—Painting by Francisco Goya
—Poetry by Steven Bruce, Barcelona, Spain
—Poetry by Steven Bruce, Barcelona, Spain
FINDING RHYTHM
Shut
heaven’s
golden eye.
The night agrees with me most.
When the ocean of faces calms,
and I retreat to the restful silence
of an empty seashell.
To be alone. Reading by lamplight.
As Falstaff laps
at the cream of life.
As Don Quixote barrels
towards outlandish windmills.
As Dante slips by a thousand faces
made purple by cold.
How the old tales know us better
than we care to know ourselves.
To sip strong coffee
between pages.
To be the apparition
of a face in the crowd.
To flee the tech deluge
rinsing us of our humanity.
If only for an evening.
Let me remember
to get lost
in the rhythms of life
and not in the dissonance
of existence.
Shut
heaven’s
golden eye.
The night agrees with me most.
When the ocean of faces calms,
and I retreat to the restful silence
of an empty seashell.
To be alone. Reading by lamplight.
As Falstaff laps
at the cream of life.
As Don Quixote barrels
towards outlandish windmills.
As Dante slips by a thousand faces
made purple by cold.
How the old tales know us better
than we care to know ourselves.
To sip strong coffee
between pages.
To be the apparition
of a face in the crowd.
To flee the tech deluge
rinsing us of our humanity.
If only for an evening.
Let me remember
to get lost
in the rhythms of life
and not in the dissonance
of existence.
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
THIS RIVER OF OURS
for Malgorzata Bruce
At midnight,
we wander by
the Arno River.
Moon bright. Ink clouds
swift.
A dark water
symphony
streams
into our ear canals.
This night transient.
Love respires.
Arm in arm,
you are as near
to me as a lover
could be.
Despite acrid blue
smoke rising
from my cigar’s
tip.
Despite grief
scorching
my soul’s edges.
Moonlight creeps
in
and out
of the clouds
in silent Firenze.
And I find
myself
lost
in this river
of ours.
Because
days exist when
I believe
I am unlovable,
believe I was born
to be hammered
down
into the rotten
timber
of the world.
And here you are,
proving me
wrong.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
AND SO
—Steven Bruce
And so the hours fade.
And so life at times
appears futile and absurd.
And so the flesh withers.
And so you ask your waning soul,
Am I doing what’s right?
_________________
Newcomer Steven Bruce, a writer and multiple-award-winning author, is from the UK but is currently living in Barcelona. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous international anthologies and magazines. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. See more from Steven Bruce at
https://www.stevenbrucewriter.co.uk/. Welcome to the Kitchen, Steven, and don’t be a stranger!
_________________
—Medusa
Steven Bruce
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
squirrel trips
over the jay—
frantic traffic,
last of the acorns…