At the top of the stairs, another corridor: four sets of doors, two on each side. Aisha smiled grimly. “I know this part of the house. The bedroom I hid in is the last door on the left.” “The secret … Continue reading The Sale. Part 16.
All my rancid surprise, broken and doubtful, flayed thoughts drifting behind sullen and tired eyes. So many unspoken wishes given lonesome flight from these effluent cliffs of anger and despair; all the improbable, impossible angst, the seething pain that my … Continue reading Rancid. A poem.
I am, and always will be, a lover of books. I currently live in a back room of my parent’s house (no job, no money; lonely but creative), surrounded by their bookshelves and my own. So, what better topic than … Continue reading Upstart Photographer#4. Book Shelves.
You’ve trapped me again, your maze of hedges and hidden paths has me wandering, lost and praying, searching for myself and scrying for deliverance. My head wants out, each brittle burst of logic and sedentary reason tracing a path to … Continue reading Trapped. A poem.
I’m not in the habit of bagging blogs. But I came across one the other day which purported to provide remedies for various ailments. The post that first drew my attention was about five ways to increase your height. Yes, you read that correctly: your height. And, yes, it was serious. The post listed the five things you could do to get taller. Like exercise. Drinking more milk. Eating eggs. I won’t go on. Not only was the advice laughable, it was misleading. Your height is determined by your genes, people. No amount of milk and eggs is going to … Continue reading There is no cure for being short.
I reach with spider lines of filigree fanning out to touch the universe and in your winsome eyes I see the love at length I will traverse. Across the stars, to circumvent stormy nebulae within your heart, your storied pain, … Continue reading Anew. A poem.
Down, again, and the anxious riptide in my brain wills and drags me to sullen depths, where the ocean bed is pock marked with tears and fears and ample insomniac nights. Down, again, and every fading couple in the street … Continue reading Down again. A poem.
My river: your familiar effulgence, wrapping my distress in your gracious tributaries. Changing my name to chance whilst fate looks on, somewhat perturbed but unmoved all the same. My river: sweeping me through your conquering rapids, beating my insensitive brow, … Continue reading My River. A poem.
Edgar Allan Poe is considered one of the foremost exponents of the Gothic horror genre and is also well known for his poetry. His poem The Raven, published in 1845, was his most famous and successful work, and his short … Continue reading Edgar Allan Poe and the First Exegesis
Still standing. Waiting. Where are you? When are you? Your bus is long, long overdue, but I will wait, anyway, wondering if my timetable is completely out of date. Hoping my ticket to ride is still valid, not expired. Still … Continue reading Still Standing. A poem.
Watery Kiss. A haiku trilogy 1. Concrete My feet are concrete. I swim the depths of my heart. Ocean bottom calls. 2. Goldfish My lungs filling up. liquid in mouth, on the brain. Goldfish down, am I. 3. Calcified Funereal … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Watery Kiss’, a haiku trilogy.
Here, amongst a billion tiny souls crunching below my feet, sticking between my toes, a first kiss of many. Furtive, restless, heated, fingers and palms hitchhiking over a bountiful landscape. A tsunami flowing through the fields, disrupting your trains of thought and once rational mind. As the sun sinks lower and evening falls; like time, we shall come to pass on these dunes. Here, amongst a billion tiny souls that crunch between our feet and the small of your back. Would you like to read more poetry and prevent Steve from starving at the same time? Steve’s first book of … Continue reading Beached. A poem.
Some more photos from my ongoing amateur photographic journey. These ones are many months old. About time they saw the light in some unfiltered, unaffected glory. Or some semblance of glory, anyway. I’ve written some short poems to accompany them. … Continue reading Upstart Photographer #2. And complementary poems, to boot.
Billions of microscopic particles coalescing in the infinite. The void in my heart, a macrocosm blessed with spacial vertigo, engulfing the dust of reason and goodwill. Pearl pinpoints provide minimal illumination to highlight my hope and perspicacity. I float amongst the atoms, dreaming of dark gravity bending light to fulfil my dreams. Would you like to read more poetry and prevent Steve from starving at the same time? Steve’s first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. For more information, click here. Continue reading Dust. A poem.
The lights shining on the tree, the streets filled with gaiety, presents, goodwill; how it’s meant to be, not always reflecting reality. He was born on Earth, a miracle being. He lived and died, for us, you see. His loving … Continue reading Christmas. A poem.
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