Poetry and other creations by Stan Stewart. Sometimes, it’s just the poem. Sometimes, it’s the story behind the creation.
Waking without an alarmand waking without alarmis like a simple gift. When each morningis a drive to workfrom a drive to survive, questionsrun simplicityout the door. My thoughts areof great things withgigantic magnitudes too many times toname. Today wasdifferent. This morning came without fanfare.Eyes flickered openof their own accord and in their own, sweettime. Though […]
It is election day in the United States of America. Time to vote, people! Once you’ve done your civic duty, there’s a fun vote you can cast as well.
Eyes closed; Just a brief moment. Open: now there are wispy bits where only blue had been. Seconds later, they turn themselves into frothing bits of colorlessness, forming almost everywhere that I can see in that skyward direction. I start to walk towards home, finding grey had taken over those unassuming clouds. The air cools
Clouds – an #improv #poem – with original photos Read More »
I dream of rituals long since passed To which we brought old photos or wrote our deepest fears. In some tiny blaze or gigantic bonfire we would burn these bits of tattered paper. I guess that we imagined this burning could make the pain disappear or the fear dissipate. Though this imagining seems perfectly normal,
Trigger warning: the hawk in this poem and quote is deceased. In life, majestic sky-flyer, you inspired me By flying above it all. Your ability to soar, with or without the wind, Never ceased to tell the story of your journey In tranquil and terrifying terms. I suspect that your talons ripped the life From
In a dream, I ride a horse over a ridge and find a village filled with people far beyond my imagination. They seem so different from me. Their skin has a texture I’ve never seen and their customs seem bizarre to me. I have no understanding of who they are or why they are the
Interdependence Day 3 – an #improv #poem about understanding Read More »
Some people just don’t Get interdependence. Imagine for a moment that The one person who could Keep the earth from spinning Into an inferno is an infant. Now, imagine that one of her parents Has died in a terrible persecution In her land of origin. There is no way for them To survive here, so
When the news came About your fever I was scared. I feared first for you, For your mama, And your gran’mama. How could your tiny Body With its tiny fingers, Toes, eyes, lips, and tongue Stand against such an ailment. Nonna was frightened too, But she did not pause. When the call came she ran
Someone will say there is nothing New here. And that is fine. Let them say it. You can know your insides Without having to argue a case For them. You can trudge through snow Like a determined deer Or swim even when you Need to rise to the surface for air. You have shown how
Snow has always refreshed my palette. Like a thorough washing of my prejudices Or a complete cleansing of my misunderstandings, It always seemed to be a sheet of singularity. Today, I will receive a lesson from Snow; One that I have learned a dozen times. This new learning will be different: More visceral, intrepid, and
