Granny Chun is led sedately to a cell opposite the Anvil’s. She catches a glimpse of the big male skull behind the tiny transteel window as she is pushed gently into her cell by two armoured guards. Prison guard Olsin … Continue reading Anvil. Part 12.
Isolated – a haiku trilogy 1. Veil If only I could take away the coal-black veil encompassing me. 2. Crown My only constant: crown of thorns, heavy on my lonely, empty heart. 3. Walls Do you hear me cry? Perhaps … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Isolated’, a haiku trilogy.
The briefest of moments to us, passed between, and I was, for the briefest time, momentarily happy. I crave the briefest moment to spend with you again. For in that fragile moment, I am, forever, briefly sane. The All or … Continue reading Brief. A poem.
via Save the Poet! Try it out! Click on the link above to find where you can download it. If you love poetry, you won’t be sorry! Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading ‘The All or the Nothing’ – Steve’s eBook is available now!
I wish that I could rectify all my copious sins and lies. I wish I could rebuild the trust I stole from you with prurient lust. I wish I could remove the stain upon my family’s blessed name. I wish … Continue reading Rectified. A poem.
I stared into the chasm and it stared right back at me. My cries echoed off its pithy walls until I nestled silently in its precipitous embrace. The chasm walls engulfed me; the sky above sequestered and aloof. The comforting, … Continue reading Chasm. A poem.
Would you shed a tear for me when I’m gone or about to go? Would you wave as I depart, smile awhile, wander alone? Would you care if I passed away from this world, from this fray? Would you be … Continue reading Would. A poem.
If I had my chance again, would I change the things I did? I am so invested in this pain, and have lost, yet gained so much, it was surely meant to be. And if I had my chance again, … Continue reading Consequence. A poem.
I wish she would read this artifice of love and know my asinine attempt to swim to her waters ‘festina lente’, my yearning to sweep her off her feet and cushion her with desirous imposition, is meant solely to glorify … Continue reading Artifice of Love. A poem.
Thanks so much to Follypen, who nominated me for both the Leibster and Versatile Blogger awards. You can find Follypen’s wonderful site at this link: https://follypen.wordpress.com/ I’m gonna cheat a bit (as I sometimes do with Award-thingies) and refer you to a previous nomination of mine for some faintly amusing Leibster award answers and questions: Some Leibster Award Goodness: I’d like to thank the academy… I’m going to cheat AGAIN and direct you to some of my previous posts for Versatile Blogger Award nominations for some not-quite-so-controversial and possibly-funny-but-who-am-I-to-judge questions and answers: Versatile Blogger Award Nomination – Woo hoo! Cheers … Continue reading Leibster and Versatile Blogger Award Noms—thank you, thank you, thank you!
Every indifferent look is broken glass, slicing my already severed heart. Your indifference, (bricks laid by me), is the wall separating our dual Berlins. Your indifference is the pendulum that crushes me whole: nothing left and nothing right. Every indifferent … Continue reading Indifference. A poem.
Dewdrops on my skin as I rise from your embrace. Your satin caress beckons and I return to your verge. Each twist and turn I take moves me closer to apogee, whence all efforts expire. Here within your tidal girth, … Continue reading Swim. A poem.
My gallants and topsails, tattered, torn and twisted; shrouding the devastated deck like grasping lichen on a forest floor. My ship creaks and moans, weary and spent from the storm; a mass of broken timbers, of shredded hopes forlorn. The … Continue reading Wrecked. A poem.
The Anvil struggles groggily to her feet. The room is silent. “What did I miss?” she says. Lady Chao and Granny Chun are still kissing. “Somebody want to fill me in on this development?” says the Anvil. Violet runs over … Continue reading Anvil. Part 11.
Am I a ghost to you, incorporeal as mist, drifting on the fulsome breeze, far beyond your view? What would it take to anneal this brume, a somatic conversion to make me real? Your fugue is my grave; Here I … Continue reading Ghostly. A poem.
