3 poems from Stephen Allen : Guilty, The Thunder Rolls, All the Same (c) Stoic Poetry

Guilty

The wind caresses my ears
Speaking of distant hopes and fears
Of humanity that has gone awry 
Of those who have given up the try

Are we destined to forever fail?
To live a life where all must wail
Was this always part of the plan
It cannot be the eternal lot of man

If we are made guilty by design
There must be some kind of sign
A key to the changing of our ways
Or forever like this we will stay


The Thunder Rolls

  Beating a rhythm 
  Of time before time
  Primal power

  The engine of the world
  Turning over
  Flash and crack
  The spark of life 

  Igniting the atmosphere 
  In the dark of night
  creations cradle
  births the coming day

All the Same

Hands shaking quiet and cold
Always so defiant and bold
Never mind what we do
Never mind what we say

What you feel in your skin
Shivers down your spine
There is no one to blame
And we are all the same

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Stephen Allen


Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada.
I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria.

I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP)

I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited) 









A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Stephen Allen

with Stephen Allen:

Q1: When did you start writing and first influences?

Stephen: I have been writing from about the age of 7 or 8, these were mostly short stories on whatever subject caught my attention at the time.

Q2: Who are your biggest influences today?

Stephen: Today I am still influenced by poets such as Robert Frost and have always loved the works of Philip José Farmer when it comes to short stories.

Q3: Where did you grow up and how did that influence your writing? Have any travels away from home influenced your work?

Stephen: I grew up in Northern Ireland where there is a strong oral tradition when it comes to story telling. Everyone has a story to tell and the Irish never hesitate to tell them.
I have traveled extensively to many countries on business and always try to absorb local cultures and weave them into my writing.
I currently reside in Austria.

Q4: What do you consider your most meaningful work you’ve done creatively so far?

Stephen: Currently I am putting the finishing touches on a full length novel, and have been working with a publisher getting it finalised for publication.

Q5: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer?

Stephen: I have always known I wanted to write for a living, and have never stopped writing all of these years.

Q6: Favorite activities to relax?

Stephen: I listen to all kinds of music and play several instrument. I am also an avid fitness enthusiast.

Q7: Any recent or forthcoming projects that you’d like to promote?

Stephen: All my free time is being spent on final edits on the previously mentioned novel.

Q8: What is a favorite line/stanza from a poem of yours or others?

Stephen: This phrase from, “Petals Of Deceit,” has always been my favourite

“Rose petals pressed dead between hand written pages
Rescued from the final insult, among crumpled words
And this mornings half eaten discarded Danish”

Q9: Who has helped you most with writing?

Stephen: An English literature teach I had in grade 8 really took me under her wing and helped me a great deal.

Links:

https://throughthecrackedwindow909748923.wordpress.com/

A non-fiction story by Stephen Allen (stoicpoetry) : “Samuels Grace”

3 more poems by Stephen Allen (stoic poetry) : Edge of Dawn, Hard World & Broken

Poetry by Stephen Allen (Stoic Poetry) : Lonely Walk & The Veil

2 poems from Stephen Allen : Sanctuary & Second Chance

2 Poems by Stephen Allen : ‘Petals of Deceit’ & ‘One Day Further’

Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada. I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria. I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP) I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited)

A non-fiction story by Stephen Allen (stoicpoetry) : “Samuels Grace”

Samuels Grace

In dusks, sombre drizzle he hobbles along; in the soft grey light of a dawn that shadows feed upon.
He takes small unsteady steps. Usually, he is invisible; at best he is barely noticed by those around him.
Samuel’s worn overcoat has been his mantle through many years of lack, necessity, and need.
I have seen him often over the years; always wondering about the story he carries within him. Sometimes I have talked to him and given him small amounts of money when I had some cash I could spare.

Samuel was an old man, surely an old soul, and by all measures he was surely homeless, but he was always gracious, with a smile, and a “thank you,” when anyone took the time to acknowledge him, even if only to say
Few people ever took the time to stop for a moment; to say, “Hello,” or even to acknowledge his existence.
Maybe he was a reminder to them; of how cruel this world can be; maybe he was a reminder that but for the grace of God it could be they huddled against the elements in all sorts of weather.
More than likely it was none of those things that stopped them noticing Samuel. It could have been that no one cared at all about a man they thought didn’t matter.

In time, I could not walk past Samuel without stopping to say, “Good Morning,”
Even when I had nothing to offer him.
His eyes would brighten when I stopped where he sat at the exit from Highway 35; just across the street from the bus shelter where the morning business types huddled against the cold, waiting for their ride to what ever office, or other job beckoned them.On occasion, I would think of Samuel as I packed my lunch for the day and make a few extra sandwiches. He never asked for anything but always appreciated the smallest of gifts. Egg salad was his favourite.

Supper: Something most of us take for granted; but walking home from work on a very cold January evening I found myself thinking about how such a normal thing is not something everyone can take for granted.
It was early evening on a Friday; I had just returned from work and as I walked closer to Samuel I considered how he had probably not eaten a hot meal in a while, maybe a long while; I tried to imagine how it must feel to have nowhere to go on a snowy freezing night like this one was shaping up to be.
Samuel smiled as he saw me walking up the snow-covered sidewalk.

Pausing beside Samuel, I leaned down to talk to him; “How are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh you know…just another day in paradise,” he replied; obviously very cold though the smile never left his face.
“Can I get you dinner?” I asked, trying not to sound as though I was offering him charity, or to be insulting.
For a moment he looked uneasy and lowered his eyes, but answered; “I would like that.”
“I can’t pay for it,” he said softly.
“That’s okay,” I replied. “I hate eating alone, and having someone to talk to is more than payment enough.”
“There is a little diner across the street, it is getting late and it should be quiet now.” I offered.
Samuel gathered his few belongings; a small canvas bag, and several plastic bags, then rose stiffly. We walked in silence to the diner only a few hundred yards away.
As I had opened the door Samuel looked relieved; there were only two other people sitting in a booth.
The waitress who greeted us did not look comfortable, but I ignored her frown and asked for a booth for two. She looked as if she were about to say something more but finally smiled and led us to a secluded booth in the back of the diner.
The place was nothing special, just a basic diner with basic food, but Samuel looked through the menu as if he were at a fancy bistro. I told him he could order whatever he liked.
The waitress took our order, all the while scowling, and looking as though she really didn’t want to serve us.
The food arrived, and we ate in silence. Samuel seemed to be enjoying the food, though he ate slowly, enjoying every mouthful.

Samuel finished eating his meal and a thoughtful look deepened the lines on his aged face.
“May I ask you your name young man?”
“Of course,” I replied. “My name is Stephen.”
“Why me?” He began; “Why me, why today, why this place?” You really don’t know me, and I know almost nothing about you…I honestly don’t. “Sure, I know that you go to work, you come home, and you; for some reason, take the time to see me.”
I didn’t have a good answer to give Samuel, all I could offer was, “I am sorry if I have intruded,” as I looked down at the faded checker tablecloth.
“I just felt there was more to your story than people see when they pass by you,”
“Everyone has a story you know, no matter what anyone wants you to see, there is always more.” He said softly.
“I am no different from everyone else.”So we began to talk, while Samuel enjoyed the warmth of the diner.

The fire in Samuel’s eyes speaks of another world, of other lives. Slowly he begins to speak.
“I have built worlds and been held captive as they crumbled; forced to watch, always so helpless…then they were gone.”
“A wife with cancer; a war, and three grown children out there making their way in this world. I tried, honestly I did; there was no way to stop any of it; I could not help.”
“I do not regret my choices; such a life of adventure, love and loss. It is inevitable that we feel loss, the one thing, the one rule is everything dies, and we can never prevent it.”
“If there is one thing I can tell you anything that might help, it would be to clear the burden of your past years.”As we had left the diner, I pressed 50 dollars into his hand and thanked him for talking with me. He merely said, “You’re welcome” and hobbled away.

Several weeks went by without seeing Samuel at his usual spot by the freeway, and one morning I crossed to the bus stop to ask whether anyone had seen him recently.
“No, but I’m glad he has gone; don’t they have places for people like that?” a woman in a business suit scowled. “Goodbye, and good riddance to him I say,” she added.
I continued to watch for him, but he never returned. In the spring, he had still not returned.
I miss Samuel; I miss my friend. 


Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada.
I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria.

I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP)

I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited) 

https://throughthecrackedwindow909748923.wordpress.com

3 more poems by Stephen Allen (stoic poetry) : Edge of Dawn, Hard World & Broken

https://throughthecrackedwindow909748923.wordpress.com

Edge of Dawn

The velvet tears as night to day 
The darkness fades and gives way
To dawns edge of the coming light
Bidding farewell to the fading night

And in the new we bid adieu 
To the tired and fleeting dark
To greet the new day in its dance
Another days journey to Embark

Hard World

Candy Floss and bubble gum dreams
most of us grew up with, so it seems
No real monsters under our beds
Leaving the nightlight on to be safe instead

Little by little the chinks appear
in the stories we were told for years
little slips show the cracks inside
to break our worlds of candied lies

For too long we were protected
when we needed to be respected
now we are left to our devices
with no training on telling
what nice is

Broken

Blood flows freely from a broken heart, 
As dandelions play, as songbirds dance,
Sunny days do nothing to stem the flow,
Across fields of green, among cleansing streams
 
When there never was a chance,
Blood must flow, the sun must rise,
If ever again to open these eyes,
In fields of green, and cleansing streams 


Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada.
I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria.

I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP)

I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited) 

Poetry by Stephen Allen (Stoic Poetry) : Lonely Walk & The Veil

Lonely Walk

Cold grey dawn, mist overcoat
comforting as damp muslin gauze 
shrouding the eyes of the detached and departed.

Decrepit footpath, cracked and neglected
as the mothers graves across the field
backs cracked by careless footfalls no doubt.

My own gone these many years now
the Belfast cemetery not far from here
her stone unfound after searching.

Somber Irish mist, where legends and relatives mingle
sometimes seen, but always there,
waiting.

The Veil

On damp decrepit pathways hobbling 
Life, soul, and world, awash of grayscale

Dark wings in shadows sing
By design the spirit to impale

An artist's palette of black and white
Bright hues in daylight pale

Adrift in oceans of ravens night
Accursed walk beyond the veil


(c)Stoic Poetry/Stephen Allen

Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada.
I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria.

I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP)

I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited)