Identifying Parts of You in Plays

after Suddenly Last Summer by Tennessee Williams Violet descending, grieving light in the white shadeof a jungle that strangled the dinosaurs,Venus; the fly trap for a summer’s notebookof fine young cannibals along a coast of blazing sandswhere saint Sebastian dug down into sinand beak broke into the belly of all they had namedas enchanted. TheContinue reading “Identifying Parts of You in Plays”

To be able to Identify ourselves in Books

We are still, all of us, hungry. We are, all of us, today, Hungary; wanting to be able to open a book,in the early days of trying to identifywho it is we’re on route to becoming,and find a reflection of that selfsmiling back at us from the inside pageswe can easily open out. We areContinue reading “To be able to Identify ourselves in Books”

He Didn’t Bite, NaPoWriMo

He was tame, if truth be told-a curtain twitching kind of fool-heartedguard dog making studies of how the othersmade their way through the humdrum.He was sturdy in routine, if not stature-nose in the paper after the Six O’clock newson the far edge of the sofa every night,inside-out sweaters on a Saturdayand passing round the basketinContinue reading “He Didn’t Bite, NaPoWriMo”


I climb things, climbed things, out of warm womb,fresh from first hold into new armsalready breaking, wondering about climbing back up. I climb things, climbed things, chimneys in a child’s mindlooking for traces of reindeer and reasonsto still believe in faith and family and catching flight. I climb things, climbed things, out of closetsand theirContinue reading “SEASONS OF THE FALL”


  Clouds congregate under summer skies, standing towers, still, waiting for Napoleon’s rise. Up close, only echoes of history hit the hollowing rock below- coming in to slip out with more, in search of possession on another shore. There are footprints on the beach- horses hooves whose metal shoes now feel the rust of theContinue reading “BLACK BEAUTY, THE LIGHT IN LOUGHSHINNY”


  There can be earthquakes in little towns, far from tectonic plates, on little streets, rarely shaken where we sat, once, on the wall of a garden now obsolete, the summer burning through our cool-lessness as we trembled beneath attractions we didn’t have the words to understand while eyes watched from windows, trying to translateContinue reading “LEARNING TO CLIMB WALLS”

Paul Stephenson

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