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Stephen Pickering

Tag: Poems

  • The Secret Voice

    The screen is up and
    Borough Boy is 
    being euthanized
    exactly as I write this
    5:18pm on Labor Day, 6:18 where
    it's happening in Saratoga, New York.
    The last race of the last day 
    of the iconic meet. 
    No one knows
    what is and what 
    is not.
    History is still
    and could break both ways
    in superposition. 
    People don't know if they 
    are themselves or someone else. 
    They believe its up to the mystery
    of another forgotten consciousness
    who has control for some unknown reason
    because its unfathomable that
    someone else exists.

  • The Answer

    The answer is 
    underground 
    where what sets 
    the soul on fire
    is the treasure bound.
    Maybe that also means 
    Prometheus found?
    Without judgment there
    gravity holds without effort.
    A stone’s throw takes 
    some sweat
    but not the descent.
    We are it’s descendants. 
    We fall exactly 
    the same way. 
    Except there's a block 
    holding us 
    from the answer:
    a willing surrender 
    to go down.

  • Two New Iambic Dimeter Poems

    The neurons fire
    In love tonight
    The singing choir
    relieves my fright
    sleep with the Rose
    submerge the sea
    The bower knows
    what’s inside me
    She’ll come again
    another door
    her song the wind
    ears to the floor.
    Don’t say a word.
    Love’s almost born.

    —————————-

    Let conscious breathe
    you won’t I know
    but can’t we dream
    away we go?
    September morn
    blues Christ can play
    The bells adorn
    The nightly day
    The purring moon
    she finds her tide
    we’re in a swoon
    away we ride.
    Her romance seeds
    The worlds best deeds.

     

  • A New Poem in Iambic Trimeter: Visiting Isis’ Sister

    I know it wasn’t fair
    to those who dance below:
    Between our creaky stair
    Descends our nightly ghost.
    I’ve come to see my girl
    Her sister plays alone.
    Here in her deathly world
    Her grievance sings her song.
    What does she want from me?
    A willingness to die?
    Like Jesus on the tree,
    A needle through the eye?
    I sacrifice my bliss
    For you my little sis.

  • Hafiz Poems

    In A Tree House

    Light
    Will someday split you open
    Even if your life is now a cage,

    For a divine seed, the crown of destiny,
    Is hidden and sown on an ancient fertile plain
    You hold the title to.

    Love will surely bust you wide open
    Into an unfettered, blooming new galaxy

    Even if your mind is now
    A spoiled mule.

    A life giving radiance will come,
    The Friend’s gratuity will come –

    O look again within yourself,
    For I know you were once the elegant host
    To all the marvels in creation.

    From a sacred crevice in your body
    A bow rises each night
    And shoots your soul into God.

    Behold the Beautiful Drunk Singing One
    From the lunar vantage point of love.

    He is conducting the affairs
    Of the whole universe

    While throwing wild parties
    In a tree house – on a limb
    In your heart.

    —————

     

  • 2 New Iambic Poems

    This first one is in iambic tetrameter with the structure of an English Sonnet:

    I lost you to Arabian nights:
    The god Apollo’s basketball.
    You had that day Queen Isis eyes..
    Unfolding reddened fall leaves song.
    It does mean something here in snow.
    The M&#257rga flames the Firebird’s beak.
    Somehow it made me let you go,
    So silent beings now can speak.
    I reach across the earth for you.
    Across the universe I fly.
    You’re under spellbound mountain dew.
    Asleep by mirrors’ watchful eye.
    Then something shakes the arch’s gate.
    The colors open again Finn’s wake.

    ©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

     

    This second one is a straight English Sonnet, having the structure and the 5 iambic feet per line, iambic pentameter:

    It’s thought itself that’s separating us.
    My little molecules are calling you.
    So Jesus told the mountain, “Part to dust!”
    And said let go, that you could do it too.
    Transparent eyes that cover Western skies.
    I hook the trailer hilt that pulls the sun.
    I search for you each night on moonlight drives:
    Some feeling in the heart that you’re the one.
    You pulled me out of the beach’s seahorse sand.
    And ponied up the soul for Daphne’s bed.
    With wildest sleep we wake this magic land
    Sing witches stirring lives from worlds we’ve banned.
    The tea room veils the river’s bride in frost.
    All calling for the princess who’s been lost.

    ©2013 Stephen K. Pickering