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Stephen Pickering

Category: My Poetry

  • A New Sonnet: Cross of Lorraine

    Cross of Lorraine

    I wanted down the cotton pine below.
    It seemed the dream was calling from their root.
    I had escaped the cocktail party show:
    The empty voices blocking nature’s tune.

    The recent summons in the field of time:
    Our river’s bridge was rotting but still there.
    Perhaps it was just merely warmth from wine,
    I melted down that rickety old stair.

    I wondered would your eyes still have that glow
    If I could somehow reach across our lives;
    And swim the river down our muddy soul
    Where love forever dances in the night?

    Our little eyes that swim the river’s floor:
    Their secret depths open new love’s door.

    © 2013 Stephen Pickering

    ————–

    I swim the river wide
    Hoping to find you inside
    This new life.

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  • A New Poem: Go Through The Hills

    Go Through the Hills

    by Stephen Pickering

    You are my tree.
    because you have set me free.
    An orchard garden grows
    on land that once only snowed.

    I’m under a spell
    Only Ishtar can undo
    Down, down her Roman well
    I’m falling too.

    I am the bird.
    My life is the worm.
    I see her cold, dark eye
    bury me in the blood red sky.

    There’s a tick.
    The doors unlock.
    I’m just a hick,
    but I know when angels knock.

    I don’t deserve this.
    But here I am:
    An Italian mist
    Where Dante swam.

    There’s a nickel sky,
    and a lone star.
    Gray clouds cry
    wondering where you are.

    That girl will come.
    I feel her blinking again.
    A bouncing little Sun.
    She knows exactly where I am.

    These beings inside
    If you climb their stare
    Feed the stillness of the night,
    the castle that’s always been there.

    I cannot breathe.
    Your eyes are the hidden stone.
    The gateless gate to the golden stream.
    Unfold the night no man’s known.

    ©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

  • The Element U

    Something’s going on that wants to be known, a presence.
    It wants you to make your connection.
    What do you think is really underneath the veil?
    Something very deep.
    Deeper than history, deeper than tomorrow, deeper than now.
    That’s the secret, secret, secret voice
    that never comes out during the day.
    I’m with you: I don’t want it to ever go away.

  • Sonnet #9 in Iambic Tetrameter –

    I think I’m wrong about the song.
    I didn’t feel that you would come.
    Please tell the notes that don’t belong
    That winter’s bone remains unsung.

    I feel it on the inside grow.
    So, could a man become a god?
    Don’t let this meditation go.
    Just follow it no matter what.

    This isn’t where I want to be.
    My heart is feeling very sore.
    You know the site I want to see?
    Three graces dancing at my door.

    What is it that I’m running from?
    Those angels say to let it come.

     

  • Sonnet #11

    We have eternal ‘monicas that sing.
    An icy cloud is growing over the South.
    Out of the woods the Sun creates a ring
    Though which the river dances in its mouth.

    We’ve rowed this dream one hundred times before.
    We’re made of the same blood that’s in the stars.
    What does it take to sail through the gold door
    Back to a life that always has been ours?

    The pink clouds are the signal you sent up.
    There’s something missing from this story line.
    There must be something in that holy cup.
    The same as Gilgamesh’s sacred vine.

    We dive below that sea on every night
    That Tristan oneday sees her sail is white.

    ©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

  • Sonnet #3 in Iambic Trimeter

    Those Canadien snow geese are the soul
    The azaleas in the Spring
    They have nowhere to go
    But one can hear them sing.

    That was a little poetical fragment that came to me on a walk just now, in the gorgeous springtime air, of course a little Starbucks influenced as well as the air, water, Sun, geese, birds singing. Maybe I’ll make it into a longer piece, or maybe I’ll just leave it as it is. Feels honest. Anyway, below is my latest “Sonnet” installment

    Sonnet #3 in Iambic Trimeter

    We can not face ourselves.
    There has to be a way.
    We’re grasping for the trails
    Of fairies on the lake.

    I wanted you to know
    We’re oxygen that see
    A blanket in the snow
    Of flying wild white geese.

    We have too many things.
    Sight blinded by two eyes.
    The trails go out in rings
    Soul’s wings that spray the skies.

    When we accept this ride
    Then Isis is our bride.

    ©2013 Stephen K. Pickering