass is the sequel to Unbreakable and Split. It’s the culmination of one journey and the start of another. It’s really good, and deserves more appreciation than it’s gotten from some critics. M. Night Shyamalan is an auteur … Continue reading Glass. A movie review.
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.
An excerpt from a response I did for a Uni YA writing course some time ago: Do you have your own private classics? Name one. Why do you call it a classic? What do you think makes a children’s or adolescents’ … Continue reading Writer Interrupted: Young Classics
This is a short fiction I wrote for a Uni subject I completed a while back. Enjoy! Cheers Steve 🙂 Divides. By Stephen Thompson. My mother is dusting. The feather duster she uses swishes lightly over the mementoes and photo … Continue reading Divides. A flash fiction.
In the blackest, midnight hour, wandering perpetual halls, wondering if you’ll clear your dreams of demons and finally get to sleep. Your trackless thoughts always return to her and her alone; You grasp your hands and suddenly she’s there—your futile … Continue reading The Midnight Hour. A poem.
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.
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