Enfilade. A poem.

The enfilade is over
And bodies lie strewn
Across the battlefield
Like broken bottles
Leaking last regrets

You have cut me down
Your machine gun wit
And explosive rejoinders
Creating a no man’s land
Where I lie fractured.

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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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.

The Divide. A poem.

The divide that’s grown between
has widened over time—
the subtle, well-toiled furrow,
now a rift, of deep decline.

When did this passionate divide
become more like a gulf?
And when did our discussions
become a chore, less worthy of?

No enmity in this regret,
just bitter disappointment.
The trials and travails, it seems,
one more source of discontentment.

The divide that’s grown between,
a living end for all our crimes.
The divide that’s grown between,
a border, now defined.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Half-Life/Half-Light. poem.

Of this lingering

half-life,

only the iceberg tip exposed.

Beware what lies beneath:
cut glass, mirrored edges
and radical toxicity.

Splinters and elements
better left submerged;
its palpitating heart,
decaying in the

half-light.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Absent. A poem.

You who remain absent
Don’t celebrate your hypocrisy
Sliding on a sheen of contrariness
Recognise the source of their upheaval
You think time will make a fool of all
But it seems your veneer is wearing thin
And justice awaits your feeble excuses
To grasp what lies within

This poem is for all the abusers who think they got away with what they did. Justice comes to all.

Steve

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

Want to support Steve with a donation? Click on the donate link at the bottom of this page. Thanks!

Died Inside. A poem.

And as I slowly died inside
within the canny matrices
of my mind,

I came to understand it all
everything I’d ever been
done and seen,

as if every strand
was a flower bud opening
for the first time.

And as the tears flowed
and doused the floor
my sins like wine,

an overturned wash bucket,
overdue for mopping,
I slowly died inside.

And the loathsome cancer
of self-pity, self-hate,
and self-loathing,

took root and multiplied,
a calculus of lethal and
poisonous last rites.

The sum and division
of you and I.
I slowly died inside.

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 get your copy.

Surburbia. A poem.

                                My hurt
                                My tears
                                My pain
Are nothing more
Than your
                                Knowing smile
As you turn
And walk
While the
Rain washes
                               My frozen
                               Suburbia
Clean but
Still grey

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 get your copy.

Stump. A poem.

I’m just a stump

By the road

You took your axe

And cut me

Down to size

Left me here

Just a stump

With not much

To reflect on

But passing traffic

Erstwhile glances

Just a stump

Worn and threadbare

Just a stump

Cut down in my prime

Admire your handiwork

As you pass

Stump

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 get your copy.

Disconnected. A poem.

                      Dream in

                                                            a state of

                        discontent

                               Disconnected

from all

                                               you hold dear

                  Did the

 world really

                                treat you

                       as bad as you think

or do you

                                                               Continually

                             Meditate

            on past

                 failures

                                           Like a prayer?

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 get your copy.

Punch Drunk. A poem.

I can feel the jagged terrain
of your knuckles on my face,
the force of mountain slides
delivered on winds of fury
and ever-reckless contempt.
Should I return the favour
or turn the other cheek,
as my saviour recommends?
I’ll go down this time
with measured complacency,
keeping my fumes interned.
Because, after all:
what’s an absent punch
between absent friends?

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 get your copy.

Backstab. A poem.

You are the prowling shark
loitering in choppy waters
waiting on a hint of blood
to fuel your hungry needs.

You sniff and search
for snippets to exploit,
building trust with deception
to cover your misdeeds.

You are a betrayer of trust,
a parasitic worm,
embedded in my flesh,
consuming heart and soul.

How many times
will I forgive your trespasses,
only to feel your dagger deep,
the wounds reopened anew.

.

There are some truly soulless, unethical and underhanded people in this world, who continually take advantage of those who open their lives to them. This poem is for those misanthropes.

We will always forgive those who trespass against us, but it doesn’t mean we can’t vent about it in the meantime.

Cheers

Steve 🙂

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

Cut. A poem.

When the bone wails
in time to my beating, breaking heart,
and the blood curdles
along with my myopic tears.
I will reach for thee
and mark my emboldened flesh
in your honour.

I will scour my skin indelicately
so that I might feel again,
so that I might wallow in my
weariness and paint the sink
the bold colour of my distress.

Every scar will scream my story
behind a thin, linen veil
and come out to play
whenever I need your full
and desperate attention.

This is my needlepoint fairy tale,
umbilically wending its way along
my forearm and inner thigh.
Onwards, the fabulist spins
my yarn of truth and rage
and misbegotten sights and sighs.

This is my gift to you from me.

This silken cut that slices deep
and constantly reminds me
of your joyous regret.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Finish Me. A poem.

Take that knife, that blade so sharp
Plunge it deep and end it all
No, you’d rather tinker, play awhile
Remove strips of flesh, one at a time
Rather hear begging, screams, plaintive cries
Rather grin at my pain, lick the blood that drains
You have me where you want me, victimised, restrained
You have stretched this out, to feast on my pain
So finish me, just take my life
And bring an end to all this strife

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

Picture. A poem.

A picture of togetherness
Written in elemental script
Captured then in time serene

A picture that made sense, it seemed
Once upon eternity
Before the poison settled in

A picture of two frozen smiles
But what in truth do they relay
When hollow eyes betray the scene

A picture of faded sepia
Now all bitterness and disregard
As if the picture had never been

Family Lost. A poem.

There are rabbits in my back yard
Each day they rise to greet the light
With eager noses, seek daily bread
While the alpha, tall and bright
Watches oh, so protectively
Together, the family eats again

I had a family once like them
It now feels like so long ago
I loved them so, my family lost
The rabbits are reminders then
With faith and hope
I’ll survive the cost

Not Without My Calf! A true story of cows, muscle fibres and underinflated ego.

Today, I tore my calf muscle.

For those of you not familiar with the calf muscles, they are not part of a cow, but located on the back of your lower leg. They are important for balance, walking, running and generally being human. When you tear your calf muscle it normally happens high up on the back of the leg. It’s similar to an Achilles tendon rupture – you could be walking or running and then you hear a pop and feel intense pain. In my case it felt like the muscle had left the bone. The muscle has major tears in the fibres (muscles are made up of fibres. These present as striations under the skin in very thin people or lean weightlifters – Dr Steve. Note: not a real doctor).

I was running with my friend’s dog (whom I used to walk when I was house sitting recently, and so I’ve kept up the visitation rights) up a steep, slippery, grassy knoll. Nothing could go wrong in that situation, right? Doh.

So, now I’m down and out for several weeks (more if I don’t let it heal properly, but hey, why would I want to use it earlier than recommended?). This is NOT a good thing. As some of you may know (or none of you, based on the number of views on my blog – just kidding), I’m a bit of a fitness fanatic. I work out four days a week, ride and walk regularly. With this injury I can hardly walk at all.

I am going to go cray-cray.

My fitness routine is part of my mental health regime. It’s a vital part. I’m not a fan of depression, and I don’t like the prospect of slipping backwards as a result of my injury.

It also means I can’t drive anywhere (despite the fact that I drove home VERY painfully). I have a manual car (‘stick’ for Americans), and using the clutch is agony. And doesn’t help my recovery time any. So Kung Fu is cancelled. Psych appointments are cancelled. Dinner with friends is cancelled. D&D is cancelled (NOOOOO!!! Notice how the nerdiest activity is missed the most).

At least I can still do my uni work, blog and write my novel. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Hmmm, I guess I’ll keep telling myself that.

Time. A poem.

In time, you’ll forget
Future becomes past
Distance and memories

In time, you’ll move on
As nostalgia replaces
Longing and currency

In time, you’ll change
Regrets and vicissitudes
Lost with familiarity

In time, truth will fade
As falsities interweave
Becoming the new history

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…

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.

Eyes. A Poem.

Look into these eyes
That see so much and so far
Binocular imperceptibility
Local acuity skewed to emptiness
The sight that slices darkness like infrared
These eyes filled with tears and subtle defiance
Look into these hollow things and see imperfection
The blade that pierces heart and sinew, cuts it out, slices it up
These eyes
That have seen so much pain
But have yet to know
Real love   

 

I’m not sure how some of my poems come to mind, or why they are all so dark.

Oh, yes, I do. It’s because I’m a depressed and anguished soul. Well, that was easy. Next question?

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