Reach. A poem.

I reach
And ellipses of time
and motion
Quixotic
Remote-controlled emotion
The loving
contentment
of the
discontented
Repeated over and over
Masticated and
Manipulated
in my head
Like daffodil moments
and chloroformed thoughts
Venting in subspace
A dream prison
Of complexity
and indecision
From finish to start
and ending with
a question:
Where
Are
You
And
Why
Are
We
Apart?

The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.
Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!
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Zeitgeist. A poem.

Zeitgeist                    all             around       

me.

It’s          willing              and            able

     but         I’m     not         sure        if

I

want                 to                buy             what

it’s                   selling. 

This              spirit           of        the            times

              has             not               enabled                

me

         the             way               I           thought                it                

would                      should                        could.

I

guess                    I’ll                  just        wait

  this               one                out.

 

The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To find out how to buy a copy,
click here.

 

Haiku Friday. ‘Cold’, a haiku trilogy.

‘Cold’, a haiku trilogy.

1. Cold
It’s so cold in here.
Icicles within your stare
doth make me shiver.

2. Distant
To cross this tundra,
where wind, snow and ice, doth reign.
Find a way to you.

3. Frozen
Frozen statue, me.
Fear hath made me what I am.
Fear won’t let me go.

If you liked that, then you’ll love the poems in my first book The All or the Nothing! And at just $5.99 for 62 poems, that’s less than 10 cents a poem!
To find out how to get a copy, click here.
Support starving poets everywhere!

Turbulence. A poem.

They're across a crowded room
And the narcissist within
Is screaming "look at me, look at me"
But the introvert without
It whispers "look away, look away"
Trying to smile is a struggle
As complex and as simple as a Gordian knot
And while the cannibal butterflies
Consume your insides
And the flush creeping up
Makes you look like a fire hydrant
And you're thinking hard
How not to screw it up
They've started talking with another
And all you have left is self reproach
And one big "Doh!"
Better luck next time

Rain. A Poem.

I felt the rain more deeply than ever before
It flowed like chaotic capillaries down my face
It mingled with tears, a salty, alchemical mix  
It touched my tongue, combined saliva and cotton mouth
It washed me clean of tragic irony and bittersweet regret
And when it stopped I stood there dripping, alone as always
Contemplating when it would fall on me again
Would I accept its cold, cleansing embrace
Or would I shrink away to a warmer, dryer place

 

This poem is another experiment for me. I’ve been trying out different free verse structures and meters, and this one is more prose-like.

I think it worked out okay. Tell me what you think.

Frail. A poem.

Frail
Voice quivering
Life cluttered and confused
 
Frail and empty
Never quite the half-full glass
A landscape littered with dust devils
Twisting in your head
 
Frail and empty and broken
In need of resolution
Absolution and restitution
Hanging by the barest, slimline thread
That leads nowhere
 
Frail and empty and broken and lost
No trail to follow
Invisible despite your best efforts
Wandering the ways of cold, dry frost
Drifting in ether
Is this where you should be?
 
Hope returns, but like a wayward friend
 
Doesn’t visit long  

 

Yep. Like I said, last poem. Depression is a pain in the…

Deep. A poem.

I double over and sink
Into waters far too deep
And far too black
I’m drowning here inside myself
Don’t you see me?
No, you never do
Until I’m gone
Dragged down into the depths
Lost forever far from shore
Just another sailor drowned
For the cause

 
Down, down, down, I go. I thought once you hit rock bottom the only way was up. Guess I was wrong.

Depression sucks.

Time’s Up. A poem.

I am a stupid man, a stubborn man

I’m waiting for you to come to me
To extend a hand (‘save me’, he cries)
But will I reject you, will I turn away
As I have before?

(so many times before, always repeating the same old mistakes, cap in hand, then ‘no thanks, i’m okay, I can manage, I can do this alone, I don’t need your help’, can’t you see that he’s drowning)

What makes it so hard to take your proffered hand
To swallow my pride and let you in
To stop HATING myself
To stop KILLING myself
Every NIGHT and every DAY

(every heartbeat, every notion, every teardrop, just wash him clean so he can wake up and start the day again and maybe, just maybe, he can get through that day, then get through that night, rinse and repeat, again and again and again and again) 

I am a stupid man, a stubborn man

And I’m nearly done

Time’s up

 

Okay, this poem’s a bit dark. But then, I’m a pretty dark person. My poems reflect all aspects of me, not just the happy stuff. (‘Happy stuff?’ I hear you say. ‘When have you ever written happy poems?’ Good point. Scratch what I said earlier.)

Waiting for a sign…

So, just what is my purpose in the grand scheme of things? I have to admit, most of the time I’m not sure. Does this make me a bad Christian? No. At the very least, it makes me human.

When I became a Christian two years ago, I truly believed God had a purpose for me, and that he would enlighten me as time went by. I had to be patient, wait for the seasons to change, endure, hope. I’ve done that every day. Some days my faith is stronger than others. But it never fails me. My commitment is rock steady.

I thought, perhaps I have a purpose in my music and writing – I compose songs devoted to my God, and I have found my true self in my stories, poems and other writings. But even with these, I’m still not sure if I have my purpose. Being a full time student, I haven’t got a real job, and while I don’t believe that a job means purpose by any means, my previous working existence strongly equated purpose with contributing in a meaningful way through work. I’ve been feeling guilty because I’m not working. But then, I feel guilty about a lot of things.

My pastor spoke at church yesterday about fear preventing us from walking more closely with God (the process of sanctification). And I do let fear control my life. I suffer from depression and anxiety and I have all sorts of fears controlling me. With regular therapy I’m learning to let them go. But not having a purpose, a real meaning to my life, is perhaps one of my greatest fears.

Am I crazy to think this? Probably not. I’m sure I’m not the only Christian to wonder about their role in the big picture.

I guess I’m waiting for a sign from the big guy upstairs. The problem is that I don’t know what the sign will be, or even if there will be one. And if there is one, will I recognise it (sounds familiar – I have the same problem with women).

I believe in faith, love, and ever-enduring hope. Maybe I’ll discover my purpose soon. I sincerely hope so.

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