A Letter.

Hi SS,

I know you’re not going to read this.

I know these words are simply an elegy sent out into the wires, read by strangers and not the intended.

I had never before connected with anyone the way we did. We saw the best and, ultimately, the worst of each other. The ending, like so many convoluted stories, was hopelessly misconstrued. Two uncommunicative communicators and a texted aftermath swathed in hurt and regret.

(Such irony: knowing what we know now, we would sync even better than we did.)

I tried to persuade myself it didn’t matter. Just another stopover on life’s insistent highway. Time to move on, move forward – the urgency of age demands continuity.

I didn’t know until today, but I’m in mourning. And trying to lose myself in other pursuits provided no catharsis. Not even writing this.

I find myself wondering what you might be going through, whether you might feel the same. Purely projection and wish fulfillment on my part.

I know you’re not going to read this.

But I miss you.

More than you will ever know.

Sincerely,

SSS

Night Conversation. A poem.

The ebon flame burns
Long and fulsome
Requited and requisite
Melding two minds into one

The art of conversation
Once lost, now unearthed
We discover the profound
While digging for treasures
Our holy grounds desecrated
In only the best of ways

For more Poetry, click here.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

All Apologies. A poem.

What did I see? Mirage or destiny?
Outstretched hand, grasping for life 
And failing so miserably

Seems you weren’t the one for me
We misread the contours of the land
Now what’s left is all apologies 

For more Poetry, click here.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

 

The Last Word. A poem.

The last word
Is a flail across my back
Stripping flesh bare to bone
A blood eagle worthy of Vikings
Exposing heart and soul
And ready for the killing thrust

Your pain mingles with my own
As you strike again, again
And I’m drawn and quartered
On the yoke
Hung out to dry
A pendulum in the wind

Blithely embracing my only friend
His scythe scratching my cheek
He who lingers, unblinking and unmoving
And always waiting in the wings

The black dog growls and snaps
In the background
And I’m underground
My coffin little comfort in this repose

Today I die a little more
Today I take one more step
Towards the door
Where Death beckons to me greedily
“Perhaps today,” I say
“Why not?” He replies

He offers the silvered razor
So many have admired and aspired to
His gift in memoriam
An everlasting metaphor
Of our misbegotten friendship

And I reach with greedy, outstretched fingers
And lonely, fettered veins

For more Poetry, click here.

Protest. A poem.

Why march, you say. Why raise their fists in protest?

If you have to ask, you haven’t been paying attention.

Look outside and see the injustice. Look outside and see the fear, and the loss, and the indescribable pain so many have felt that you have not.

No one is saying they are more important than you. No one is denying your issues.

They are saying justice, equality and fairness do not exist in a system that is so hopelessly shaped by class, privilege and the color of a person’s skin.  

Why march, you say? Why raise their fists in protest?

Because if they don’t, who will?

#BlackLivesMatter

#BlackLivesMatter

For more Poetry, click here.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

 

Privilege. A poem.

White privilege
Is like the weight of a thousand jackboots
On our necks, on our backs
But we stand, we shout, we overcome

And by the time that coward leaves his baby bunker
And his gestapo have been brought low

We will make a world
Where privilege
Is not the domain of the few

But of the just

#BlackLivesMatter

#BlackLivesMatter

For more Poetry, click here.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

 

Smack Down. A poem.

Smack down
And the floor
Is sandpaper on my cheek
And the scent of sweat
And dead skin
Permeates my senses
Until I’m up again
And punching
Way above my weight class
Again and again
No more canvass
Only the fight
Only the win
And I’m alive
To fight another day
Until the next
Smack down

For more Poetry, click here.

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.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

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