It’s looking quite forlorn now The larder shelves are bare There’s a rocket in my kitchen And my kitchen isn’t there -:- He doesn’t want the kitchen That father carved
Category: #Poetry
emergenceemergence
Heavy metal, thinly sailed, is cast Like toy, and dropped onto the stone. Hedges bend, bow and form New writhing shapes – grotesques – Their twisted tongues malforming names Of
DEATHSTINATIONDEATHSTINATION
©Stephen Tanham 2022 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Are we ‘book-fat’?Are we ‘book-fat’?
I’m not sure there’s ever been a rigorous definition of gluttony, but a series of incidents have made me wonder if we are suffering from its effects, in the form
the quiet placesthe quiet places
They live concealed within the ebb and flow of life recycled. That very nature is why they are so hard to find. The extraordinary hidden in plain sight… Their camouflage
potential of tomorrowpotential of tomorrow
Who knows which way-less-taken lies beyond the stile The openings of now, unnumbered, mapped in dew Unfamiliar potentials – whispers in the icy wind, Cry ‘untrod, unheard’ alone in wandering
crown of leavescrown of leaves
There is within this ring of gold and green a voice Not of the river rushing by in flood Nor of the nearby street where cards of early Yule, like
pale sun into a hallows pool descendspale sun into a hallows pool descends
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
blood, gold and silverblood, gold and silver
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
If i could comprehend the skyIf i could comprehend the sky
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Into the autumnInto the autumn
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
We wait…We wait…
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Fruit of the GiverFruit of the Giver
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Sun TrainSun Train
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
King’s GobletKing’s Goblet
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Books of Green and GoldBooks of Green and Gold
©Stephen Tanham 2021 Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
First the loss, then the joy…First the loss, then the joy…
Unbearable, this song of lightThat ends the day before soft nightA gradient of blue to goldA harmony, exquisite foldsWill live its life in seconds toldContent to live and die, this
From no-thingFrom no-thing
From no-thing do you come?Not did, for did is burnedBut do, as in a breath Drawn in and then returnedFrom no-where do you come?Not where, for whereWould fix the placeFrom
A Deeper SummerA Deeper Summer
To a deeper sun I felt I had respondedSoft light behind the eyesLike crossing tidal lines upon a beachA scent, a fleeting touchA feeling words can seldom reachWith light like
Summer’s RetortSummer’s Retort
A circulating seedThat knows no deathFinds purchase in the soilOf spring’s awakened greenAnd in the silky, shortest nightExplodes. Born a child of solstice lightThe summer’s lust for lifeEmbeds itself withinThe
Game of MidnightGame of Midnight
It is dark, so there won’t be any Photographs They will, like the sun Be resting in untaken Manifestation But collie’s last trip Outdoors In upward glance reveals A silver-blue
Caress of GreenCaress of Green
The heat, it must have been the heatThat teased and turned my stepsThat stepped a different thrust and beatA moan of limbs on fire where once were feet. The green,
Rotating HopeRotating Hope
As a Captain in a blackened stormScans a ravaged horizonTo find rotating hope:Not only where but whoThe ship, by edge of darknessLocates the world beyond the seaSo we, with storm