Incandescent

I remember all
The soft summer morns.
I remember all
The supple sweet suns,
And I remember all
Their incandescent warmth.
How their beams would kiss my cheek
Like they too did kiss the earth.

I remember all
And I remember well,
For all those supple suns,
Upon all those tender summer morns
Lay down all their loving kisses
Like little flames of light
Exploding in pure radiant swarms,
and gave the Earth over to life.

poem by Graham Stone
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Pepsi

Late one eve
whilst conversation runs loose
of a weave, thanks to family food and booze.

over left-over food, and near to napping
I sat slurrily chatting,
to my cousin, Pepsi.

then due to boozy bevvies
i decide to ask
'under what such circumstance,
would encourage parents to call a child pepsi? '

'go figure' she snarls half pissed herself,
'its not the corporate money making filthy drink that
bothers me, its the fact that its the cheaper alternative! '

poem by Graham Stone
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Lines Extracted From A Dream

'I think of it like a book,
I dont care for your self-authored words
of pity and sorrow, though yes they are just.
It isn't the narrative in you that interests me...
It is those blank pages in you that hold my court,
All books have them; those blank pages at the end,
Unfilled and undetermined, where you havent yet scribbled.
They are yet to be subject to anything,
And even if they are not destined for a happily ever after,
That does not mean i can't hope to find solace and closure in them.
What is to stop us writing our own fable in spite of what is already written?
What already is, is,
But what will be is ours to fathom through the velvet folds Of fate.
Surely.'

poem by Graham Stone
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The Beggar's Scapegoat

O fate how cruel thy ties and twists,
O fate, how can I love thee for this?
How should I bear thee now?
Like a brother? A mother?
Or as a farmer should bear the stench
Of his fatted sow?

O fate with thy binds and grips,
O fate, how should thou tear so deep to flesh on oily whips?
And how should I know thee now?
To string me like half a veal.
By strips of sinew and rusted hooks,
Have you no mercy to spare my carcass meal?

Would thee burden I with an Atlas weight,
For simple pleasure of a graceless hate?
O fate with thy vice and traps,
O fate, know this of me that;

Should I know and bear and love thee now; -

[...] Read more

poem by Graham Stone
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