Here, you’ll find the stuff that Stan Stewart has created: poetry, music, inspirations, staying connected with the present moment, photography, and more.
Leaves fall in Autumn and cover the ground in layers Or beds. The top layer is dry and brittle. Touching these may cause them to crumble. Or the wind may simply lift them away to show The next layer down which is warm And misty with the former liquid life, Like coursing veins, that is now Laying […]
Rain has been pouring, showering, Gushing and sprinkling all day. Until today, there had been only The memory of rain. The dry, sandy Soil had become crusty and sad. At first the rain pounded. It threatened to burst through Sheltering walls or smash through Clattering glass. Then, it dropped back to a steady Pour, drizzling
Yes. That is the answer my senses give to The question that has not been asked. No need to wait for the dramatic pause: Trying to slow the beating of my heart Is like asking a dead man to come Alive again. Yes, indeed. Unconsciously, my tongue licks across My upper lip. It might as
Under this soft exterior Lies an even softer heart. It seems to have weathered What sometimes seemed Like pummeling And sometimes seemed Like cradling. Holding on to either Never got this heart Anywhere. Face towards the morning Sun, it awakens to The emptiness of The new day, And seeing the vacant Opening, it is Filled
It’s enough to say I give my love away Too easily. Each time, my soft heart Breaks. I’m not that smart When it Comes down to stuff like Feelings. They do spike My pulse And set synapses On fire. Now with this Pharma Stash in my weary Brain, holding bleary (I guess) Expectations so Unspoken
You know it’s gonna cost you If you wear those worn out shoes. They’re gonna do worse than Hurt your feet. They’re gonna make people Look at ya funny.
Sweat pours down my forehead and drips, coolly, first to the pockets around my nose and then onto the desk in front of me. It’s a “good sweat“: the kind where I know that I’ve accomplished what I set out to do; where (even if the next step is not clear) my body/spirit is stirred
I have nothing bad to say about passion. It’s cool. Or I really should say hot. Coupled with stuff like muse, inspiration, talent and so on, passion offers massive motivation when it’s in flow. I so (too?) often rely on what I’d loosely call talent and my passion for music to get me through gigs and other creative projects
3 I was making up poetry in the womb. Mother says so, and you know what that means: Nobody’s gonna question it. And I mean nobody. She may not get around so fast, But Mother’s got a way with her tongue That can lash you within an inch of your life. That’s probably why I
2 Moisture fills the void. This liquid seems more molten Than flowing, though. It does not cool the fear, But fuels it; Basking and bleeding, Its results are burns Of some degree previously Unfelt and unseen by Human flesh. Searing, its reminders Never go away. ~ each poem spontaneously composed by Stan Stewart ~ copyright
