Fences. A poem.
I thought I’d mend some fences Build them up to break them down Fill in all the trenches Dig the mines up from the ground I thought I’d build some bridges And meet you in the middle No more complex … Continue reading Fences. A poem.
Tag: Life
Code. A poem.
I am yet to crack the code, the enigma that I see. These thoughts temptation sowed, this conundrum that you’ve been. I will try each combination, I will twist and turn and pry and after a long privation, I will … Continue reading Code. A poem.
Poets Loved: Epith. By Carol Muske-Dukes.
Epith. By Carol Muske-Dukes. Here’s the little dressmaker on her knees at your feet, mouth full of pins: fixing you in the dummy’s image. Your belled satin shivers like a goblet of fizzled brut– You wanted it late in life, … Continue reading Poets Loved: Epith. By Carol Muske-Dukes.
Upstart Photographer – Rock
I take photos. I write poems. Chalk and cheese. Not. Cheers Steve 🙂 Rock. A poem. Rock of ages, how do you stand so firm and undeniable, when every dog has its day with you? For more of my poetry, … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Rock
The Music in Me. A poem.
Why the sadness, the music tugging at heartstrings in pizzicato fashion, stretching my angst beyond reproach? Why the darkness, flowing in a syrup-like tsunami, to swallow my horizons and the shoulder I’ve hung my head upon? This rhythm and rhyme … Continue reading The Music in Me. A poem.
The Crowd. A poem.
From there, upon his pedestal, he lingered longingly on the crowd surrounding him. Dialogue and dialectic, commentary and whimsical surprise, his cult of personality awake and on the rise. But fate is fickle, as is the crowd and it passed … Continue reading The Crowd. A poem.
Castaway. A poem.
Poker-faced, a nascent clarity before my eyes; while behind confusion and regret in tides, that while away the dawdling time. I seek to speak but find no words to fill the vacant mire that fills this space with more pregnant, … Continue reading Castaway. A poem.
Rope. A poem.
Tease this silver filament, an ambit claim on every foot, squeezed and cajoled through calloused hands. Climb this tensile fibre, climb until the heavens bloom and your body retches from the unyielding pressure. When you reach your goal, set free … Continue reading Rope. A poem.
This Maze. A poem.
This maze we walk, denies a bitter truth. Our fingers trace its periphery and yet still we walk in circles. If escape is what we truly yearn then perhaps there is no maze at all. Or perhaps the maze is … Continue reading This Maze. A poem.
The Midnight Hour. A poem.
In the blackest, midnight hour, wandering perpetual halls, wondering if you’ll clear your dreams of demons and finally get to sleep. Your trackless thoughts always return to her and her alone; You grasp your hands and suddenly she’s there—your futile … Continue reading The Midnight Hour. A poem.
Poets Loved: Fire and Ice. A poem by Robert Frost.
Fire and Ice. By Robert Frost. Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think … Continue reading Poets Loved: Fire and Ice. A poem by Robert Frost.
Incontrovertible. A poem.
They say that proof is not incontrovertible and that the essence of truth can be hidden in the words encapsulating it. I say I only need you to touch me and say it, too— your words punctuate and spell out … Continue reading Incontrovertible. A poem.
Underfoot. A haiku.
Much bitter fruit on the path of our ascension is crushed underfoot. What is a haiku? Glad you asked. Click here to find out more. Cheers Steve 🙂 For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely … Continue reading Underfoot. A haiku.
Upstart Photographer – Tallship
I take photos. I write poems. ‘Nuff said. Cheers Steve 🙂 Tallship. A poem. You have bound me as no ocean ever could— wrapped in chains and woven hemp, fit to shackle Hercules. Here I wait, as the wind cajoles … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Tallship
Vegetables. A poem.
All your hallowed dreams are burned and charred, or maybe lightly fricasseed; cast aside like the hopeful rope to the refugee always seems to be. (Like vegetables in the pan, never really what you want, but always what you need.) … Continue reading Vegetables. A poem.
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