Monday, March 13, 2017


©  Steve King 2017
All rights reserved


upthrust stones appear in the dark earth
sudden reds and umbers
in the highest trees
rivers yield to bedrock
floral splash retreats
from dry roadsides
sheltering waves ebb
mud creatures die before the sun
mountains whither and recede
while others intrude into empty sky
the earth shakes  and graves unseal
stormclouds gather on far hills
everywhere are signs it seems
the moonlight and the darkness
and the lightning
and the winds that sing
in my dream they heave to view
and in these echoes I must find
the word to say old things anew


searching ancient holds
sifting through the sands
looking for the stars
for the ancient source
rooting for the hidden caves
and the shades of prophets
gone at last to ground
forgotten gone now
far from miracles
and sundry excitations
all are silent now
yes even prophets
silent now who onetime spoke
as from the very gods


and in my books
strange marks appear
to dance the empty page
waiting for that word to come
for surer sense to settle ‘round
the strange newness of them all
a word
a harmony
to all the other words
sung in strange communion
to all that have been spoke to me
and all that I have heard
and all that yet await my meaning
any meaning

the one sound that gathers all
shouts that I may understand
this word that has eluded
the word inscribed alike
on those vagrant sands
and on the far strung stars
a word within surrounding silence
distance and old emptiness
since before the sands were sands
and stars were stars
when sands were stars
and stars sand
before even another sound to echo
before the advent of questions
before any answer
or an explanation
or an equivocation
or assertion
or apology
or a taking back
or a shouting
or a false whisper
or a clamor to end contemplation
or a witness
or even before the idea of silence
which must itself aspire to clamor
or spring from one
if it shall be truly known


this thing I am that waits in dreams
first word
then picture
then story
all the legends to retell
there must be story
must there not
a story in those markings
that my dreaming has begot


awakening as light itself
arising from behind hard horizons
hidden only for the time of dreaming
a sorcery unfolds
and I speak in tongues
the way a ghost
condemned to drift among the quick
might strain for words
walking live streets
but in that long silence
mouthing empty moans
at transient shapes
eager for the night
even as the morning comes
lingering near familiar shadows
come to trim the meaning of their day


as the sun reveals
I would see
as the sun reveals
the ring of dawn embracing
every ready world
rolling like the tides
that would paint a captive sea
revealing all to me
settling ‘round again
to cure the mind of dreams
when all new things may come alive
and spirits teem
new myths to spring
while strains of ancient songs
sweating dreams
and visitations
might soon be well forgot.

An edge of darkness
for a moment that is not a moment
but a life begun
rewound again
and tempering the margins
of each exultation with the breath
of all those old cares


Still the memories of dreams
might reach from their firm seat
might tantalize and so destroy belief
in tangibility to come
the very marks
and strange devices
left upon the page
all the sweet tranquility
that I would have
before another life begins
but still the book
and curious marks
older by another day
unchanged and so familiar
in their unfamiliar way


  1. This is a wonderful piece of work, Steve. I can see that a lot of thought and effort has gone into each part. Your descriptions are so detailed as to pull the reader in. I enjoyed the opportunity to read your work.

  2. as the sun reveals
    I would see
    as the sun reveals
    the ring of dawn embracing
    every ready world
    rolling like the tides
    that would paint a captive sea

    Such alluring imagery!!

  3. This is an epic journey into the world of dreams.The fourth one speaks to me the most.

  4. Finding new ways to describe it all: check. Wonderful, each stanza.

  5. i find your page and format so inviting. even if i didn't read it, it is visually appealing. i'm calling these poems pages in your book, and i feel satisfied after reading them

  6. Steve, this has a feel of the second coming-- by yeats and also by you-- the stark imagery of the open is very vivid and I especially love the star and sand interplay with its wonderful depiction of the age old. Really well done. You do find a voice here in the strange markings on the page. It would be a wonderful poem
    Read aloud because of the strong imagery and felt movement. I am on phone so sorry to be rather inarticulate. Thanks. K.

    1. Hah! Never inarticulate, Karin. Thanks for stopping by. --sk

  7. I am wondering on this revisit what that one word is that would make sense of all. I suppose one could say love but I think meaning is more apt. I am reminded this time through of that Rilke poem about waiting-- something like you wait, are seating the one thing that will change your life and then he says, that was it! Agh. I really enjoy this poem and thank you for your kind visits. Am on phone again tonight as traveling without my laptop. All best. K.

  8. I just love the third section here-- I am certainly always looking for some word--usually this is harder for me orally than on the page, but you describe the search both for the word that feels right, and almost secondarily the meaning--not secondarily, but separately--and the inability of getting it right. Thanks. And thanks for kind words re my drawings. It's a really new exploration for me. k.

  9. ***شرکت نوين گيت***

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    خدمات 24 ساعته و شبانه روزي حتي در تعطيلات رسمي
    مشاوره رايگان در تمامي مراحل