Monday, July 26, 2004

Your love is not enough--
dreams are my daily bread.
You fill me with yourself;
you quench my deepest thirsts

and yet, in time, I starve.
Starve as a drunkard does
who craves only his bottle.
Starve as the junkie, wasting,

forgetful of desire
that can sustain a life,
of appetite, of lust
for heaven's very stars.

Your love is not enough--
tomorrow I would hunger.

  ~Stephen Brooke ©2004

Some think that love is all they need to be happy. Maybe some are right, but I've been thinking some serious thoughts and I know it would never be enough for me. My work is what makes me happiest...and love? It is the drink to wash down that satisfying meal of accomplishment.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Drapes and Paint
It's the same room-- I can tell.
The look has changed, the furniture moved
but I've paced off the familiar length,
measured the width, and know my cell.
Yes, yes, I know it too well,
windows, doors, that open only
onto empty mirrors and I
have no existence beyond this spell.
Or this room. I built it,  you know,
for others to decorate. They say,
"Here's something new," "Here's someone new."
But it's the same: they come, they go.
It's always the same. No room to grow,
no room except this room; now you
come carrying bags and say that all
is changed because you wish it so.
Drapes and paint won't do; you should
have brought a hammer if you understood.
Stephen Brooke ©2004
Been watchin' too much Home and Garden TV, I reckons...

Friday, July 16, 2004

such tides
such tides
carry me
on the breath
of the moon
I drown
in this sky
deeper than oceans
Stephen Brooke ©2004
Although in the form of a renga -- sort of -- I make no attempt to follow any strictures associated with Japanese poetry.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004


I have lied to the moon,
telling her I have no love,
none kept hidden away.

I have lied to myself,
pretending I knew your heart
when I knew not my own.

I have lied to you and fear
now to seek the truth
your heart has hidden from the moon.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Lines kept coming to me after I went to bed last night...had to keep switching the lamp on and off until I was pretty much finished with this poem.

Thursday, July 08, 2004


I'll hang the moon from a silver chain
to wear beside your heart,
And fashion ear rings of the rain
that drip in subtle art
Against the midnight of your hair
and dawning of your skin--
A glowing, flushing morning fair
with hints of flame within.

I'll set the sun in a ring of gold
to place upon your hand
And kiss your fingers, making bold
but making no demand;
No, only asking for your love,
that you be mine and stay
Each night of gem-starred sky above,
each jeweled golden day.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


It is my ship, this poetry,
the ship I sail upon a sea
of words. I seek your unknown lands,
uncharted golden virgin sands
that swim along the edge of dream.
How often has some distant gleam
ensorcelled me? Mirage and mist--
the hidden realms of alchemist
or wizard lie a league beyond
horizons where tomorrow dawned.
Ah, yes, such vision fades and fails
yet new winds rise to fill the sails
of this, my ship, my poetry,
to voyage in discovery.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Tuesday, July 06, 2004


It is the time of hurting,
that harvest we always knew
must follow such a planting--
beneath the first full moon
of Spring, our crop was sown.
No matter, no matter; you must
hurt me as I will you,
for giving and forgiving
have their parts. Each dawn
whispers of the day
to come, our redemption.
Each dawn sings alleluia.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

Typically, I slip into mystical/religious symbolism. I guess that's just part of my makeup.