The Sum Of

Everything is about numbers;numbers to hold,numbers to call,numbers to count you back to when you last came,to where you came from,to the miles you’ve movedsince then, the things you lost,the weight you gained, waiting.Everything is about numbers;race,pace,the breath you chase,the peace once possible,the place you never knew you were meant to be inin relation toContinue reading “The Sum Of”

There are limits to what we can hold on to

We pick things, pull things,up from under, roots, weeds,things we dropped, things to distract,flowers to fill the spaces since vacated.We pick things, pull things. We keep things, store things,in boxes, under beds, in sheds,under sheets; your stool of supportwhere you watched us, running; out, off, gone.We keep things, store things things we didn’t know, thenhowContinue reading “There are limits to what we can hold on to”

THE HAIR ON THE BACK OF HIS NECK

  You had long black hair, a horse’s mane that I held as we rocked through early years and a red furry coat I never stopped to question while we rode across uncertain terrines that echoed his silence and her longing to not give up anything again. Even then, even at play, I knew theirContinue reading “THE HAIR ON THE BACK OF HIS NECK”

THE TABLOID TELLS OF THOUGHTS FROM TEMPLE HILL

  I read in the paper this morning that we were hugged. That sometimes a nun cried when fledgling flew from her fold- a sister of scripture sobbing for a son she would never call her own. We were just play toys far from the playground- touches temporary while waiting to be wanted. I readContinue reading “THE TABLOID TELLS OF THOUGHTS FROM TEMPLE HILL”

WHEN WE COME TO PRESS THIS TIME UPON THE PAGE

  Come friends to gather at end of cycle Spring is done and summer will have new song, Time will tell of when it all went viral Of distance that reigned and hold that was wrong. Come friends to pressure pen upon the page Thoughtless is time if man won’t leave his mark- Sing ofContinue reading “WHEN WE COME TO PRESS THIS TIME UPON THE PAGE”

WHEN IT WAS THE TIME FOR GROWING OUT

  We took the train, one day, a Sunday that a photograph suggests was set in summer, I remember how the wind wound whimsically round the wilderness of our youth as we watched waves crash currents upon crushed cliff as we came closer to watch those tides slip out further, pulling from us the laughterContinue reading “WHEN IT WAS THE TIME FOR GROWING OUT”

BLOOMING SHADES

  Everything is cyclical like sunlight and seasons and hair styles and hemlines. Everything is cyclical. I found you at the first turn- a pencil line on a blank canvas by an academic of fine fashion with a fringe of falling violets, it was the back side of the Botanics, at the later side ofContinue reading “BLOOMING SHADES”

SOUTH CIRCULAR ROAD, DUBLIN 1995

  I slipped recently onto an old road that had circled back onto my diverted path to find myself at first flat, basement floor, 25 years grown between us like the weeds in the forgotten garden where I looked to see if the cobbles still recalled my sole before remembering how, on winter nights thatContinue reading “SOUTH CIRCULAR ROAD, DUBLIN 1995”

Paul Stephenson

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