Hand. A poem.
Hand in mine, you lead me far from dark entwined. For certain death does this … Continue reading Hand. A poem.
Tag: Poetry
Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Uncertainty. A haiku. This uncertainty stems from not knowing the truth that lies in all things. Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable structure. You knew that already, so I’ll just shut up now. Cheers Steve … Continue reading Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Juncture. A poem.
At this juncture, decisions made: A change of season, a chance parade. At this juncture of no return, no looking back at bridges burned. At this juncture, we’re laid to rest in hallowed ground, without contest. At this juncture, the … Continue reading Juncture. A poem.
Father. A poem.
I remember my father, as he is now and then, anchored to that fading chair with fading hairline and fading eyes, the absence of smoke from unfiltered cigarettes, not so heavy in the air. Less the cough from tar-filled lungs … Continue reading Father. A poem.
Tangent. A poem.
I’m off on a tangent, tangentially related to this relationship that doesn’t exist but continually insists betwixt was and is and not that it could and should and would be something worth waiting for, despite the frustration and inevitable fall, … Continue reading Tangent. A poem.
Inconsequence. A poem.
Spectacularly inconsequential, a life subsumed in lack of meaning and purpose. A breeze blows through and every tinder brush and tumble weed seems like it’s heaven sent. The All or the Nothing is my first e-book of poetry. To … Continue reading Inconsequence. A poem.
Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Trepidation. A haiku. My trepidation lingers like dirty feet on too-clean front door mats. Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable structure. But you knew that already. Cheers Steve 🙂 The All or the Nothing is … Continue reading Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Stand and Deliver. A poem.
Quick stop. Quick start. The car sputters like an old man who’s walked better roads than these but only just remembers how. Simple arrangements for endearingly simple times, handed across the threshold to smiling eyes with insouciant grace. The tarmac … Continue reading Stand and Deliver. A poem.
Emptiness. A poem.
Empty like the bottomless glass, the view from here so circumspect. Empty like the void above, between star shells and light effects. Empty like the cheerless heart, opened upon a mortuary slab. Empty like a suicide vein, eyes open wide … Continue reading Emptiness. A poem.
REckLEss. A poem.
HEre I am REckLEss when you’re ARound. Should I STay Should I GO Should I CHance the EBb and FLow A MOment’s INdecision And I’m CAught up in YOur SHow ONce again I’m REckLEss BUt I’ve noWHere else to GO … Continue reading REckLEss. A poem.
Anxious Thoughts. A poem.
Sweat on brow, an incessant reminder. Heat that censures from deep within, the cloying depths of double-shotted anxiety. Wait, breathe, wait, all analgesic flutter. Harder to escape, these walls abound and heighten further with every calamitous thought. Relax, they say, … Continue reading Anxious Thoughts. A poem.
Half-light. A poem.
Sweat and toil and creaking springs, grasping fingers and the scent of hallowed limbs. Perfect and imperfect rhythms in motion, bestial howls and fire and tender susurration, collated in the half-light of a muted TV. From this vantage point we survey the hedonic … Continue reading Half-light. A poem.
Everyday Rhythm and Poetry
Here’s an exercise I did for Uni, a fair while ago. Use the question for a writer’s prompt, if you like. Do some exercise, listen to some music, or even listen to the clock tick. Find an everyday rhythm and … Continue reading Everyday Rhythm and Poetry
‘The All or the Nothing’, Steve’s eBook available now!
via Save the Poet! Click on the link above to find where you can download it. For poetry lovers everywhere! Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading ‘The All or the Nothing’, Steve’s eBook available now!
Backseat. A poem.
Random musings and the explicit constancy of touch, a quickening cadence strafing the scene like machine gun fire. This beckoning equivalent, captured in steamy windows and whispered expectations. Here on this unsubtle backseat, fertile new world exploration begins and ends. … Continue reading Backseat. A poem.
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