Friday, September 29, 2017

Small Soliloquy

©  2017 Steve King
All rights reserved

The blind view
and that hot rain—
each new storm
a sudden death,
soon again.

The recalculation
of every old move:
merely an echo,
a hard refrain.

The world will turn.
I cannot say
where true horizons fall.

Light to night,
night upon light,
every age must scribe its own,
though some stand everywhere alone.

A new poem for Friday 55 with Joy Jones 


  1. Steve, this is a window into a shuttered world, a fork of lightning in the dark--the mood is almost oppressively dense, like that feeling of impending thunder on a breathlessly hot day, yet there is an undercurrent of cool air that stirs within it--perhaps it's the hope that there is always more than we can know...wonderfully vivid and skillful work with the metaphor here, Steve--we live in a time of storms that are not lessened one bit by the fact we see them coming. Thanks for playing and helping me to have a kickass weekend--and the same to you, my friend.

  2. A glimpse into the thing we currently call living. Storms and sighs and loneliness (if we let it).