Victory. A poem.

Is 

victory

as shallow

as defeat?

 Only

 if the

victor

fails to 

understand

the price.

 

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

 

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Book Sale! ‘The All or the Nothing’ at 20% off for a limited time

Hi all

My first print poetry book, The All or the Nothing, is currently on sale for 20% off for a limited time. It’s normally $10.00 Australian but is now $8.00, which is approximately $5.60 American or 4.30 British pounds (my keyboard doesn’t have a pound symbol – DOH!).

Inside, you’ll find 62 poems about love, depression, madness, insecurity, anxiety, fear, heartbreak and dating. It’s enough to turn you to drink. But in a dignified, semi-happy way. Oh, there are poems about that, too.

To get your copy, click on this link: http://www.lulu.com/shop/stephen-thompson/the-all-or-the-nothing/paperback/product-23811868.html

Cheers

Steve 🙂

PS – My second book, Poetry for the Sad, Lost Lonely and Endangered is available as well (but not on sale – Double-DOH!). Click here for information about that one

poetry book - the all or the nothing - stevestillstanding

 

 

The Rose Garden. A poem.

She was a rose in thorns abound,
As cliched, it seems, as that may sound,
Who grew from seeds of bitterness
And contempt for those she kept around.

She mastered the art of formless thought,
Of tactless speech and schisms sought,
And tended her garden without regard
For all the pain and hurt she brought.

But the days would master her as well,
Cocooned in her acerbic shell,
For the entourage did fade away,
And the hole she dug, into, she fell.

poetry books - stevestillstanding

For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Angry Tweet. A poem.

Sweat on brow and lip,
fit to flood your world
with salt-flavoured angst
and sticky date dues.
Heart pounding like the
proverbial train that lost
itself somewhere down
the overwrought tracks.
Time to swat the flies
of decision and derision
and bring it all back to
earth, just in time for a
Twitter-fired response.

I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on this website. For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book, available at most online book sellers.
Click here to find out how to purchase a copy

Love/Hate. A poem.

LOVE
The reason why I do
everything I do

The reason why everything
I touch is ruined
The reason why I’m
always left the fool
The reason why I always
come back to you
The reason why I’m
always left the fool
The reason why everything
I touch is ruined
The reason why I do
everything I do

HATE

 .

Steve is a sad and angst-filled poet, who needs your help to continue being one.

His first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors – click here.

Paradox. A poem.

I am me and me is the quantum of you and me and you and I

%$&#

HATE

This

World Earth Terra Planet People Society Civilisation Virtuality

So

Much.

BUT

I was me but I’m not sure who I am now maybe I’m not who I think I am

%$&#

LOVE

This

my World your World their World our World whose World no World

So

Much.

Amongst the Ashes. A poem.

Some days
I want to open my wrists
And let them breath in reverse
Take the irony of my existence
Paint it in the colour
Of loneliness
Emptiness
Hopelessness
And watch it flow
Slowly
Surely
Sluggishly
Down the porcelain sink
That holds all my pointless dreams
And wash them away
Maybe then
I'll find sweet relief
Amongst the ashes

Choose life. Every time. Don't give in to suicide. Life is too precious to waste.

Steve

Hate Life. Live Life.

Almost three years ago, everything changed. I lost my family, my job, my reputation, my possessions, my whole world. Everything came crashing down and I took the one step I thought could solve it. I attempted to take my life.

Carbon Monoxide poisoning was my weapon of choice. Poor research was my saviour. I saw my aged mother, tears streaming down my face, explaining what I’d done. I promised her I wouldn’t do it again. I saw a psychologist, who made me realise what an impact it would have had on my remaining family members, and especially my son.

About six months ago I hit rock bottom again. Not hard to do when you have no sense of self-worth and suffer from life-long depression. I decided I would take a leap off a cliff this time. I had it all lined up, all perfectly planned. But the timing was all wrong. The area was full of people and I didn’t want to be on public display. Saved again.

Today I felt just as low as I had before. I was isolated, alone as always, feeling sorry for myself, as always. I sat there dwelling on the past as I often had, the missteps, the mistakes, the complete fuck ups. The hurt and pain I’ve caused others along the way. I imagined going to the bathroom and opening my wrists. The house was empty, I probably had about two hours before anyone got back. Probably not enough time to bleed out completely. Saved again.

The only other time I thought seriously about killing myself was when I was in my mid-20s. Alone and depressed, as usual. I had a plan. I even outlined that plan to a psychologist, who was really concerned because I was so sure of myself and what I planned to do. I ended up buying a new car. The idea was, I didn’t want to leave anyone to pay off my debts, so I had a stay of execution. For a while, anyway.

If you’re still reading this, you might be wondering why I’m writing about it.
Every time I wanted to attempt suicide, I stopped myself. Even when I almost succeeded three years ago. I stopped myself, because in the end, no matter how shitty everything was, I still wanted to live. No matter how depressed, no matter how lonely, no matter how repugnant I felt about myself, I wanted to live.

And so I’m still here.

Still here. Still standing. Yep, that’s why the blog’s called that.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. Who does? I know there will no doubt be many more times when I feel like taking my life. But I also know that my survival instinct will kick in and stop me, as it has every time before. I hope so, anyway.

I may hate my life, but my life doesn’t hate me.

And I guess that’s good enough.


Suicide Prevention

Too Late. A poem.

How could you say the things you did?
And how could I respond in kind?

Every bitter reproach
Like a roadmap of our pain
Every recrimination
Like a hammer to my brain
Holding back the tears
Letting emotion and volume have their way
Where logic would have saved the day
Two mules head butting
Unable to back down
Two recalcitrants enabled

In the aftermath
When all is said and done
When acrid smoke rises from the craters of regret
Realising you can’t take back what was said
And you wish you never had
But it’s too late
Far too late for that

Old Dogs. A poem.

Our old hangouts have changed
Nothing here has stood still
But we’re both still keeping time
To an age-old beat of bitterness and pain
Same old tricks for the same old dogs
So the malls may change and the atmosphere
But together or apart we are never present tense
Just more tension and pretension
Always at our expense

Poison. A poem.

Your words are poison
Entering my ears, seeping to my brain
Flowing through arteries, capillaries and veins
To my torso, arms and legs and beyond
Sapping my strength, dropping me to my knees
Feeding my ever-present pain, drawing forth tears
That return your bitter poison to the earth beneath my feet

Another dark poem. Some day I’ll write a happy one. Just not right now.

The Wellspring

I’ve been writing a lot of poetry. I used to write poems when I was a teenager (sensitive, new aged, guy that I was), but then nothing for twenty years or so.

So what made me return to it? One morning I woke up about 4:00am (as I sometimes do) and decided to write a poem…about waking up. And it worked out. So I posted it. People seemed to like it. Buoyed by my new found confidence, I decided to write some more. After a week I thought to myself, this can’t possibly keep going, at some point the wellspring will run dry.

But it didn’t. So, I’ve been writing poetry ever since. And loving every minute of it.

Following is a linked list of every poem I’ve composed on my blog, so far. Hope you like them.

Here’s to the wellspring never running dry.

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.)

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