Poetry Blog by chris stevenson
I’m playing mandolin in the corner of a smokey room
and she sits hidden on the floor playing flute.
She plays Irish melodies.
Everyone is smoking, the air curling with rhyme
Everyone is drinking including me, including her,
Why she hides on the floor behind a chair , near the door
I don’t know.
Everyone is singing , everyone...
Monday 8th October 2018 8:05 pm
".. and show me another plot of land where
just for a moment I dawdled and losing sight
of you let go your hand ... show me that fooprint.
.. we pass this way but once, you took nothing
with you, and so I , with tears, and regret, pursue
the same path, the space you left.
There are no words, you carried them with you,
four hundred sunsets, there, we counted them...
Thursday 28th June 2018 8:37 pm
At first I thought we’d meet again,
aware of some shadow behind
And then your voice, would explain,
through smoke and dust in a
“I thought returning to those you love
is a promised debt for our
Yes, at first I thought we’d meet again.”
Then I waited here, pacing slowly,
and a shadow did move within
The voice was b...
Saturday 23rd September 2017 11:54 am
Is it just like that
and then y’gone
a tune some’aware
along the horizon
where I did not catch
y’last words me mate
so easy y’just
turn away fer a’minute
and then gone?
We’ll not meet again bud,
yer too far ahead now
down some path long.
I cannot but wish
yer were still here,
such a vacancy sighs
with so many pretty
girls in the plait’d
yer will not chase.
I told yer wh...
Saturday 13th May 2017 1:54 pm
Each year you will be clothed in
this pink caress and warmed by
shadows passing from granite to bark,
while smoke drifts between the stone
and the stable where a pony shivers
to greet the dawn.
And you in your fragile boat on smoothing
waves will disappear towards a cold horizon
as we lean forward begging your return.
But no word of farewell echoes here, no
final touch, no...
Wednesday 19th April 2017 10:13 pm
I never write on things that rhyme
I don’t chase girls before half-past nine
My wallet’s empty the dosh is gone
Like the fastest cake, it’s scone, it's gone,
Y’look at me and wait for a smile
But I’ve nowt to say and life’s a trial.
The fridge is empty; the plug’s pulled out,
I only eat food when I go out.
I never drink until Friday lunch,
I’m with a delicate but scary bunch,
Wednesday 18th May 2016 6:57 pm
These marvellous inclined planes
that with such precision take
the rite of beauty which
unknown to anyone fall into
some dark void and
with a whisper just before death
accuse and deny in one word the
meaningless eons which have gone before.
I was quietly observing the distance
between the stars
when with such a slight force
the years closed in on me and
Sunday 1st May 2016 5:40 pm
My great great great gran’mother.
Where are you Rosanna?
I thought when you die, you remain
to protect the children. I thought
in every shadow you would stand.
I dreamt Rosanna wore her ring.
She passed it to me saying; “I must go.
The shadow is for you now.” How can
I belong to a gypsy and not understand?
Gran’mother you left too soon.
I’ve become a brittle leaf, Rosanna. I
Thursday 10th December 2015 5:43 pm
We search for symmetry
She searches for symmetry in my
I search for a flaw in her curves.
Some slight error which will attract
There are turquoise lines between
The crimson squares which make
up the irregular pattern on her
crumpled Shetland wool shape.
My hand sits on the curve of her
Hip, so when her boot slips on the
Jagged moss I take her weight on
My arm and sh...
Friday 9th October 2015 9:21 pm
There are no dead like your dead.
Relentlessly impaled on your memory,
her tiny hand, his frozen bicycle,
his uniform in the doorway, halo’d in
morning light saying “I’ll be alright”,
her scarf thrown aside in the sunshine.
There are no dead.
There are no wounds like your wounds.
Bathed as a child in crimson shadows
his unseeing eyes plead for life,
her skirt in the glade, not run...
Wednesday 6th August 2014 11:24 pm
See you walking
On a sunny day
Takes my breath away
And like a child
I am laughing.
See you running
In an open field
with the butterfly
Like some child
Now the day is ours to borrow
Never thoughts of a tomorrow
Laughter has the taste of sorrow
Drink this wine
The brightness holds us
Feel the wind upon y...
Monday 7th April 2014 11:32 am
The sun is slow tonight, she moves towards
the horizon with care, an uncertain path
because someone is missing.
The sunset will hesitate again, she moves
unsteadily, knowing the colours will be faint
because someone is missing.
The horizon reflects the sorrow in a lake,
my lake, where drowning she takes away our
hurt, because someone is missing.
We nail our friend to a cross, i...
Monday 17th February 2014 9:12 pm
Rain, beautiful, cooling
so pacifying, relentless.
Crowded green trees dripping
tears and dew-drops,
spattering in shiny puddles
around bricks, sticks and
bits of floating paper.
The gnome carelessly throws a cast
hoping a tadpole - for - tea passes by.
Red hat in the downpour shining.
Bending, sharp leaves, dripping,
Friday 27th September 2013 10:59 pm
Those books, where’s he taken them, who died? Those were my books.
I know what the other two were. Nobody passed, nobody, the street was
like a funeral procession that had failed to appear, the space reserved
but the burial delayed because the coffin refused to enter the hearse.
Again they tried but it would not move. The road is clear somebody says,
we have to go, but the coffi...
Saturday 13th April 2013 5:25 pm
Today I took the long narrow lane
Which turns and winds to Marbury.
Found the seat opposite the Lamb
Turned right ,
A row of houses , where you lived
Many years ago.
..... and the fields are raw , bleak ,
frost is cold against grey hedges clipped back for winter
it is very quiet ,
horses wear coats , grey sky ,
Sunday 10th March 2013 9:56 pm
- 2013 - 2018 (15)
Lynn Hamilton on SEWER (Thu, 19 May 2016 02:54 pm)
Emily Kate O'Sullivan on SEWER (Wed, 18 May 2016 07:54 pm)
on sunset ... an elegy. (Wed, 19 Feb 2014 04:44 am)
stella jones on Marbury (Mon, 18 Mar 2013 01:29 pm)