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Stephen Gospage

Updated: Tue, 9 Mar 2021 05:30 pm


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Stephen Gospage, who sometimes writes under the name of Charly Bishop, is an enthusiastic writer of poetry and short stories. He was born in West Ham, London, in 1953, but has spent most of his working life in Brussels and is proud to call himself a citizen of Europe. His 2019 poetry collection “Bedside Days” is published by Lulu and is available on Amazon. He has recently published a new poetry book entitled "The Shape of the Trees, Poems for 2020" which includes poems about Life, Brexit and the Pandemic. Some of the poems in the book have been shared on the WOL blog and a sample poem "Memory Tax" is included below. Several of his poems have been published in the 'New European' newspaper, including "Brexit Happy Hour" from 2018 and "The pavements of Europe" from 2019, both of which are reproduced here.

The pavements of Europe

In years like nineteen eighty-five, The pavements, through their long, nocturnal sleep, Were viewed at all times with distrust. Dawn: soles of freezing workers clatter past, To jump aboard the belching queues Of buses, lined up ten or twenty deep. A brave new world stirred, some years on, Stuffed with gold teeth and overpriced flash cars. Once more the pavements stole the show. They sprouted worlds with tall chairs stacked outside, Within which, furred and fast-tracked, lounged A rising class with merchandise in tow. In certain disinfected spots Sidewalks could play host to gala dinners. But much foul footfall had passed here, Which gave the rich too many tales to tell. For all the loudly touted boom, The poor had just their roadside wares to sell. Somewhere on the edge of Europe, On warm nights, pavements, bloated with excess, Drew veils to cover up their faults. First light brought women, trading in stale loaves (From gaudy kitchen towels unpacked); Soon heading home, their fondest dreams intact.


Each time he climbed another mountain peak, He took a slice home as a souvenir; Nothing too big, just a vanishing scrape. One day, on cue, he heard the mountain speak, And through dawn’s modest light, it shed a tear At such a violation of its shape. This act would likely finish his career.

A dying breed

He was one of a cultured few; We never guessed how much he knew. He told us why there’s hot and cold, Explained the aches of Great Aunt Jill, The nature of the spots of mould Encrusted on the windowsill. He knew his Wagner from his Brahms; Devoured Housman’s hills and farms. And as for paintings, he preferred Impressionists to modern stuff; His wrath could sometimes be incurred By poems written off the cuff. His sporting greats were in the past, With reputations built to last. He aced Von Cramm before the war. With Hogan he once practised drives; Reached distances not seen before. We smiled sometimes, but he touched lives.

Land of opportunity

They talk a lot about the level playing field; But who exactly is playing on it? Am I? Are you? No. So what’s new?

Memory Tax

The tax on memory will be increased, Effective from next Saturday at ten. An extra five per cent will be applied To every word remembered after then. Stuff from the past will weigh our system down; We’ll give a rebate for your future thoughts. Provided they conform to what we like, Your polished teeth may feature in reports. Don’t think that we can promise, though; we can’t. Our fiscal line depends upon supply Of out-of-date ideas to bring in cash And punters having other fish to fry. And in the end, does it really matter? Our archives will be slimmed down to a dearth. Memories in time attain their limit, Once their possessors lie beneath the earth.

Brexit Happy Hour

‘I don’t recognise my country!’ Say men around the bar, While just next door a world awakes In time zones near and far. ‘We have to bring back Empire!’ Cry men behind their glass, As groups amassed in camps are told To keep clear of the grass. ‘We must respect the people’s will!’ Shout men propped up on stools, Haranguing loudly on their phones Those who clean out their pools. ‘This is our independence day!’ Men spit from their punch bowl; Outside, long queues of surplus staff Prepare to join the dole. ‘We’re free at last from foreigners!’ Men splutter through their beer; There’s talent all around the world, But it’s not wanted here. ‘Take back the pound, take back control!’ The men have made their pitch. They grab the wheel, take bends too fast And end up in a ditch.

Good Friday

Do you remember the human race? They used to look quite nice. Now they float in outer space, Entombed in blocks of ice. Do you remember ten pin bowling? It used to be quite fun. Now the odd-shaped heads are rolling From the barrel of a gun. Do you remember all your friends? You used to play together. Now they forecast global trends And blame changes in the weather. Do you remember Brenda King? You used to chase her in the park. Now she’s frozen to the swing From morning until dark. Do you remember Mum and Dad? They lived across the street. Now their house is all day clad In a swathe of rubber sheet. Do you remember anyone? If not, why should you care? All that’s left is a hot-cross bun And a lock of someone’s hair.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Sun 18th Jul 2021 12:17

Thanks for reading "eye of the beholder"
I tried to keep it short so that
it did not ruin the rest of your day.


Sun 11th Jul 2021 00:47

I've been the odd bird out
all my life.


Sun 4th Jul 2021 23:08

You are the only person who read the poem.
Disappointing to say the least.
I thought it was pretty funny.
I guess Chickens were offended.


Fri 2nd Jul 2021 09:21

Godspeed Gospage.
or is it
Charley Bishop?


Thu 1st Jul 2021 11:38

The wisdom of Stephen.
The gospel of Gospage!


Fri 11th Jun 2021 13:46

you have a very good imagination Stephen
otherwise you could not write poetry.
just keep it up.

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Laura Taylor

Thu 10th Jun 2021 10:59

Thanks muchly, Stephen, for taking the time to read and comment on Care. Have tinkered with it a bit now. The industry is a real disgrace eh? It needs nationalising, now.


Sat 29th May 2021 04:33

YOU are well known.
i am known badly.


Thu 27th May 2021 13:16

If you keep reading my poems
it will ruin your reputation!

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Rasa Kabaila

Sat 22nd May 2021 06:09

Beautiful poems Stephen. I particularly enjoy 'Memory Tax' —it is honest and witty but also a little dark— a bit 'Dark Mirror' esque. Well done on all your publications. 😃

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Mon 17th May 2021 09:54

Thank you for liking my poem 😃


Fri 23rd Apr 2021 01:53

I am more afraid of Big Brother
than the Chinese Virus.


Thu 15th Apr 2021 21:04

Embattlements, thank you kindly for your comments Stephen.

I wonder what surprises world politics has yet to come up with?


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Stephen Gospage

Fri 26th Mar 2021 17:17

Many thanks, Greg. The New European is a really admirable newspaper, with so many impressive and enlightened writers. It is quite humbling to be selected for publication. Your kind words are much appreciated. Steve

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Greg Freeman

Thu 25th Mar 2021 16:09

Congratulations on your latest poem to be published in The New European, Stephen. Well done!

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 19th Mar 2021 17:19

Annie and Erika

You are both most welcome. It's great that there is so much poetry to enjoy!


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Annie Josephine

Mon 15th Mar 2021 21:32

Thank you so much for your comment on The Old Dictionary. I am very new to this and you made my day!

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Erika Montoya

Tue 9th Mar 2021 18:56

Thank so much for
Your comments in my poem A love endless... you made me fell that I can write

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Erika Montoya

Tue 9th Mar 2021 18:32

Thank so much for
Your comments in my poem A love endless... you made me fell that I can write


Mon 8th Mar 2021 23:43

Conniption is an old term
remembered fondly by old men like me
whose mothers always used to tell them
"don't have a Conniption Fit!"


Mon 1st Mar 2021 04:14

A dog will sniff
anything that moves
the gist is that
it so behooves!


Wed 17th Feb 2021 10:19

you nailed it Stephen,
"helplessness" is the word
and the feeling.

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Scattered Sun

Sun 7th Feb 2021 00:03

Thank you for the comment on my poem!


Sun 24th Jan 2021 03:17

Thank you Stephen.
You are too kind.

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Stephen Gospage

Thu 14th Jan 2021 17:01

Looking forward to it, Tommy

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Tommy Carroll

Wed 13th Jan 2021 13:22

Thanks Stephen.

Re "Planning her Escape"

I have a separate piece done with the woman alone in the bedroom.
I'm still pondering.


Sat 9th Jan 2021 00:36

nothing to it!!



Wed 6th Jan 2021 12:28

I don't know what it is about you
that makes me like you so much.
It could be the fact that
you always think my poems are brilliant!


Wed 30th Dec 2020 02:29

thanks for your comment on the "Stumpy" poem.
It is very kind of you.

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Stephen Gospage

Mon 21st Dec 2020 17:33

Brilliantly dull

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