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205 · Dec 2019
She took the crisp...
Steve Page Dec 2019
She took the crisp offered
- not for the flavour, but for the high offer
of a connection across the tallest table,
balanced on tall stools, with tall tales
that fired unfettered, unfiltered
from her so much taller son,
each word spittled with snorted laughter
as they floated in their isolation,
cushioned by a child's unhesitate honesty,
silky and cloud-light and nothing like her fears
which had continued to hover and to threaten
to sink her float and fade her laughter
and to let the dank win.
Instead she stayed afloat,
tethered only to her son's fingers
as they drew her further into his world,
pushing away her lost years,
floating her free to explore this genesis
of something like a second chance.
Observed encounter in Pret on London's South Bank.
205 · Jun 2020
Relevant
Steve Page Jun 2020
Holding my relevance
close to my chest
in case it's dropped
and lost
We all need to know our relevance
204 · Dec 2024
Christmas Sweater
Steve Page Dec 2024
He pulls on the sweater, unasked for, ill-fitting and probably itchy as hell, but he knows the ritual by now and pulls until his head births and he opens his eyes ready for the chorus of smiles and laughter, but they're not there.
It's dark and the scents and chimes of Christmas are gone, he's spinning and falling in a force 10 gale battered by the sound of breaking waves.  So he reaches out for an anchor; his hands sink into a hedgerow, prickly with Hawthorn entwined with Holly, but he can't pull away and the momentum thrusts him forward through the pain into a field of sunflowers which swing their heads to face him, accusing him of trespass.  That’s when he becomes aware of distant gun fire and what looks like a star falling towards him.  Their heads duck down, forcing him to his knees and he's on all fours, his hands deep in Aunt Maud's **** in front of the fire, his head ringing, shell shocked, shaking and weeping while the family help him up.
- Easy there, Sam, you okay?  You look like hell. –
He looks around for his aunt’s face, and she smiles.
- He'll be fine, it sometimes takes us a while after our emergence from Mid Yell.  It's my first attempt at a Mid Yell and Ukrainian mohair blend.  Bring him some water.  Sam dear, have a seat and make sure you come and find me when you want to take it off, but not for a while. You shouldn't Walk the Goat too often, it confuses the soul. –
His siblings stare, full of questions and relief for their scarves as he studiously ignores them, and stares into the fire, shivering, hands prickly, the gun shots resonating in his gut and the aroma of sunflowers filling his head, knowing he needs to find that star.
Mid Yell - a settlement in Yell, Shetland, Scotland.
Sunflower is the national flower of Ukraine.
Walk the Goat is a Ukrainian ritual symbolising fertility and the triumph of life over death.
204 · Nov 2017
Questions
Steve Page Nov 2017
-  I have some questions.
We have a written guide.
- I'd prefer a conversation.
I'd like that too.
- so I guess my first question is Why?
Simply because it gave me great pleasure.
- And How?
With a few tears, much love and a lot of imagination.
- What am I here for?
To be with me.
- Just that?
(a smile)
- For how long?
However long you wish to stay.
- Are you sure?
I've never been surer. 
Now, take my hand and let's begin.
We all have questions.  The secret is knowing who to direct them at.
204 · Aug 2019
Lovesong
Steve Page Aug 2019
I will love you
until the moment I die away
until my last words pass
until my last chord fades

I will be true to you
until the next track plays
until the playlist moves on
and we become forgone
unless you choose 'repeat' to replay
Some songs linger. Some are more easily forgotten.
204 · Oct 2024
Hatton Cross
Steve Page Oct 2024
I can't speak for the others.
I can only reflect on my own thoughts and the heat of my own discomfort.
I can't speak for the African woman who wept beside her oversized suitcases on the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, I can only consider her tears and what they did to my own heartache.
I didn't speak, but I reached over after several minutes of communal silence and placed a man-sized tissue (clean and unused) on her lap.
Before I was back in my seat, she had taken it and covered her face in her grief and the tears came again.
The grandmother across from me got up next and placed a red stripped mint in a twist of cellophane on the woman's skirt.
The dad who stood in the doorway, like he was dressed for the beach, followed, leaving an offering of a capri-sun.
The child in the buggy looked up at his mother and she smiled encouragement to him as he offered his Spider-Man, pressing it to the woman's hand.
And as she unveiled her face and saw the offerings, she laughed, brief and wet, but with a smile that stayed. She hugged Spider-Man, nodded and then with a mother's sensibility to a child's needs, handed it back with thanks.
After a moment she found my eyes, and mimed a request for a fresh tissue and then in the silence she settled for her journey as we all looked away, dutifully silent.
An amalgam of observations on the London Underground.
204 · Nov 2024
Open conversation
Steve Page Nov 2024
What did Jesus do?
He asked questions,
expecting answers
(and questions).
He was not expecting
to end the conversation.
Reading the gospels.  Jesus asks a lot of questions.  A lot.
‘While Christians tend to turn to Scripture to end a conversation, Jews turn to Scripture to start a conversation.’
―Rachel Held Evans, Inspired
204 · Mar 2021
Quiz Night
Steve Page Mar 2021
The weight of my potential
The heat of what may be
The giddiness of each and every
possibility

The loneliness of greatness
The solitude of win
The intoxication of evening
final victory
quiz night at the local pub
203 · Jun 2018
I think in 3D
Steve Page Jun 2018
I think in 3D
I need real depth you see
I need more than one surface
to do my thoughts justice

I need three perspectives
to avoid a disservice
to any ideas that swim their way
to the disturbed sunlit surface

I'm not saying my thoughts are wordless
just that the words are surplus
to the primary purpose
of the thoughts that win
that struggle and that finally
find a thoughtful purchase
to become rooted
to bear fruit
and so to fulfil
their true purpose.

I think in IMAX 3D
- sit back and see.
Do you think in words or in images?
203 · Mar 2022
No life
Steve Page Mar 2022
A life of self-censure is life
on a knife’s edge,
balancing, filtering,
hesitating, holding self back,  
placing pitiful tack over ruthless honesty,
hedging truth seeking to closet self
and not out of self-modesty,
but honestly, out of self-doubt,
coupled with arguably
some reluctant scam artistry.

A life of fearful self-censure
is no life at all -
I think you’d agree.
Life's lessons
203 · Jun 2023
The remains of the day
Steve Page Jun 2023
What remains of the day
is of greater value due to
its failure to yet emerge,
its ability to yet be known
and it's there that lies
its potential
to not fail to meet
its true potential
- unlike the past
A poem triggered by a film,  The remains of the day.
202 · Jul 2018
Loss and gain
Steve Page Jul 2018
'Move more, eat less,'
I heard the GP say.
You'll find the weight
will just fall off.
Just take it day by day

'Eat less, move more,
ignore the painful knees.
'Get off the train
one stop before
and lose weight by degrees.

'Move more, eat well,
resist that chocolate treat.
'You really can
offset a little of
the life-long balance sheet.

'Eat less, move more.'
I followed the sage advice
And now you'll see
I tend to take
a snack while on my bike.
Time to lose some of that weight
202 · Feb 2020
A muddy thing
Steve Page Feb 2020
Is truth now a muddy thing?
Is that how we prefer it to be?
Is truth a muddy clay
ready to be shaped ‘til it pleases me?

Is truth now a muddy thing
thick and deep, hiding what's beneath?
Designed to hide my face
as I seek a private relief?

Is truth now a muddy thing,
wet, heavy, gritty and cold?
Can I scrap it off my boot,
leave it outside my safe threshold?

Is truth now a muddy thing,
slowing me wading ashore?
Immune to curses and stumbles,
dragging me to the floor?

If truth is now a muddy thing
can I filter it and sieve?
Is there pure clear truth that's not been eroded?
Will I still find true truth within?
First line taken from a writers comment: Truth is a muddy thing.
202 · Oct 2017
Is there grace?
Steve Page Oct 2017
(With a nod to Forrest Gump.)

Sometimes there weren't enough rocks.
Sometimes nowhere near enough tears.
Sometimes no matter how far I ran,
I was slowed by too many years.

Then once in a while the rain would stop
and the clouds would thin just a little,
long enough to show me the stars,
enough to shed light on life's riddle.

Is life just a box of chocolates?
Or can we choose whatever we please?
Are each of us here with a purpose?
Or are we feathers on a breeze?

Can our choices make a real difference?
Can we navigate the storms that we face?
In the end is it down to old father fate,
Or is there an offer of grace?
Watched Forrest Gump again.  Such a fun film asking fundamental questions about fate.
201 · May 2024
Good to talk
Steve Page May 2024
How you doing?
Not too bad.
What's new with you?
Oh, you know, not much.
Where you been?
Around.
Where you off to?
Nowhere special.
Well, it's been good to talk.
London.
201 · Aug 2018
Where there's life...
Steve Page Aug 2018
The last drop of hope
is the strongest.
That's why it's last
why it hangs on
why it holds out
why it pushes back
why it refuses to fall
and instead in defiance it stays,
waiting for your last word
in hope.
Inspired by a song:  'The worlds greatest' sung by Bonnie Prince Billy at the close of a movie, Lean on Pete.
201 · Jan 2019
Cruising
Steve Page Jan 2019
You may know
cruise control is of no use off-road.

You need both hands
all four by four wheels
and good independent suspension
especially in your posterior region.

Cruise control is useful I suppose
when the road ahead is predictable
and you don't expect the unexpected.

It's not an option
that I've had cause to opt for,

but it's good to know it's there.
Life isn't designed for cruising.
201 · Jan 2017
This is me!
Steve Page Jan 2017
This is me
This is who I am -
No-one will ever mute
The real and present me.
I am here to display
So stay close and pay heed
To the true me.
Those who value you as yourself are the friends to keep hold of.
201 · Jul 2018
Within
Steve Page Jul 2018
Not flags
Not borders
Not faces
Not skin
Just hearts
Just souls
Just ask -
what's within?
What's on the surface is distracting, but if you look closer and ask some questions youll see the heart of the matter.
200 · May 2017
Rise
Steve Page May 2017
Come little brother
Keep hold of my hand and we will climb
Over the last rise and into the green
Where we can let loose and run free
Through a knee high time machine
Throwing us back to a time when we
Were care free, hard and lean
Running under an eternal sun
Squeezing fun from every minute
Throwing a blanket of light laughter
Conquering every summit
Echoing around the valley
Skimming smooth flat stones
Refreshing reviving
Bringing life to our wearied bones
And reminding our old souls
Where home truely lies
Just keep hold of my hand and climb
Just over that next rise.
199 · Oct 2024
Healing not hiding
Steve Page Oct 2024
You can't heal under a mask
Wounds need air
So do secrets
Both are hard to hide
199 · May 3
The Bathing Pool
Steve Page May 3
Cool aqua marine
Stillness sinking into blue
I wait for the sun

My fears sink down deep
The pool offers little warmth
I wait in the sun

Questions float in time
Waters answer in silence
I wait with the sun
After a painting of the same name, by Harold Knight, 1916. Now hanging at the Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle.
199 · Apr 2018
Lost the plot
Steve Page Apr 2018
Walking in time
picking up pace
lifting it high
taking up space

Stretching the truth
when bending the rules
chancing your arm
digging your holes

Losing the plot
burning too slowly
seeing it through
the gaps in the story

Taking great stock
but failing to pay
attention that's due
at the end of the day
A bit on nonsense on a day not making sense.
199 · Dec 2019
Christmas Mash
Steve Page Dec 2019
May your bells jingle all the way
May your snow be crisp and even
May you ding **** merrily on high
And may Saint Nick keep you believing
Tis the season to be silly.
198 · Sep 2019
Dangerous
Steve Page Sep 2019
I've found it's dangerous to be different
and that it's likely to offend
but I can't help my being me
and I no longer will pretend

that I'm the one who is at fault
that I owe an apology
when the truth is that it is you
who should get used to me

I don't mind your naive questions
I welcome every one
but don't assume that being different
makes me a source of fun

instead let's reach agreement
that we've both got lots to learn
and while I try to learn some patience
you'll learn deference in return
The dangerous thing is we all think we're the one who's different and the one who is due greater deference.
197 · Sep 2019
I spent my day
Steve Page Sep 2019
I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit with them.
I give them the attention they ask for
to maintain their roots.

I administer the moisture they desire
to retain their colour
their scent.

I know they aren't what they used to be
but they grow with me
and give me hope for more
more beauty
more life
and more to live for.

I spent my day with my memories.
Time with memories is fruitful.
197 · Aug 2024
Seeds or Stones
Steve Page Aug 2024
Seeds or Stones -
whatever you hold,
lay them down.
Let your hands unfold.
Lay down the stones and plant some seeds.
196 · Jan 2018
Exposure
Steve Page Jan 2018
Make your unwanted advances
- on the ****** predators.
Place an uninvited unmistakable hand
on the casual grazers
the brokers
traders
*** negotiators
anyone who assumes
his entitlement
to sate his primal appetite
by right
anyone who
coaxes
cajoles
coerces
controls
in order to pick away
at a vulnerable soul.
Now's the time to shout
to call him out
and expose him
to unforgiving light
reversing the shame
in bare plain sight.
And there you'll find
you don't have to fight alone.
No, he'll be shown that
you were never on your own
and together
we can show society
that we stand defiantly
claiming the right
for all to live beautifully
free of each and every
pathetic
*** starved bully.
Come out now
and claim your life
and live it truely fully.
2017 brought us many things. A turn of the tide on *** predators was one of them.
196 · Apr 9
The Muted Cuckoo
Steve Page Apr 9
The muted cuckoo goes through the hourly motions, miming dutiful repetitions
which in time is lip-read til we appreciate what's long-gone unsaid.

Another hour has sped by, pregnant with unrealised promise.
Few things sadder in the clock world as a silent cuckoo.
195 · May 2018
Fist
Steve Page May 2018
It's not the force of the blow
it's the force of the feeling,
the grit of her teeth
and the words that's she's snarling.
It's the loss of the mother
I remember her being,
it's the hate on her face
that leaves my head reeling.

It's not the force of the fist,
it's the fear that this
is all that is left
of the mother I miss.
Post visit blues. Not a good visit.
195 · Oct 2024
The dead
Steve Page Oct 2024
The dead are still wriggling.

I thought I'd stamped hard enough
Twisted my heel long enough
Been vicious enough
To render their meddling
Null in their void
Enough to create them sterile
In their bequest
To bestow a double portion
Of pain.

I thought they were dead
And gone.
I was wrong.
194 · Apr 2024
Joys found
Steve Page Apr 2024
Where's your joy?
Where have you found it?
If it's not there before you
turn your face to it.

Where's your joy?
Are you able to grasp it?
If it's not within reach
take steps towards it.

Where's your joy?
And are you enjoying it?
Life's worth the effort
for the joy found within it.
Life is too short.
194 · Jun 2019
London
Steve Page Jun 2019
London.
What do you need it to be?
The Capital?
A powerhouse?
An icon?
Your career boost?
A short city break ?

For me
it's home.
A city can be different things to different folk.  I live here.  It's home.
194 · Jun 2018
F Word
Steve Page Jun 2018
Family is not an F word
however family was for you,
cos when family leave you raw and bruised
friends are family in lieu
Quote from Deadpool 2: "Family is not an F Word".
194 · Sep 2024
Received Art
Steve Page Sep 2024
I practice the art of receiving art
Not grasping it , not seeking to utilise it
Rather relax-sitting, receiving it
Recognising God's gifting of it
But happy to let it rest
where I can better meet it,
just beyond my practiced insight.
Some of the best art lies just beyond my grasp, where it belongs.
193 · Jan 2017
Perspective #1
Steve Page Jan 2017
Look around.
In a very short time
This will be a long time ago.
Your eyes will be full of the present
Your mind will reach
And fail
To recall your passion
Your impulse.
Only the bruises will remain
And the ricochete
Of your man sized dreams
Off hard-won love.
"In a short time this will be a long time ago."
- Werner,  Slow West
193 · Nov 2017
My first book.
Steve Page Nov 2017
Not too big to weep: A poetry anthology https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1549894706/ref=cmswremapa_8MWfAb6PF8Z0F
Now priced at £3.25.
192 · May 3
Comfort Zone
Steve Page May 3
If you don't know where the trail will go
Why be tempted to find out
Stick to what you know you know
Don't listen to your doubts

We don't know how the debate will end
So why start the discussion
Stick to trusted monologues
Don't risk their deconstruction

You're safe with the true tried and tested
With the solace of the known
So why be so curious
Stay here in our comfort zone.
Don't risk change
191 · Feb 9
Poets write
Steve Page Feb 9
Poets write with crooked lines
Lines that zig and zag
Lines that duck and dive

Poets write with messy lines
Lines that weave and wave
Lines that come alive

Poets write with spiral lines
Lines that slow and speed
Lines that fall and rise

Poets write with broken lines
Lines that leap and climb
Lines that launch and fly

Poets write with solid lines
Lines that fully embody
Lines that wholly embed
Hope
I started with an old proverb: 'God writes straight with crooked lines.'
And I played with a parallel idea.
190 · Mar 30
What If?
Steve Page Mar 30
Sometimes,
and sometimes, just as I try
to doze on a sofa,
when I have nothing demanding to do
and I have time when I can
while away some time alone -

Sometimes like that,
I find my mind wandering,
I find myself wondering

"What if?"

I examine the sliding doors
The life choices
The milestones
that mark past crossroads.

And I story-tell, I dream-walk
I wander down roads not travelled.

And from that sofa
I wonder if I might now just about see
the next significant junction
on my horizon.

And in that wonder moment,
I promise the Makers of my turnings
that, this time, I'll be more adventurous
I'll trust Them more.
I'll take the road that carries
a little more risk, a little less certainty.

I pledge to not roadmap my journey,
at least not quite as much
as I typically do.
And I will entrust the future
into the more capable hands of those
who have no need for What ifs.  

I can trust the Makers, for
they know what lies ahead.
They have been there
and they can each see way more
than I can
from my sofa.
190 · Jul 2020
Every good path
Steve Page Jul 2020
That I may understand every good path
That wisdom may reside in my heart
That knowledge and discretion may be my guard
This is my prayer to you, my guide and my God
Proverbs 2
189 · Jul 2018
Lauren
Steve Page Jul 2018
I know a young woman named Lauren
Who seems to be wearing a sporran
Oh no she's not
It's a bottle that's hot
Its offsetting the artic aircon
And this is a parting poem for a passing temp who moved on from out team recently.  She'll be remembered for many things but especially her hot water bottle in its furry cover.
187 · Sep 2020
Morning light
Steve Page Sep 2020
I'm never alone
Not with my thoughts
Not with my dreams
never an excuse to be idle
never alone
I'll always have you
to intrude,
to distract,
to enlighten
shining your light
alerting me
greeting me
never letting me be
a moment alone
A blessing or a curse or both.
187 · Apr 22
My home is so unmoved
Steve Page Apr 22
My third home is so unmoved.  
It stays as recalled
smelling of the comfort of the first and last
as if to harbour memories regardless
of age, refusing to release its hold,
it stands so full of heart,
with echoes of dinner

with steam lifting from hefts
of potatoes and withered veg,
an adamant replay of checkered tablecloths
and brown orange tableware,
long cracked and stacked. You see how it was.
Close your eyes and hear the scrapes
of plates, the kettle.  
And that veined mug.
After ‘A home is so sad’ by Philip Larkin (The Whitsun Weddings)
187 · Apr 24
By this
Steve Page Apr 24
And by this they will know you are my disciples
That you love one another.
By this, they will know you are my children
That you love me,
heart, soul, mind, and strength.
By this, they will know you are my body
That you are bruised, hurting and *****
because you have been out on the streets,
loving every neighbour as yourself.
Adapting words from the gospels and from Pope Francis in Evangelii Gaudium (or "The Joy of the Gospel").  The document was effectively a mission statement for “a Church which is bruised, hurting and ***** because it has been out on the streets”.
187 · Jan 28
Van Gogh
Steve Page Jan 28
I laugh at the young light
and gift colour full rein
cover the ground at speed
flex the holy spectrum
into deep infernal textures
boldly release hinted hues
hidden to the casual eye
stroke my rivals into life
created at the break of day
capture unnatural advantage
in this leg of the human race
to reach God's rest
at the creation's edge
Prompted by Van Gogh's mastery over colour.
187 · Apr 2022
London 1 and 2
Steve Page Apr 2022
London 1

It’s a jigsaw
an impossible jigsaw of irregular shapes,
no corners and no box.
A spectrum of letters and codes,
numbers that don’t add up - in any direction,
no apparent design and no consistency,
a ring and a circle offering a little diversion
and a blue-brown vein from top left to far right
meandering unhelpfully.

It’s a jigsaw.
Ten million pieces
and every - fragment - fits.

London 2

I was born in South London.
No.  South-East London.
I have lived in North-West London,
in South-West London
and in West London.
East London is a place of work.

These are miles apart.

Codes and customs disconnected
by a river (which was here first)
and by motorways (that came much later).

and I remain.
London is my home.  And the world is here.
187 · Mar 2023
Spring 2021
Steve Page Mar 2023
Spring is a doing word
- quietly, softly, resolutely springing up
through the heavy clay, springing forward
past these ground hog days,
offering an initiation rite
of colour, warmth and new light.
Spring is a doing word – so let’s do it right.
Originally written for spring 21 when we all needed extra spring.
186 · Jan 2020
Unreliable
Steve Page Jan 2020
I write for the unreliable reader, the one who reads what they want, whether they want and how they want
- not reliably reading though my eyes and carefully abiding with my well placed breaks in line, my enjambments, separation of themes into stanzas or even a subtle semicolon.

I write for you and entrust to you
my heartache, my headaches
my angst, my joy
my mess ups, my bust ups
my skewed views, my hard pews
my shouts, my sullen frowns
my walks, my sleep
my songs, my guffaws
my control, my dance
my destruction, my elevation
my blame, my late claims
my relish, my shame
my togetherness, my brokenness
my sleep-kicks, my daybreak
my jealousy, my generosity
my rewinds, my reruns
my hospital runs, my mother's hands
my triggers, my pretence
my pride, my bullies
my children, my memories
my past, my now
my decisions, my abdications
my loss, my child
my teen, my adult
my space, my confinement
my health, my ailment
my green, my red
my therapy, my surgery
my war, my peace
my time, my eternity
my kindness, my hate
my tea, my cider
my queuing, my waiting
my coming, my leaving
my life, my death
my ever after
- these are yours.
Just turn the page
having to let go and trust the reader.
186 · Apr 4
Moto Grantham North
Steve Page Apr 4
I sit in my Edward Hopper moment, my half started keepacup of green tea cooling,  staring at the chess board floor while my mind slows, moving down the gears after A1-driven shenanigans and I mindfully let the beat of Magic Radio fade back into the 70s while some seldom used lobe recalls a blue wide-wheeled mini van (replete with an A-Team overthetop stripe) on other journeys North.

I close my eyes and focus on the duties and joys of single granddad-hood and try to ignore the give in the one-size-barely-fits-all plastic seating beneath my oversized frame. My eyes refocus and I'm struck by a three-gen family arguing over Burger Kings, and I hate their voices forcing me back to 1984,  RAF Scampton, forcing down a much-too-early, much-too-bleak breakfast ahead of a slow day taking stick from families of maddened miners.

I close my eyes again to breathe my regrets back into place, and I sup and look ahead.
After Wendy Cope's 'At Stratford Services'.
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