Change for Change’s Sake. A poem.

Change for change’s sake?In but a moment:Diaphanous currentsSurging in synapses Alive with chaotic orderAnd artful whimsyPhysical stimuliAnd mental conduitsForming hypothesesAnd convolutionsTactical geometries Measured blindly withWitheringly disturbingAccuracy and graceProclivities and practicalitiesProactively balancedWith erstwhile aestheticsAnd perfected symmetries And in a moment (or few):Change for change’s sake. For more poetry, click here.

Canvass. A poem.

This canvass Multicoloured Black and white Upon which I paint And scrawl and scratch A history Wrong and right A silver cord Of destiny That paints me Into a corner And yet free As summer sun and winter night For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad,Continue reading “Canvass. A poem.”

Enough. A poem.

When enough is said And it’s never enough But just enough To matter For more Poetry, click here. 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.

Back. A poem.

You went away Journeyed far Through flaxen fields And bauxite dust History replayed Without rewind moments A tenseness between Interspersed with Rear view lightness And sanitised propriety A photographic record Of colours and hues Revealing the distance You’ve come and overcome So glad you’re back For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry,Continue reading “Back. A poem.”

Upstart Photographer – Mural

I love to take photographs. I love to write poetry. Here’s both, all in one. Steve 🙂 Mural. A poem. Rippled reflection An imperfect memory Casting its gaze Upon the flocks below An endearing shepherd Without judgement Or recourse Offering flowers In recompense For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry, check outContinue reading “Upstart Photographer – Mural”

A Writer’s Prayer. A poem.

I slowly turn each page And every emblazoned word That lights the air In a breathtaking display Could not be any more Resplendent than it is These are my words And whether kind or cruel Winsome or fulsome They are mine and mine alone And my world shines far brighter Because they live and breatheContinue reading “A Writer’s Prayer. A poem.”

I Suck at Social Media.

I have a confession. One that’s obvious to some, especially those who know me. I suck at social media. Social media as a forum is both a treasure and a bane. It’s an information and networking portal and a source of disinformation and anxiety. Not to mention underhanded data collection, stalking, cyber bullying and echoContinue reading “I Suck at Social Media.”

The Book. A poem.

There’s a lot of typing here, Exposition to be done. A hard fought war on grammar And literacy that’s often won. Occasionally a photo finish (A second or a third), Or an error left in print That’s obviously absurd. Another book is done And another now begun: Eighty thousand words or so, The constant toContinue reading “The Book. A poem.”

Green. A poem.

The green envelops me And I float And rise And sink On this green tide The green consumes me As I taste And toil And vomit This green inside The green greets me And seduces me And I As with all Welcome it In return For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry,Continue reading “Green. A poem.”

Rainfall. A poem.

Pale droplets cascade Down gray-faced facades Of dimpled iron will Collecting the residue Of dusty acrimony Along their chaotic Weatherbeaten paths. Pools of mercury Dance in the afterglow Rising and falling To the somber occasion And recalling times And memories lost Abandoned in twilight. Rain, let it fall on me And remind me of myselfContinue reading “Rainfall. A poem.”

Today/Tomorrow. A poem.

Today: All at once, there’s no one there, the dark, an isolation tank. The world outside faded away, a post-apocalyptic prank. Tomorrow: The light here that lingers on, electric in the morning dew. This joyous, often mellow song that shows it’s face to me and you. Today: I’m excommunicated, now, shunned, it seems, by thoseContinue reading “Today/Tomorrow. A poem.”

Footsteps Away. A poem.

I walk through the dark, The sound of my feet echoing Through the empty streets. The dog stops and sniffs, A victim of instinct, circumstantial scents and sense. In the distance, The thump of a kick drum— Faster than my heart beat, But just as reassuringly present. Occasional passers by Nod their heads or not,Continue reading “Footsteps Away. A poem.”

Influence. A poem.

I have read your words And seen my influence My mind is contours of constancy Of riotous colour and ascendancy My words spill across the canvas Every emotion eagerly revealed A zeitgeist for you to watch And absorb and capture Like a winsome butterfly You take these pieces of me And make them yours ButContinue reading “Influence. A poem.”

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 For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, LonelyContinue reading “Leash. A poem.”

The Creator’s Call. A poem.

The call of creation Echoes in my mind, Oscillates in my ears, Reverberates in my soul. This call cannot go unanswered; It is the call of wild and reckless abandon, The puissant grace of the cheetah And the wind rustling the reeds. Every word and image Cast upon the page and melded with my veryContinue reading “The Creator’s Call. A poem.”

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 InContinue reading “Trapped. 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 subsequently; a brief rejoinder as it exited, a momentary lapse and then return to unregardedContinue reading “The Crowd. A poem.”

Writer Interrupted: Young Classics

An excerpt from a response I did for a Uni YA writing course some time ago: Do you have your own private classics? Name one. Why do you call it a classic? What do you think makes a children’s or adolescents’ classic? Witches, Ghosts and Goblins, by Ruthanna Long, is an absolutely awesome picture book aboutContinue reading “Writer Interrupted: Young Classics”

Divides. A flash fiction.

This is a short fiction I wrote for a Uni subject I completed a while back. Enjoy! Cheers Steve 🙂  Divides. By Stephen Thompson. My mother is dusting. The feather duster she uses swishes lightly over the mementoes and photo frames on the shelf, cautiously tracing a path through our family history like a shipContinue reading “Divides. A flash fiction.”

Writer Interrupted: my new Poetry book!

The print proofs are back and the new poetry book is ready! Today, my second poetry book – Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered – is available in print. Inside, you’ll find 76 poems for various states of mind: happy, infuriated, inebriated, dogmatic, dramatic, smiley, wily, cranky, spunky, overwrought, overworked, sad, lonely andContinue reading “Writer Interrupted: my new Poetry book!”

Writer Interrupted: The next poetry book

It has been about a year since ‘The All or the Nothing’, my first book of poetry, was published as an e-book. It’s now available in print, as well. I guess it’s time for the follow up. I’ve been working hard, compiling and editing, designing and laying out the book in Adobe Indesign and Photoshop,Continue reading “Writer Interrupted: The next poetry book”

Anvil. Part 20.

The Anvil stares down at Johnston, who unflinchingly returns the look. “You have a problem?” says Johnston. “Why am I not with Violet?” says the Anvil. “You’re too close to her. Might impede your judgement in combat.” Johnston raises his flechette carbine. “Now you better back off, friend. I like my personal space.” Olsin stepsContinue reading “Anvil. Part 20.”

Winding Down Yet Winding On

I’ve been blogging every day for a little over one and a half years. I’m never short of material and I’m not one of those writers who suffer from writer’s block. No, this is not a ‘brag’ blog. This is my way of saying it’s time to wind back so I can focus more onContinue reading “Winding Down Yet Winding On”

Why do we blog?

Why do we blog? Some say it’s cathartic. Some say it encourages and develops us as writers. A creative outlet. Some say we do it for fun. To get in touch with like-minded souls. Some say they just need to vent—anger, tears, love and fears. Some say they want to inspire. To express their opinions.Continue reading “Why do we blog?”

Writer Interrupted: Writing Haiku

What is a Haiku? The Haiku is a poetic form that originated in Japan as early as the 9th or 13th Century, depending on what you read, but wasn’t known by the term Haiku until the 19th century. Want to know more about Haiku history? Click here. Traditionally, they focussed on nature and emphasised simplicity.Continue reading “Writer Interrupted: Writing Haiku”

Anvil. Part 19.

Shi-Cho smiles grimly as Flotsam station appears in the transteel cockpit window. At this distance it is little more than a tiny spinning tin can, a shining diamond against the charcoal disk of the planet below. Captain Hansen, seated in the pilot’s chair in front of Shi-Cho, gestures to a nearby monitor. “We’re being hailedContinue reading “Anvil. Part 19.”

Anvil. Part 18.

Alfred Bester is a tall man, well over six foot and waif thin. He has a full head of brown hair with a prominent widow’s peak, greying somewhat but less than one would expect for someone in such a powerful position. Bester is supremely confident—a man doesn’t get to his level without being so. WhenContinue reading “Anvil. Part 18.”

Finding My Voice

“In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I’m writing. I just write what I want to write.” J.K Rowling. “You have to follow your own voice. You have to be yourself when you write. In effect, you have to announce, ‘This is me, this is what I stand for, this is what youContinue reading “Finding My Voice”

Anvil. Part 17.

Kanji sprawls in her hovering portachair, its suspensors struggling under her weight. Her spiked durasteel right arm dwarfs the other, whose musculature is networked with ridged veins. “So, boss”, she says. “How long until Chao gets here?” Johnston stands at the transteel viewport, arms folded, staring out into space. The dark planet below passes inContinue reading “Anvil. Part 17.”

Anvil. Part 16.

Like the new logo? I put a fair bit of work into it – Steve 🙂 Hansen’s airborne troop carrier hovers at the entrance to the ruined hangar. Shi-Cho taps his foot impatiently on some rubble as the side hatch slides open and he and his troops clamber inside. He makes his way to theContinue reading “Anvil. Part 16.”

Anvil. Part 15.

The distant sound of automatic gunfire and plasma rounds echo from within the skeletal remains of the Chao Triad building. In the interceptor, Olsin’s finger pauses over the tether recall button. She notes two murky shapes in the dirty haze behind Granny Chun. “I think you had better rethink your options,” says Lady Chao asContinue reading “Anvil. Part 15.”

Anvil. Part 14.

“Get to the interceptor,” says the Anvil, gritting her teeth. As Chun, Jimmy and Olsin exit stage left, she flexes her fingers and tenses. Autonomic sensors and variable defence pattern assessments are whirling around her brain. Her HUD is flashing multiple warnings, red, red, red. She’s outclassed by the hulking armature before her. Shi-Cho isContinue reading “Anvil. Part 14.”

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, think of brighter, cleaner, fluid things, that wax and wane like a somnambulant moon. Remember,Continue reading “Anxious Thoughts. A poem.”

Anvil. Part 13.

Olsin leads the motley crew of escapees through gleaming corridors towards one of the many tower hangars. As they approach a corner she places a hand on the Anvil’s groin and whispers “Wait, sugar.” Her hand lingers for an uncomfortably long time, then waves them onwards. Olsin’s carbine is at her shoulder, eye to sight,Continue reading “Anvil. Part 13.”

Anvil. Part 12.

Granny Chun is led sedately to a cell opposite the Anvil’s. She catches a glimpse of the big male skull behind the tiny transteel window as she is pushed gently into her cell by two armoured guards. Prison guard Olsin smiles at the Anvil as she palms the door closed and waves the escort away.Continue reading “Anvil. Part 12.”

Anvil. Part 11.

The Anvil struggles groggily to her feet. The room is silent. “What did I miss?” she says. Lady Chao and Granny Chun are still kissing. “Somebody want to fill me in on this development?” says the Anvil. Violet runs over to her and grabs her leg protectively. Sarain’s EMPG is at the Anvil’s head again.Continue reading “Anvil. Part 11.”

Anvil. Part 10.

Lady Chao’s headquarters is just as ruinous as the other buildings surrounding it. Rusted metal supports play peek-a-boo through holey concrete walls. The lower levels are salt-sutured steel and raggedy plate glass. Only the top four levels are decently attired: various rooftop antennas, dishes and hangars; multiple gun emplacement bubbles poking through garish red panelling;Continue reading “Anvil. Part 10.”

Anvil. Part 9.

A sonic boom cracks the sky beneath the floating city. Tossing to and fro in the wild surf below, the little inflatable raft seems little more than a speck on the ocean’s roiling back. The aging interceptor slows and pulls up twenty metres above it, hovering unsteadily in the wind and rain. Big Jimmy eyesContinue reading “Anvil. Part 9.”

Anvil. Part 8.

The tall old woman is angry. She throws her cup of shoujiu across the room where it shatters against the wall. “They took my interceptor?” Her eyes are narrow slits, her crow’s feet now a delta fanning both sides of her face. The armoured men kneel before her, heads bowed to the floor. One watchesContinue reading “Anvil. Part 8.”