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Stephen Pickering

Tag: Poem

  • 4 New Iambic Poems

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    Stephen Pickering
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    Iambic Dimeter: “I Know the Lake” I know the lake. There’s nothing more. What is at stake Is behind the door. Up in the sky Your hair flew wild. Your sunglassed eyes They hid the child. I thought you said To meet down there. We’d find the bed Without a care. It’s over now. It…

  • A New Original Poem: “There’s something dark…”

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    Stephen Pickering
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    [audio:http://www.stephenpickering.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/Theres-Something-Dark.mp3] There’s something dark about this town. It’s made my heart all broken sore. The stars upstairs they hear a sound. The dark hair girl she’s at the door. I want to go somewhere and weep. She hurts me with her darkest stares. Through her I walk the lonely street Of silent dreams and cold…

  • A New Poem | “May’s River” (Part Deux)

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    Stephen Pickering
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    You tore on past the river’s flow. Now I know, now I know. You walked from the house’s door into the snow An instinct to let go, to let it go. The menagerie fortress tower looms larger by the hour. Talking to the morning’s vestigial crops into the elevators’ chop, chop, chops. And disturbing them like…

  • A Poem | Scarlet Fever

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    Stephen Pickering
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    I want to become the flower Drinking a hawthorn berry shower. I feel that the painting is alive That I could jump inside and live a life. The love you want resides inside a flame Burning Jerusalem to the coast of Spain. From the secret Indian province to the street children’s colorful ribbon dance. A…

  • Poem | “Thunder Painting”

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    Stephen Pickering
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    Don’t be desireous under White Mountain. The river’s tall feathered tail Will blast you into the crag’s milky fountain. Will whisk you away To a faraway place In the steam boat’s desert Sun, Buried beneath a 17th century ruin. You won’t get to stay up and play. Each door will turn you away. You won’t…

  • Poem | “9 Miracles”

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    Stephen Pickering
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    We can all be good. The rough beast crawling towards Bethlehem says, “You should.” But we can let it go, face in the wind, rain, and snow, as the falcon of our soul soars off Kilimanjaro. The distant bells are Black Sea shells, and her lips sail closer as we fall deeper into a dreamless…