Haiku Friday. Anxiety. A Haiku Trilogy.
Anxiety. A haiku trilogy. 1. Harbinger Tingling on your skin, harbinger of darker things. The skies open wide. 2. Run Run while you still can, ‘fore this acid rain melts you. Too much weight to bear. 3. Hide You can’t hide from this. A pall hangs over you that doggedly consumes. I suffer from anxiety, but manage it much more effectively now than I did a few years ago. These haikus are for all the anxiety sufferers out there. Stay strong Steve 🙂 My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from … Continue reading Haiku Friday. Anxiety. A Haiku Trilogy.
My Trajectory. A poem.
My trajectory: sometimes straight and narrow, sometimes a drunk man attempting to walk a straight line, while the cop just rolls his eyes. My trajectory: never in doubt, sometimes questioning. A walk through a dark forest, as the furry eaves and murky weave close off any chance of escape. Clearer in hindsight, never misplaced. God-given, forthright and true. My trajectory: is you. Continue reading My Trajectory. A poem.
Chat(less). A poem.
Fractious conversations; half-hearted, lip synced. Frantic fingers tracing familiar paths, back and forth across time and space. How much longer until each gives in, or gives up? Until the melodrama unfolds, like poorly crafted origami and becomes a crumpled paper crane. Aimless fingers tap dance, until the music ends. You need to be somewhere else, other than your own space and time. Stop typing! Feel the breeze on your face. The world awaits. Continue reading Chat(less). A poem.
Tired. A poem.
I’m tired. And my drifting aimless gaze settles on a distant mist-like haze that wells up continuously inside, like savage, misplaced pride, and makes me drop like a stone into waters unknown. Lost on cruel tides that wend the capitulating ocean to its end. So tired. If only sleep could solve this quandary, instead of leaving me on the periphery of a world that spins aimlessly, through head space and trickery, and leaves me wanting nothing less. And nothing more. Just tired. Time to leave this place. Steve is a literal starving artist. Please keep the dream of poetry alive … Continue reading Tired. A poem.
The Stand. A poem.
Just one tiny moment of her time. Just one glint in her eye. Did she look my way? Is she thinking about me? A lifetime of insecurities, rearing like some untamed bronco, kicking my ass before I’ve a chance to tango. And now, here I am, stupefied and indignant, wondering what do I do to impress her next? Maybe I could put myself down again, or perhaps be less vexed. Or maybe I could just retreat with my tail between my legs. No. Not this time. Time to make a stand. Let me just catch my breath, pull on the … Continue reading The Stand. A poem.
The Fault in Our Stars. A book review.
It seems I can’t stop reading profoundly affecting books. A friend of mine loaned me John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, the mega-selling young adult novel about two teenagers in cancer remission who fall in love. “You’ll need some … Continue reading The Fault in Our Stars. A book review.
Dust and Rust. A poem.
Take down the green, straddle the Earth with the carbon footprint of giants. Every tree felled, another wooden nail in our meagre wooden coffin. Let the next race be won by whomever loves this planet more than humans being, who in our rush to claim the prize have won nothing but dust, rust, and forgotten lies. Continue reading Dust and Rust. A poem.
Thor Ragnarok. A movie review.
By Odin’s shaggy beard, there shalt be no spoilers here! I’m one of those moviegoers who felt the Marvel formula was getting a bit stale. Well, Thor Ragnarok hasn’t varied it too much, but has added enough humour and lasting … Continue reading Thor Ragnarok. A movie review.
Phantom Limb. A poem.
I’m forever haunted by this phantom limb, writhing in my sleep, guilt stricken for my sins. I see you in every couple on the street, and at the coffee shop, where we drank each other in. It feels like you’re still across from me; the conversation, imagined and forlorn, accusing eyes that follow me no more. Your ghost absorbs my days and nights, a peripheral blur, just out of sight. Time heals all wounds; such perfect sense, but not in my experience. You’re the limb I lost, that still persists. A phantom limb, my will insists. Continue reading Phantom Limb. A poem.
Haiku Friday: ‘Mourning Flowers’, a Haiku trilogy.
Mourning Flowers 1. The flowers in bloom, painted like rainbows in June. Yet, you tear them down. 2. You cast them aside, like radioactive waste. And now: here you are. 3. They are reminders of all you’ve reaped and sown and lost. Mourn your life. Continue reading Haiku Friday: ‘Mourning Flowers’, a Haiku trilogy.
In The Winter Dark. A book review.
I read a lot of books, but don’t often get the chance to post a book review. Then along comes a book that stuns me into submission, like a two-by-four wielded by some grinning, dream-fisted maniac. “If only we hadn’t … Continue reading In The Winter Dark. A book review.
Let down. A poem.
I’m let down, again. Every letdown compiling like a coded compunction, in synapses despoiled by repetition and disfunction. Swarmed and overloaded, categorised and goaded. Too many times to make sense of it all. Letdown, like so many times before. Who has any tears left to cry? And why bother to even try. Continue reading Let down. A poem.
Through His Eyes. A poem.
See the world. But not through your own eyes. Try his. Try seeing and yet not seeing, failing to understand what they truly perceive. Messed up signals, like a traffic jam waiting to happen. Open your mouth, like his mouth, and watch the words tumble out: unannounced, tactless and indiscreet; a crossword of errors on a big broadsheet. Walk alone, not by yourself, but like him: truly alone, like the world has eaten you up and spat you out. Deserted, when you truly needed love instead of doubt. This is how he feels. So extend a hand. Feel with him. … Continue reading Through His Eyes. A poem.
The Novel-writing Locomotive.
My novel is (once again) back on track. How many times have I said that? It seems every time I slip the rails I have some new excuse (for a list of the latest ones, click here). Coupled with my … Continue reading The Novel-writing Locomotive.
Invincible. A poem.
I’m alone against the storm, wearing custom-fitted armour, courtesy of the Lord. I’m a lone wanderer in form, but my way is assured, courtesy of the Lord. I’m a fighter on the boards, wearing gloves of solid steel, courtesy of … Continue reading Invincible. A poem.
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