Tuesday, November 01, 2005


I will give your name to a Bedouin tribe
so they may carry it into the desert,
write it on the sands for God to read.

An unbelieving wind sweeps clean my world.
I have felt its lies; I’ve whispered them
to the evening star, and watched her fade.

I will set your name upon some ship
that sails westward into faceless night;
there I’ll find you, written upon the waters.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

not particularly about anyone or anything. or maybe about everyone and everything.


The wine was bad. Not gone-sour bad
nor oxidized bad but simply cheap-swill bad.
I love good wine; I’ll tolerate bad wine.

My reflection floated in the glass.
Floating somewhere in the back of my mind
was the question whether I would be

educating yet another love
in the ways of the vine. God knows, there was
little else I could teach anyone.

She leaned over to kiss and refill me.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

again, not really about anyone in particular, just a scenario.

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