Friday, January 31, 2020


by Steve King
© 2020 All rights reserved

I have a favored window.
It draws the light
in tones I wish to see.

It gathers birdsong
from the depths of dawn,
and spills my dreams
upon the evening lawn.

There may be other windows
I might use.

Even rooms without a view.

But here I’ll stay to celebrate,
and ever more to muse.

 A new poem for the 55

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Your speaking moves more than the air

by Steve King
© 2020 All rights reserved

Your speaking moves more than the air, it seems.
I am, with every murmur, shaken too,
transported always where your will requires,
my wishes, resonant at every turn,
attend the lingering strains of your desire.

Much stronger than the weight of loud command,
your musings will demand obedience.
You know that I am helpless to ignore,
and every instant, as I lie in wait,
my urgent station sighs aloud for more.

Suspended like a mote in dim moonlight,
my substance cedes to rapt imaginings,
and, shedding every motive of my own,
I fall upon the pleasures you might bring,
awash, enfolded, no bright charm deferred,
to search again the truth of all your words.

For Writers' Pantry #3 : Poets and Storytellers United 

Sunday, January 5, 2020


by Steve king
All rights reserved

I trace the word, it becomes real
I breathe it to the world
and it is me
as a wind
sounding to the vaults of the earth
to stir a light within my every sense

I say and it is so
embracing now the distant things
even to the sun
brings them now to me
and I will now possess one meaning more

Dark air excites
and the quelled leaves
and the grasses
Each stone on the mountain
pebbles in the valley
waters will not then be still

I cannot know and will not care
who else may feel or see or know
or who would scoff or smile sly

And do not shrink from declination
or designs of their desires

How may I shrink from a new truth
the truth’s effect
the truth’s intent
that keeps me for an object
the light of truth
the truth of light
that even lamps the catacomb
that shall inscribe the stars