Your Eyes, an Ocean. A poem.

Your eyes, an ocean

Setting me adrift at sea
Just one miscalculation
and
Suddenly there’s
No star to guide me

Your eyes, an ocean

Subtle ocean homily
Expounding on a sailor lost
and
Anxiously not
Where he’s meant to be

Your eyes, an ocean

Given a sextant to perceive
Directly and indirectly
and
This distance made wider
Between you and me

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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Binge. A poem.

Timed and untimed,
A chaos of raindrops
Upon a sleepy roof
Filling gutters and trailing
Spume in snail trails
That wind their way
Drinking toasts to those
Whose evaporation
From the scene
Left such a hole
In awkward conversation.

The clink of glass
And amber froth
Disappeared in the wake
Like reeling in the catch
To be emptied later
Upon the deck
Before the toilet door.
Memories worth
Fighting for
But such a waste
Of good beer.

The last call
Of siren nights
A gentle gutter bed
For swift repose
And nights better off
Misremembered
Than recalled
Until the next
Your head laid upon
The tiers and tiles
Perhaps better off dead.

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.

Curious. A poem.

Mister curious

Digging up questions
And quotients
And seeking answers
Undivided, yet multiplied

How curious
Can one man be
In a world where
Everything
Is laid out plain to see?

Keep digging

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.

Expectations. A poem.

How often do expectations
Let us down?
How often do we strain
And stretch the imagination
In a tug of war
Of real and immaterial
And how often do we fail
Because we thought
Just a little too much
And a little too long
A little too wild
A little too strong
How often do expectations
Let us down?

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.

Eternal Vacancy. A sonnet.

You are as far from my thoughts as you aren’t
Sequestered and dream-like, merely a ghost
Wandering hallways that lie black and burnt
My mind harks to you, once or twice at most
Another fills this shady vacancy
Whispering lonely hellos and goodbyes
From the shadows that long imprison me
Manufacturing bindings for the blind
She dances, in 3/4 time upon the floor
Her message, all rhythm and subtextual
Her presence awakens the flame amore
And like the jester, I play the fool

Like all of my misguided gestures
Lost eternal as her spirit sings

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.

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 Hole. A poem.

The hole stares back at me,
A great, unblinking eye
That will not let me be.
The hole is black as pitch
And filled with pain and lies,
Every scar and every stitch.
The hole it draws me in,
Inescapable gravity,
A match I cannot win.
The hole encloses me
And I am down again
Never to be free.

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.

Life, Finally. A poem.

My wanderings,
part of me, intrinsically.
My wonderings,
ostensibly necessary.
My heart and head,
as one, not separately.
My head and heart,
all I need, invariably.

My turns of phrase
never lead me astray.
My phrasing, beguiling,
when it turns that way.
My life is finally, where I
want and need to be.
My life, the sum, is the
worst and best of me.

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.

Leash. A poem.

A vague and secondary feeling
Unkempt and untrusting
Creeping through my head
Like an uninvited stranger
And yet so familiar

Just as I’m feeling good
about myself and my world
The black dog bites me
A subtle reminder
Of his taut, choking leash

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.

Bad Memories. A poem.

You still haunt
An incorrigible spirit
Infecting like
a wasting disease
And reducing us
To a mockery
of ourselves.

Here you sit
Having grown
Complacent
Upon our shoulders
A ghostly monkey
Upon our backs
Rearing your ugly head
In constant remembrance
And bitter scorn.

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.

Trapped. A poem.

Isolated
Alone
Weary
Waiting

Life without meaning
Contemptible in reproach
Self flagellation
And inimitable doubt

Tired
Empty
Sad
Succinct

Selfish and self-absorbed
Mired and wallowing
The constant reprobate
Entwined and enshrined

Endless
Pitiful
Artless
Vacuous

Circling down the drain
Longing for escape
Dead thoughts and dead time
Grasping for hope

Longing for an end
In a world without end

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.

Rebirth. A poem.

I wondered how
You were, you see
Tracked you down
More than easily

Just a single look
I knew, though hurt
On, you’d moved
From that cold, cold birth

Which was all I wanted
Both then and now
To take that pain
And slice it out

Cast on the pyre
With sullen doubts
I’m glad your sails
Brought you about

And I thank the one
Who achieved the task
Who put to rest
Your weary past

Just one last glance
Into eternity
I’m gone, you’re gone
Reborn as seeds

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 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.

Aged. A poem.

Cranky at the portents:
The breeze, it smells of winter,
Even though the summer
Has settled in
Like a squatter, rent-free,
Taking advantage
Of your misdemeanours.

Have your eyes aged
With the rest?
Or are you seeing as you did
Before the withered cheeks
And dragging jowls,
When everything was new
And you were innocent
As hyenas on the veldt.

Age has not wearied
The sullen and the sacred.
You had a vision of the sea,
But it was simply
Hallucination.
Time is and was and will be,
And you will follow suit.

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 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
brings me down
and wrecks me,
wrapping me casually
around the telegraph pole
that should instead
have been you
and
only
you.

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.

My Depression. A poem.

I thought that you would let me be
But here you come, rapaciously
Slicing me up from inside out
Filling my head with irksome doubt

Your inky fingers in my dreams
Painting landscapes and charcoal scenes
A bottomless parade of hell in sync
With all my loathing and self-contempt

I thought that you would let me go
But to the end you’ll bring me low
You’ve always had your hooks in me
An undivorceable bride-to-be

Held within your gruelling grip
Tortured by each erstwhile trip
Condescension and lethargy
Will finally make a meal of me

My depression, my black dog friend
My darkness and my witless end
My heavy head and my heart’s quagmire
Whose boundless depths never expire

The All or the NothingFor 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.

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!

Fell For You. A poem.

I don’t know why I fell for this—
it was obvious you were oblivious,
and my dreams were cloaked
in pointlessness.

I don’t know why you caught my eye,
why I invested all my precious time
creating a melodious portfolio,
that you alone inspired.

Who did I want you to be
when you looked on me so distantly,
you were just a narcissistic,
attention-seeking tragedy.

You didn’t realise the truth:
we were meant to be as one, you see,
and be like living poetry.

But, then again, you never knew.

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!

Unforgiven. A poem.

Have I forgotten who I am?

Not when every turgid thought
drags the ocean bottom,
the silt clouding my mind
with all the pain I wrought.

Not when my perpetual aching heart
is torn in two with every memory
of every rancid moment
from dusk to red-eyed start.

Not when every apology
is a litany recited over,
every prayer a reminder
of wasteland perpetuity.

No, I won’t forget myself,
and I won’t forgive myself,
until you tell me so
and release me from this hell.

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!

Shadow Tales. A poem.

My aching thoughts and fretful angst
that often lead astray,
that wander in the ceding light,
whose shadows form my way.
The consequences of my time,
misled misgivings here,
they form a crazy, tangled skein,
the symptoms of my fears.
Beneath the coverlet of night
pulled tight to shield me so,
to trick me in the feeble light
whence all the shadows go.
Internal, puerile anger
that only suffocates my joy,
continues here to effervesce,
and shake me like a toy.
And when the crystal shear without
cuts through the satin veil,
I’ll be waiting here again
with my sad, poetic tale.

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.

Tears. A poem.

Succinct and retrospect,
mercury lines connecting dots,
snaking and entwined,
‘tween valleys and hills,
pooling at the feet:
drowned confetti dreams.

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.

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.

Heel. A poem.

Why concern yourself
with where you walk?
I am just a reed
beneath your heel
cracking until broken,
outlined in your footprint.

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.

Shade. A poem.

There’s no rain, but the wind
blows and buffets and billows,
like an intransigent wolf at my door.
Cocooned in my chair and cold
sweeps and seeps through joints,
a lubricant of low viscosity oil.
The fire inside is only embers,
charcoal broiling in an emotive stew,
churning amongst gristle and bone.
What I’d give to fade away,
a listless shadow as the furnace
dies and dulls these pitted memories.

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.

The Chair. A poem.

Perpetual, an endless sojourn,
a continuum of unknowing.
This electric chair does not ease
the time as much as I would like.
The thoughts that spiral in my brain
are currents playing havoc
with the depths of perpetuity,
every outcome played out
against a backdrop of chaos.
And time ticks on, as slow as
shifting dunes or tidal sculpting.
Flick the switch, erase this unease,
ride the lightning and burn it out.
With every swollen, bleached
and battered breath, I’ll play
this game until my time is done.

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.

Operation. A poem.

I wish sometimes
I could open my head,
take a scalpel in hand
and then operate.
Remove all the things
that I just love to hate:
things that make me
odd, or a little irate,
all the shadows I jump at,
everything that frustrates,
the notorious black dog,
fears that keep me awake.
But then all these parts
are the whole sum of me,
the sum of my choices,
consequences and fate.
And without them
I wouldn’t be who I am today.
So, let me close up my head
and put the scalpel away.

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.

Effigy. A poem.

My memories and yours,
burnt in
effigy.
They’re digital photos
deleted from
your phone.
The flames lick at them,
a contented
aftertaste.
They hang like meat,
smoked and
chargrilled.
The funeral tailor delivers
a final suit in
charcoal.

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.

Return to Form. A poem.

Why do you care

if

I

feel more pain

than

you?

Your subtle glance

in

half-light,

barely aware

of

my

passing shadow.

How

far

will your hurt

take

you

back again

to

rile

so hypocritically

against

the

burgeoning gates?

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

 

Grave. A poem.

I stand before the hole
that wouldst be my grave.
Where sullen earth
and tepid worms do cry
and call to me, my ample soul.

This grave I’ve dug
to fit my fettered frame,
denuded in the wintry night
to lie amongst the frost,
colluding with the fog and fug.

I will lay me down
and rest awhile, until my bones
do merge with dust and dirt
and the finery of such a life
is wasted and unwound.

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

F$&@UP. A poem.

I

                       Wonder

What

MY

LIFE

                       Would

Have

Been

Like

               If

I

Wasn’t

Such

                A

F$&@UP.

Maybe

I

                          Wouldn’t

Have

F$&@ED

You

                  Up

SO

MUCH.

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.

Concrete. A poem.

Here I am, brought to heel
by poor choices and destiny,
to learn a well-earned lesson
of respect and humility.
Here behind this concrete veil,
my hope is born anew.
All thin facade and curtain call,
a life sentence, all askew.

Surrounded by the worst of souls,
(of which I am one, you see).
My brothers are the least likely relatives
I would ever want or need.
Their remorse is not equivalent
to the guilt and shame I feel.
Their self-motivation is not equal
to the self-hatred that’s in me.

True mercy is a learned response,
a cognitive form of truth, indeed.
Here I will languish long and hard,
face the judgement of my peers.
Here I will walk, work, rejoice,
for here my God will show me
the grace and everlasting spirit
that I truly need to see.

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.

My Black Walls. A poem.

My walls.                Are.

Black

                                             As oil and just as wet.

Wet. From. All. The.

Spurious

Aimless.                      Thoughts

                                                                                                    I throw at them.

All the pointless.                         Shit.                              That.

Leaves.                         A snail.                Trail

                                                                                                            In its wake.

That.        Wends.                            Its

Way.                             To.               The floor.

                              I keep throwing

my aimless.                   Pointless.               Thoughts

                                                        And hope that.                       One.                 Day.

They will Coalesce.                                                                             Into

Something truly

                                                                    Worthwhile.

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.

Surrounded. A poem.

Here I am, surrounded,
my enemies on all sides.
A pincer movement
designed to take my pride.
Am I not deserving of my pain?
Am I not due comeuppance?
I have unintentionally misled,
miscommunicated my intent.
I have been vain and bent
out of shape and arrogant.
So, let them come.
Let my enemies close in,
vanquish me, take me down.
I will not fight the inevitable
and will welcome each foe
with the open arms
of a man who’s learned
that in the final end
you reap what you sow.

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.

Feast. A poem.

Why do we hurt each other so?
Why do we tear at our bones
like brutal, savage, starving

DOGS

(begging and braying for blood)
until all the meat and gristle
is torn away and our ivory husks

GLISTEN

with the saliva of our folly.
When will this feast be over?
When will we fearsome beasts

LIE

engorged and sated
on memory and security
and rest forevermore.

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.

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