Stephen Arrives
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Category Archives: Poetry
Evening Walk
1/ Glide on
My surface
says
The water.
I will welcome
You as a mother
Does a child.
2/ Outline me says
The cloud,
And the light
Acquiesces.
3/ Walk through me
says
The breeze,
And the body
obeys.
4/ Listen to me
Says the universe
And the mind
listens
With all its heart.
Afternoon Vision of a Horse
A horse bolts
Across a distant fenced horizon,
Like a maned, muscled
Zipper,
Separating blue sky
From pastured green.
This Time the Page is Waiting
featured in LIT SPHERE
Strand Publishers
http://strandspublishers.weebly.com/lit-sphere/this-time-the-page-is-waitingpoetry
Missing
My friend I miss
The presence
Of your coexistence
In this world.
O to float free in those other realms ;
Only your echoes remain reverberating sweetly.
Sometimes late at night
I quietly sink
and drown my brother
in the passion of your word
strumming.
Verse From a Dream State
Some abide
in the metaphysical
clouds above,
Some in the levels
below.
The questions are
How low ?
And
Which direction are
We going?
How do we know ?
It’s a question of Love.
How well are you loving?
A Letter to the Other Side
Image
Did you Hear ?
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died
His family, and his lovers
by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
The music and the words won’t be quite
so gravelly
deep.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
Won’t be long before Irving and Abraham
Are by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died,
Discarded mask
And costume that he wore,
To slip behind a curtain.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
A village and a nation sighed.
Did you hear
That last
First
soft breath open:
Go by brooks love
Where fish stare,
Go by brooks love
I will pass there.
Autumn Light
Autumn
Brings grey
clouds
Cool evenings
And a
golden light
Lessened and
Fading quickly
Truths
Truths
I hope to have
written some truths.
Lies are so easy.
To pen
To be able
To record some truths
in the future !
That is difficult;
Lies are so obvious,
Not always cheap.
Easy, convenient,
Unexamined conclusions
Of the times.
Truths are not always so obvious.
Some take years
To ascertain
In the dark.
That’s why the best poets
Age, get so old,
With deep lines
in their foreheads,
or die so very young.
Some truths are never
to be,
cannot be,
known;
And only are present
in vague outlines,
In muted colours
Of the partly blind;
Only lightly,
Randomly,
Occasionally,
touched on.
PWChaltas 