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.

Advertisements

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.

Alike. A poem.

Does she sit and cry?
Does she pray at night, as I?
Does she feel the patina
of a life less inspired?
Does she mirror my repose
and ask the question: why?
Perhaps we are, more or less,
Alike.

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.

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 negotiations
No more angst or pointless riddles

I thought I’d mend some fences
It was all I’d ever want
But the fence needed agreement
To break this long détente

I thought I’d mend some fences
Build them up to break on through
Instead I’m tilting windmills
And I’m no closer to the truth

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.

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,
hesitant desires.

I am wrecked again
upon this island;
coastal reefs and waves,
burgeoning waters deep,
and no way off
for this lonely castaway.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Thoughts. A poem.

I thought the flow of tears would end,
the self-hate, internal rage would mend.
I thought my path was bright and clear,
a new and ever-present destiny.
I thought a kiss would heal my mind,
exorcise the demons stored through time.
I thought a touch would raise my hope,
a helping hand out of this hole.
I thought I’d bid black dog farewell,
but he smiles and snarls here at me still.
So many thoughts that rest in me,
this head and heart longs for reprieve.

I write a lot of poetry, some of which comes from my head, some from my heart, and some from my a$&@. Many of my poems don’t appear on this website. For more, 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 to treasure forever, or at least until some other e-book takes your fancy 😉

The Pool. A poem.

Whence does this darkness dwell?
This foetid blight that weighs
down consciousness and soul.
The ebon pool that hampers thought
and confounds me to my core,
that pounds upon my limpid door
until my head is filled to burst
with brittle ambiguity
and stranger things unsought.
Unto the well, this pool it flows,
within the well, this darkness fell.
Perhaps one day I’ll walk alone
beyond the pool where darkness dwells.

I write a lot of poetry, some of which comes from my head, some from my heart, and some from my a$&@. Many don’t appear on this website. For more poems, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers.
Click here to find out how to purchase a copy to treasure forever, or at least until some other e-book takes your fancy 😉

Sand Head. A poem.

I wanted to put my head
deep down in the dust,
but it was too hard to breathe
amongst my crowded thoughts.

I guess the best laid head
was like the worst laid plan:
too many consequences,
like
infinite
grains
of
sand.

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.

New Face. A poem.

I am the ripple that turns the tide,
the plaintive cry that shakes the world,
the angry soul that brings the pain,
the lonely man, slowly gone insane.

Every time I turn around
I see my new face
and it haunts me.

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.

Every Blue Thought. A poem.

I prefer black
but I wear a lot of blues
and this ever-lasting weariness
goes from my head
down to my shoes.

EVERY

aching, grinding, groaning, spattering, spluttering, shadowing, beseeching, bemoaning, bewildering, disturbing, destabilising, escalating, ego-destroying, undermining, undulating, failing, falling

THOUGHT

from my head down to my shoes.

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.

Family Lost. A poem.

I’d long lost sight of my family
As I descended the stairs slowly
Those stairs they were so tricky
It was easy to trip and slippery

They climbed up the darkened stairs
Out of my tomb and into the air
Tasted golden winds of change
Above ripples in the water made

Four cold walls for my apologies
All lamentations and sobriety
Here I’d fallen and here I’d stay
We all fly free in our own ways

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

Pane. A poem.

I watch the rain on my window
Every drop running a chaotic race
To get to the bottom of my pane (pain)
Never the same path twice
As if utilising eidetic memory
Every drop a consequence
Every drop a choice (never) made
That flows to the bottom of my pane (pain)
Where it merges with the rest
Attaining its watery goal
To be accepted again

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

Tyre. A poem. 

An average car tyre
Covers thousands of miles
Before it gets to the end of its time

Rarely a smooth ride
The tyre bumps and slides
Goes round, then flattens and dies

Some days I’m a tyre
Just rolling through strife
And always left wondering why

And if I’m a tyre
That explains why I’m tired
Of going round and round all of my life


Another experiment in meter, timing and rhyme. It’s based on limerick structure.

I like to try different poetic forms. Free verse is cool, but sometimes I think I use it a lot because I’m a bit…lazy. 

But maybe that’s just me overthinking again.

Session. A short tale.

“Back again,” says Ms Therapy, reclining in her chair.

“Yes,” I reply, eyeing her curiously. “Every month, as you know.”

Ms Therapy sighs, grabs a pen and notepad from the desk behind her. “Yes, I know.” She sighs again and my anxiety level rises.

“So, what would you like to talk about this time?” Ms Therapy taps the pen impatiently on the pad. She glances at the wall clock. By this point I’m feeling a little put out.

“Do you have something you’d rather be doing?” I say. “I can always come back later.” The last words via a thin smile.

Ms Therapy grins; it’s a little forced. “No, no, you know that I’m here to listen, help you with your problems…” She trails off. Her eyes are distant, and I could swear she’s starting to tear up a little.

“Are you alright?” I say, leaning forward in concern.

“Yes,” Ms Therapy says, putting a hand to her trembling mouth. “No. I’m sorry,” she says. She starts to cry, suppresses it, fanning her face rapidly with one hand, like she’s swatting away imaginary butterflies. Or maybe killer bees.

“How about I come back another time, maybe when you’ve had time to…adjust.” I start to rise, she holds up her palms signalling stay. I glance at the door – if I’m going to get out of here this is my last chance.

“I’ve broken up with my girlfriend,” Ms Therapy says. This is a surprise, as I wasn’t aware she was gay. Not that I know much about her, but I guess my gaydar is as non-existent as the rest of my people-reading skills. Before I can respond, she continues in a torrent of tears and sputtering speech.

“We’ve been together five years. She’s my everything. We are so good together. And last night, all of a sudden, she says ‘it’s not working’ and that she needs to find herself. I mean, what’s not working? She’s never indicated anything was wrong before. Then she leaves and she hasn’t come back and I’ve been worried sick and she’s such a bitch but I love her…”

I’m glad she doesn’t notice how uncomfortable I’ve become; the occasional squirm and nervous tic. “Umm…do you need a hug?” is all I can think to say. Ms Therapy graciously accepts, and for the next half hour I listen to her travails and placate her with “it’ll be alright” and “she’s a stupid woman, she’ll be back when she realises what she’s lost”.

Eventually, the tears subside and Ms Therapy composes herself. “Thank you,” she says. “I just needed to talk to someone about it. I feel so much better now.” It’s a shame I don’t, but I guess I didn’t really need a session, anyway.

“Glad I could help,” I say. My halo glows with new found, smug self-confidence.

“This one’s on the house,” she says, shrugging. “Least I can do.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say as I exit.

I can hear Alpha Girl now: “Hah! You can’t even get a therapy session right!”

Doh.

Everything is awesome. Not.

I often get depressed at the worst times. Like today, when I have to do work for uni and my motivation is at an all-time low. The solution? Write aimlessly about depression for my blog. Yes, I’m sure that will solve everything (I may claim to be a writer, but I never claimed to be an intelligent or coherent writer. Or a man with a plan).

Sometimes I play guitar to get me back to a reasonable mental state. But, as we all know (and as I should know, by now), music played by sad people often tends to be…sad. It’s not often that melancholy musos rip into a version of ‘Everything is Awesome’ from the Lego movie (actually, it’s never – no real musos would ever play that song).

Sometimes I lie around waiting for my depression to subside. This is one of the worst solutions, as I tend to fixate on everything bad in my life (which is almost everything I do) and then try to rationalise it with all the people worse off in the world than me (which is a lot more), which makes me sadder as I’m obviously a complete waste of time who has just wasted my own time. Almost a living double negative. And don’t get me started on the bit where I start fantasising about the perfect life (or, more appropriately, perfect lie).

Often, I try to read, but people with depression are attracted to literature in much the same way they are attracted to gloomy music. This makes unhappy endings even more unhappy (“But Rhett, we should be together. I love you!” “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. I think I’ll return home and gamble and drink myself into a deep and inescapable hole. And maybe guest star as a Force ghost in the next Star Wars movie.” Note to Disney: do not have an ‘Anakin’ Force ghost cameo. I’m warning you now. You don’t want to see a depressed fan when he’s angry. Nothing to lose, y’know. I warned you I’m not always coherent).

I’m a fairly creative person—I compose stories, poems and music, draw, write this stupid blog—and one would assume that I would be able to find some way (other than high doses of legal and potentially illegal medication) to get me out of the dumps. What I’ve found is that depression is ideal for creativity. I’ve written some of my best work when I feel like crap. Of course, it tends to be a bit depressing, but there you go. Horses for courses, and all that jazz.

I know there are lots of people in the world who suffer from anxiety and depression—a quick search on WordPress reveals hundreds of blogs by sad and lonely bloggers with more than enough to say on the topic. So, my own vaguely pathetic attempts are almost laughable (or miserable, depending on how they turn out).

So, I’m looking for some sure fire quick fixes (yes, I know there aren’t any, but tell me anyway. I’m a true believer in panaceas and placebos, except when they’re administered rectally). Meditation? Tried it. Martial Arts? Do it already. Working out? Yep, a great fix that lasts the period of the workout and about an hour afterwards…Alcohol? I’m sure there’s a potential down side to it, but it’s looking good, so far…

Surprisingly, this pithy bit of writing has cheered me up slightly (on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being dead and 10 being obnoxiously and overwhelmingly extroverted, I guess I’m a 4). Not because it’s good, but rather just a way to vent. Maybe I should try some more. Perhaps those uni responses…

Stupid Boy. A poem.

Just a stupid boy
He’s getting by in stupid ways
He’s yearning for a better life
With oh, so much to say

Just a stupid boy
All isolated and feeling low
All fantasies and internal strife
Dreams and wishes long to sow

Just a stupid boy
So much smaller than the shoes he fills
Dreaming bigger than he really should
Wondering just how does she really feel

Just a stupid boy
Playing alone with his stupid toys
Running far from responsibilities
He’s just another stupid boy

Rain. A Poem.

I felt the rain more deeply than ever before
It flowed like chaotic capillaries down my face
It mingled with tears, a salty, alchemical mix  
It touched my tongue, combined saliva and cotton mouth
It washed me clean of tragic irony and bittersweet regret
And when it stopped I stood there dripping, alone as always
Contemplating when it would fall on me again
Would I accept its cold, cleansing embrace
Or would I shrink away to a warmer, dryer place

 

This poem is another experiment for me. I’ve been trying out different free verse structures and meters, and this one is more prose-like.

I think it worked out okay. Tell me what you think.

Online Dating Scams – don’t be a target and a victim

Good lord, I can’t believe it. Me, a guy who is so security and privacy conscious, who is IT-literate and generally pretty smart, fell for one of the oldest scams in the book.

Well, not quite fell, but almost.

Scams are rife in the world of online dating. Lonely older people are easy to prey on. And having been lonely for a long time, and now in the mature (over 40) age bracket, it appears that I’m now a target.

So how did it happen? Loooong story. How about I try to move on from my embarrassment and just tell you what to look for:

  • Beware of attractive younger people sending you winks/messages. If the message indicates they want to talk via email, rather than the date site’s messaging system, be cautious, and recommend using the dating site until you know them better. If they suggest using a dedicated messaging app like Yahoo Messenger, be aware that this app has been hacked in the past and has security issues. Also, if their email address sounds strange, that’s potentially another warning.
  • If the person provides too much personal information about themselves, especially too early in the ongoing email conversation, be careful: they are trying to get you to provide your own personal details and earn your trust or sympathy. Scammers know that many people use their dates of birth in their passwords, so never give it out. Also, don’t send photos of yourself in emails, scammers can use you info to create false profiles to rip off other people.
  • If the person’s story seems too good to be true, or too tragic to be true, it’s probably not.
  • The scammers will be working on multiple people through that dating website at the same time, so be conscious of slips (i.e. they use the wrong name, or repeat several words several times as if they have inaccurately cut and pasted a response).
  • If the writing in a message has poor grammar (especially where a person has stated on their profile they have high level or University-level qualifications), be aware that scams are often conducted from other countries where English is not the first language. Additionally, look for syntax changes in messages that sound like a different person is writing from the person who wrote before – it could be a team of scammers, rather than a single person.
  • Be wary if the other party doesn’t want to talk with you on the phone or meet in person. If they are working from another country they know their accent will give them away and that there is no way they can meet, so they will put you off as long as they can.
  • The scammer will play on your loneliness by finding out about you and talking about high levels of love/commitment very early, to gauge how easy it may be to manipulate you. They may even indicate that they have plenty of money (e.g. an inheritance or good job) so as not to arouse your suspicions of a scam.
  • Be cautious if the person is overseas or says they are going to be travelling soon. Generally they will be going to a country where they will have a “mishap” (e.g. lose wallet/purse) and will then attempt to get money from you, based on whether they believe they have built enough trust to try it on. This may include bank account details. NEVER give your credit card or bank account details in an email.

Once the scammer is aware that you may be on to them, they will stop emailing you. Block their address so you don’t get anything from them again. Notify the dating website of the scam so they can remove the profile. It may be a good idea to change your passwords associated with the website and your email, especially if you use your name or date of birth in them.

There are lots of sites around that give out tips on how to avoid online scamming – I’ve added a few links below.

I’m glad I didn’t fall for it, but part of me wanted to, and that’s because lonely people make themselves easy targets, and thus, easy victims.

Don’t be a target, or a victim. There’s enough of those in the world already.

 

Australian Government Scam Watch – https://www.scamwatch.gov.au/types-of-scams/dating-romance

Wikihow – http://www.wikihow.com/Spot-an-Online-Dating-Scammer

Romance Scams – http://www.romancescams.org/

Independent – http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-sex/online-dating-fraud-how-to-identify-most-likely-scammer-profiles-scams-a7553616.html

Deep. A poem.

I double over and sink
Into waters far too deep
And far too black
I’m drowning here inside myself
Don’t you see me?
No, you never do
Until I’m gone
Dragged down into the depths
Lost forever far from shore
Just another sailor drowned
For the cause

 
Down, down, down, I go. I thought once you hit rock bottom the only way was up. Guess I was wrong.

Depression sucks.

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?

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: